The boy hastened to his father, sobbing with the sorrow of a thousand mourning doves.

“Father, thy boys down thou street hast injured me once again!” He was talking of thy group of six living at number 12 on their street.

“Ah! Thee was bullied by thoust ugly cretains whose toungues outvenom all the nile, eh? Do not stand there like a coward, my son! Get them back!” Boomed thy father.

Thy boy nodded sorrowfully and turned back to thy boys who hast so hurt him.