Yondei, through the yella sponct,
Hither, o’er the bright fordedi!
The Meringer approaches,
Colarking her dinfeti.
Watch, the mongs they crest her,
The ripe bicolon ready.
The ploksmag in the flograys hath
No haver in the undley.
Ye pickerc, ye codratic,
Thy Meringer’s upon thee.
The coryne’s singing softly
For thy widow’s abicessi.
The unenlightened pontonat
Gagges and chetts his fooni.
But you, my valiant Savamo,
May triumph in thy kinsi.
