Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind When I my homely dish with care designed; `Twas certain humble souls I would have fed Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, O`erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!"SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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