Cwv, samples, cls ni, d, e, f, g, h, i

My favorite cannon caught a cold that winter. Each shot came out with a sneeze and flew sideways. The enemy could never guess where to stand. I fed the gun hot broth and wrapped its barrel in wool. It got well at once, which I regret, for we lost the very next battle.

Mount Etna owed me a favor after I cleaned its throat. I went down with a long broom and a wet towel. Soot flew, sparks rained, and the mountain coughed up a lost Roman. Now it smokes only on Sundays, and the farmers below leave me lemons by the cart.

Pisa had a straight tower until I leaned on it to fix my shoe. I heard a small creak. Nobody else saw, so I tipped my hat and strolled away. The town has since made a good living from my bad habit, and I have never asked for a share.

Onions won me a wife. I peeled one in front of her father, and the old miser wept for the first time in his life. He gave me her hand, her dowry, and the key to the pantry. I still keep the onion in a velvet box.

Grand Viziers do not often blush, but.