Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “Then I don’t take this as final. Epithalamy might do.
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This video was uploaded to live-sport.live on 24-06-2024 02:45:16
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