Henry in trouble whirped out lonely whines.

When ich when was ever not in trouble?

But did he whip out whines

afore? And when check in wif ales & lifelines

anyone earlier O?—Some, now, Mr Bones,

many.—I am fleeing double:

Mr Past being no friends of mine,

all them around: Sir Future Dubious,

calamitous & grand:

I can no foothold here; wherefore I pines

for Dr Present, who won’t thrive to us

hand over neither hand

from them blue depths nor choppering down skies

does Dr Present vault unto his task.

Henry is weft on his own.

Pluck Dr Present. Let his grievous wives

thrall lie to livey toads. May his chains bask.

lower him, Capt Owen, into the sun.