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Young Soult screah he was afraid they’d tear hier

Not three months past in weakened Gondal

Douro’s voice did ring:

ALL THE LANDS MY TROOPS HAVE TOUCHED,

OF THESE I WILL BE KING!

Gladly will I share the secret of

Dear Glass Town’s precious rum

If you’ll divide the world with me

When all is said and done!

Chaos erupted Adrian went black with rage The banked embers beneath his skin roared to white-hot life

“I gave you everything, Soult! Is this how you pay me back for the whole of your detestable life? I found you singing nursery rhyutters of Verdopolis and I reatest poet in Glass Town!”

“Second greatest,” Lord Byron said casually He popped a raspberry into his mouth “Possibly third”

Mary Percy grabbed Douro by the shoulders She was bronze, he was ash He had never been able to stand against her It hat he liked best about Mary Onstage, the young Douro puppet and the young Bonaparte puppet embraced A wide brass croered on black ribbons It settled down over both their heads

Our grandpas did it! Why not us?

There IS no reason why!