JAMES JOYCE
The Restored Finnegans Wake
Edited and with a Preface and Afterword by
DANIS ROSE and JOHN O’HANLON
Note by
SEAMUS DEANE
Appendices by
HANS WALTER GABLER and DAVID GREETHAM
Note on the new edition of Finnegans Wake
This should never have happened. It was, from the outset, an impossible task. But here it is. I still find it hard to believe that all the obstacles have been cleared, although I find it easy to believe that I actually don’t know the half of it, all the difficulties encountered in research, funding, travelling, overcoming scepticism and hostility and then in finding the resource to sustain a commitment that certainly would have made my heart fail. It is astonishing and pleasing beyond measure to find that we now have a critical edition of Finnegans Wake.
Danis Rose and John O’Hanlon have achieved what has been for many readers unimaginable. They have given us both the archaeological sedimented layers and the structuring principles of the famous Work in Progess and then, out of that, the clear reading text. We already knew from Danis Rose’s work on the Notebooks that the scholarship involved was vast and painstaking. We also knew that the text of Finnegans Wake was, in one sense of the word, composed of those notebook materials and yet, in another sense, created out of them. This is a fascinating example of composing and composition, of one becoming the other and yet both remaining distinct. The sheer agglomerative scale of Joyce’s undertaking and the narrative form in which he rendered it have always provoked, since it first began to appear, a degree of outrage, derision, various denunciations and announcements that the author had finally been inundated by the miscellaneousness that had menaced Ulysses and had surrendered completely to the wild pedantry that had at times made it so funny and monotonous.
There has always been a large majority of readers for whom Finnegans Wake is, as part of its rationale, unreadable; indeed, unreadability has always been part of its attraction, the pseudo-suave explanation for never having read it. That view of, approach to and refusal of the work are all now outdated. The new edition brings Finnegans Wake to its audience again, but this time with the barriers of twentieth-century critical reception (if that is the word) cleared away.
It is a different matter for Joyceans. They have long been acclimatized to this architecture, this Beaubourg of the literary arts, and have also been acclimatized to enduring and representing the ridicule that is generated by the clash between research and creativity that inspires and is parodied by Joyce’s late work. With this edition that antinomy too begins to crumble. It is not the clash but the intimacy between research and creativity, between information gathering and its mobilization in structural forms, that Finnegans Wake has always asserted. The most recondite and the most proverbial forms of knowledge share a kinship; but to see that kinship materialize in the form of art is a miracle.
This wonderful edition makes the miracle visible to us; it has been waiting to happen for a long time. It is now seventy years since the wait began. A salute to the editors, Danis Rose and John O’Hanlon, who have ended the wait and given us an opportunity – created against incredible odds – to break out of our critical slumber and see this masterpiece as it should be seen, clean and radiant again.
SEAMUS DEANE
Preface
James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake represents the summit of twentieth-century literary production in the English language. This work – not least because of its fabled difficulty and the extensive period of its complex composition – requires critical editing more than any other modern novel. The available reading text is corrupt and has hardly changed from its original publication in 1939. Furthermore, the book as book has never been typographically reset so that, page by page, its physical appearance has remained static, allowing its familiarity to seep into the very words themselves, diminishing the impact of their radical beauty. The present edition rectifies this by offering a fully restored and emended reading text of Finnegans Wake in a typographical setting that has been thoroughly overhauled and redesigned. It is not a replacement for the 1939 edition – for the received version will always retain its historical importance – but an alternative to it.
The new reading text is restored in that it seeks to recreate and recover the text precisely as James Joyce wrote it – in notebooks, drafts, fair copies, typescripts and proofs – over the course of a sixteen-year period. It is emended in that – given the long passage of time and the enormous number of documents involved – absolute precision in recovery is unattainable; the desired ideal of a definitive edition is practically, if not theoretically, impossible. It can at best be approximated. The gaps in the material evidence can only be filled by what textual scholars term editorial judgment. From time to time an editor must call upon his or her knowledge and experience – of the accepted practices of scholarly editing and of the particular author and work at issue – in order to evaluate alternative readings that have differing degrees of reliability and probability. For a reading text, that is to say, for a realization of the work as a work of literary art for the general public rather than as a comprehensive analysis of the evidence suitable for scholars, decisions ultimately have to be made.
Such a deep analysis, one that has occupied the editors for more than thirty years, has nevertheless been achieved. The publication of this new reading text is an end-result of that protracted labour. The full analysis will be made available to scholars and to the interested public in the form of an electronic hypertext as soon as circumstances permit. The hypertext is described in greater detail in the afterword that closes this short introductory volume.
The new text differs from the old in about 9000 instances. This sounds grander than it is. Finnegans Wake comprises some 220,000 words, or about six times that number of characters: letters, spaces and punctuation marks. The changes vary from corrections in the spellings of individual words (yes, even in Finnegans Wake such errors occur!) to the restoration of missing conjunctions and marks of punctuation, to the realignments of phrases (when these ended up other than where Joyce intended) and to the repair of inadvertently fragmented sentences. Overwhelmingly, the changes pertain to the syntax (the flow of the words) rather than to the semantics (their individual meanings). Syntactic changes are more important than they might at first seem. Finnegans Wake has often been described as music: as such, it is music of sense as much as it is music of sound, and, like all music, it must flow unhindered to be heard.
Gentle reader, were you to ask How should I read this book? we would answer: passively, like any good book, neither too fast nor too slow. Do not pause because you cannot understand a word or words: you are not expected to understand it all. Imagine yourself a child, leaning over the banisters, listening to the grown-up banter going on below. You are learning a language: a night language. Morning will come and the clouds of unknowing will begin to dissipate.
In an enterprise as ambitious as the preparation of a critical edition of Finnegans Wake, perfection is unattainable. Errors of execution will inevitably occur. For these we apologize, yet we are confident that they represent only a tiny minority of the changes that have ensued in the reading text and for which we are responsible. In particular, the Estate of James Joyce is not responsible for any of the details of the new text, nor should it be.
This preface follows a prefatory note by Seamus Deane (novelist, poet, critic and editor of the Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing) and precedes appendices by Hans Walter Gabler (editor of the Critical and Synoptic Edition of Ulysses, with which our edition of Finnegans Wake began its life as a companion project) and by David Greetham (author of the standard text-book on critical editing, Textual Scholarship: an Introduction, and founder of the Society for Textual Scholarship) and, finally, an afterword by the editors.
DANIS ROSE and JOHN O’HANLON
riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle & Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venisoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the reggin-brow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronnt
uonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumpty-tumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since devlins first loved livvy.
What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishygods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Úalu Úalu Úalu! Quáouáuh! Where the Baddelaires partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons catapelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegales and boomeringstroms. Sod’s brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms appalling. Killykillkilly: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetabsolvers! What true feeling for their’s hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but (O my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of soft advertisement! But waz iz? Is eut? Ere were sewers? The oaks of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where ashes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.
Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen’s maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofarback for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely stuck his tete in a tub for to watsch the futures of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of Moses, the very water was eviperated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edifices in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your partinher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth, he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin ’twas born his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating from next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitectitiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop and with larrons o’toolers clittering up and tombles a’buckets clottering down.
Of the first was he to bare arms and a name: Wassaily Booslaeugh of Riesengeborg. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant, argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutchum, fessed, with archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you’re going to be Mister Finnagain! Come-day morm and, O, you’re vine! Sendday’s eve and, ah, you’re vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you’re going to be fined again!
What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thuddersday this municipal sin business? Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the thunder of his arafatas but we hear also through successive ages that shebby choruysh of unkalified muzzlehimissilehims that would blackguardise the whitestone ever hurtleturtled out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search for righteousness, O Sustainer, what time we rise and when we take up to toothpick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and at the fading of the stars! For a nod to the nabir is better than a wink to the wabsanti. Otherways wesways like that provost scoffing bedoueen the jebel and the jypsian sea. Cropherb the crunchbracken shall decide. Then we’ll know if the feast is a flyday. She has a gift of seek on site and she all-casually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed! It may half been a missfired brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it (there extand by now one thousand and one stories, all told, of the same). But so sore did abe ite ivvy’s holired abbles (what with the wallhall’s horrors of rollsrights, carhacks, stone-engens, kisstvanes, tramtrees, fargobawlers, autokinotons, hippohobbilies, streetfleets, tournintaxes, megaphoggs, circuses and wardsmoats and basilikerks and aeropagods and the hoyse and the jollybrool and the peeler in the coat and the mecklenburk bitch bite at his ear and the merlinburrow burrocks and his fore old porecourts, the bore the more, and his blightblack workingstacks at twelvepins a dozen and the noobibuses sleighding along Safetyfirst Street and the derryjellybies snooping around Tell-No-Tailors’ Corner and the fumes and the hopes and the strupithump of his ville’s indigenous romekeepers, homesweepers, domecreepers, thurum and thurum in fancymud murumd and all the uproor from all the aufroofs, a roof for may and a reef for hugh butt under his bridge suits tony) wan warning Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. There was a wall of course in erection. Dimb! He stottered from the latter. Damb! He was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see.
Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie, of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain’s chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And all gianed in with the shoutmost shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhinnigan’s extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more kankan keening. Belling him up and felling him down. He’s stiff but he’s steady, is Priam Olim! ’Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E’er-awhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head. Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!
Hurrah, there is but young glebe for the owl globe wheels in view which is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being so on the flounder of his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee peep, see, at Hom, well, see peegee ought he ought, platterplate 
. Hum! From Shopalist to Bailywick or from ashtun to baronoath or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the foot of the bill to ireglint’s eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a horn!) from fjord to fjell his baywinds’ oboboes shall wail him rock-bound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvylong night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a teary turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gif, a gross if, we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Finfoefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpantry’s Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U’Dunnell’s foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Agapemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal’s dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and goodridhirring.
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined, aslumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on? Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyeclosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight, arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoors! Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the magazine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sister-in-shawl. While over against this belles’ alliance beyind Ill Sixty (ollollowed ill!), bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tararabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hockums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view is enjoyable of our mounding’s mass, now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful waterloose country and they two quitewhite villagettes who hear show of themselves so gigglesome minxt the follyages, the prettilees! Penetrators are permitted into the museomound free. Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk. Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseyprams to sate the sort of their butt. For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the Mistress Kathe. Tip.
This the way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in! Now yiz are in the Willingdone Museyroom. This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch. Tip. This is the flag of the Prooshious, the Cap and Soracer. This is the bullet that byng the flag of the Prooshious. This is the ffrinch that fire on the Bull that bang the flag of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up with your pike and fork! Tip. (Bullsfoot! Fine!) This is the triplewon hat of Lipoleum. Tip. Lipoleumhat. This is the Willingdone on his same white harse, the Cokenhape. This is the big Sraughter Willingdone, grand and magentic, in his goldtin spurs and his ironed dux and his quarterbrass woodyshoes and his magnate’s gharters and his bangkok’s best and goliar’s goloshes and his pulluponeasyan wartrews. This is his big wide harse. Tip. This is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch. This is an inimyskilling inglis, this is a scotcher grey, this is a davy, stooping. This is the bog lipoleum mordering the lipoleum beg. A Gallawghurs argaumunt. This is the petty lipoleum boy that was nayther bag nor bug. Assaye, assaye! Touchole FitzTuomush. Dirty MacDyke. And Hairy O’Hurry. All of them arminus-varminus. This is Delian alps. This is Mont Tivel, this is Mont Tipsey, this is the grand Mons Injun. This is the crimealine of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three lipoleums. This is the jinnies with their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade’s book of stralegy while making their war undisides the Willingdone. The jinnies is a cooin her hand and the jinnies is a ravin her hair and the Willingdone git the band up. This is big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker obscides on the flanks of the jinnies. Sexcaliber hrosspower. Tip. This is me Belchum sneaking his phillippy out of his most toocisive bottle of Tilsiter. This is the libel on the battle. Awful Grimmest Sunshat Cromwelly, Looted. This is the jinnies’ hastings dispatch for to irrigate the Willingdone. Dispatch in thin red lines across the shortfront of me Belchum. Yaw, yaw, yaw! Leaper Orthor. Fear siecken! Fieldgaze thy tiny frow. Hugacting. Nap. That was the tictacs of the jinnies for to fontannoy the Willingdone. Shee, shee, shee! The jinnies is jillous agincourting all the lipoleums. And the lipoleums is gonn boycotton crezy onto the one Willingdone. And the Willingdone git the band up. This is bode Belchum, bonnet to busby, breaking his secred word with a ball up his ear to the Willingdone. This is the Willingdone’s hurold dispitchback. Dispitch desployed on the regions rare of me Belchum. Salamangral! Ayi, ayi, ayi! Cherry jinnies. Figtreeyou! Damn fairy ann. Voutre. Willingdone. That was the first joke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee! This is me Belchum in his twelvemile cowchooks, weet, tweet and stampforth foremost, footing the camp for the jinnies. Drinkasip, drankasup, for he’d as sooner buy a guinness than he’d stale store stout. This is Rooshious balls. This is a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Canon Futter with the popynose after his hundred days’ indulgence. This is the blessed. Tarra’s widdars! This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the solphereens in actiom, this is their mobbily, this is panickburns. Almeidagad! Arthiz tooloose! This is Willingdone cry. Brum! Brum! Cumbrum! This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Ghoat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies rinning away to their ousterlists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip and a trip trippy trip so airy. For their heart’s right there. Tip. This is me Belchum’s tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy-key-po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies. Gambariste della porca! Dalaveras fimmieras! This is the pettiest of the lipoleums, Toffeethief, that spy on the same Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooleyboy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddlefilth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch to the cursigan Shimar Shin. Basucker youstead! This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip. (Bullseye! Game!) How Copenhagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out!
Phew!
What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts! We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of Jig-a-Lanthorn! It’s a candlelitten houthse of a month and one windies. Downadown, High Downadown. And nummered quaintlymine. And such reasonable weather too! The wagrant wind’z awalt’z around the piltdowns and on every blasted knollyrock (if you can spot fifty I spy four more) there’s that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipea-little, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardfields! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs. The three of crows have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer: Wail, ’tis well! She nivver comes out when Thon’s on shower or when Thon’s flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon’s blowing toomcracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindmerollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody’s bird, a peri potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewees and powwows in beggy-baggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts’ huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it’s the armitides toonigh, militopucos, and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers and there’s to be a gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing the day we sallybright. She’s burrowed the coacher’s headlight the better to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go into her nab-sack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and flasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloostaned breeks in em and boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and fodder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of belles, and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sun saw (that’s cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives’ end. Slain.
How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly forebidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheticals so as will make us all lordyheirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all plores for us (her birth is uncontrollable!), with a naperon made to mask and her sabboes hikkikking arias (so sair! so solly!), if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou! Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture) for in the byways of high improvidence that’s what makes lifework leaving and the world’s a cell for citters to cit in. Let young wimman run away with the story and let young min talk smooth behind the butteler’s back. She knows her knight’s duty while Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin? says he. Did I what? with a grin says she. And we all like a marriedann because she is mercenary. Though the length of the land lies under liquidation (floote!) and there’s nare a hairbrow nor an eyebrusch on this glaubrous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she’ll loan a vesta and hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she’ll do all a turf-woman can to piff the business on. Paff. To puff the blaziness on. Poffpoff. And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again in the beardsboosoloom of all our grand remonstrancers there’ll be iggs for the brekkers come to mournhim, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere’s a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight of a hind make sure but you’re cocked by a hin.
Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy, fruting for firstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review of the two mounds, to see nothing of the himples here as at elsewhere, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines sitton aroont, scentbreeched and somepotreek, in their swishawish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton’s Folly at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stippup, mickos! Make strake for minnas! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins off Corkhill or the bergamoors of Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the countrybossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf ’s on the rise and Ivor’s on the lift and Sitric’s place’s between them. But all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life’s robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre. Behove this sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen. Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks the scene. Fake!
So This Is Dyoublong?
Hush! Caution! Echoland!
How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you of the outwashed engravure that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall of his innkempt house. Used they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshoveller with the mujikal chocolot box, Miry Mitchel, is listening.) I say, the remains of the outworn gravemure where used to be blurried the Ptollmens of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only pretendant to be stugging at the jubalee harp from a second existed lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well known. Look for himself and see the old butte new. Dbln. W.K.O.O. Hear? By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum. ’Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic lyer! They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harps-dischord shall be theirs for ollaves.
Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile’s annals, f.t. in Dyfflinarsky ne’er sall fail til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire’s ile sall pall. And here now they are, the fear of um. Notities! Unum. (Adar.) A bulbenboss surmounted upon an elderman. Ay, ay! Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a puir owld wobban. Ah, ho! Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o’brine a’bride, to be desarted. Adear, adear! Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.) A penn no weightier nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.)
So, how idlers’ wind turning pages on pages, as innocens with anaclete play popeye antipop, the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds, annals of themselves, timing the cycles of events grand and national, bring fassilwise to pass how
1132 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets wondern upon a groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat Ublanium.
566 A.D. On Baalfire’s eve of this year after deluge a crone that hadde a wickered kish for to hale dead turves from the bog lookit under the blay of her kish as she ran for to sothisfeige her cowrieosity and be me sawl but she foun hersell sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon and small illigant brogues, so rich in sweat. Bluchy works at Hurdlesford.
[Silent]
566 A.D. At this time it fell out that a brazenlockt damsel grieved (Sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her minion was ravisht of her by the ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeaghbally.
1132 A.D. Two sons at an hour were born until a goodman and his hag. These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas. Primas was a santryman and drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse and wrote o peace a farce. Blotty words for Dublin.
Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgoe gap between antediluvious and annadominant the copyist must have fled with his scroll. The billy flood rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup worldwright from the excelsissimost empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake or the Dannaman gallous banged pan the bliddy duran. A scribicide then and there is led off under old’s code with some fine covered by six marks or ninepince in metalmen for the sake of his labour’s dross while it will be only now and again in our rear of o’er era, as an upshoot of military and civil engagements, that a gynecure was let on to the scuffold for taking that same fine sum covertly by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour’s safe.
Now after all that, farfatch’d and peregrine or duignant or clere, lift we our ears, eyes of the darkness, from the tome of Liber Lividus and (toh!) how paisibly eirenical, all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades, selfstretches afore us our fredeland’s plain! Lean neath stone pine the pastor lies with his crook; young pricket by pricket’s sister nibbleth on returned viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of ever-grey. Thus, too, for donkey’s years. Since the bouts of Hebear and Hairy-man the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun, the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown’s hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygayed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon: and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as on the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!); they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees. Men have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean kerry piggy? And the duncledames have countered with the hellish fellows: Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly? And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee! And, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truath I’m tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake. Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam. Fleppety! Flippety! Fleapow!
Hop!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles! Most mousterious! It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Meseemeth a dragonsman. He is almonthst on the kief fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan! It is evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrowbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pillory way to Hirculos Pillar. Come on, fool porterfull, hosiered women blown monk sewer? Scuse us, chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You tolkatiff scowegian? Nn. You spigotty anglease? Nnn. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear all so! ’Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.
| JUTE: |
Yutah! |
| MUTT: |
Mukk’s pleasurad. |
| JUTE: |
Are you jeff? |
| MUTT: |
Somehards. |
| JUTE: |
But you are not jeffmute? |
| MUTT: |
Noho. Only an utterer. |
| JUTE: |
Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you? |
| MUTT: |
I became a stun a stummer. |
| JUTE: |
What a hauhauhauhaudible thing to be cause! How, Mutt? |
| MUTT: |
Aput the buttle, surd. |
| JUTE: |
Whose poddle? Wherein? |
| MUTT: |
The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he. |
| JUTE: |
You that side your voise are almost inedible to me. Become a bit-skin more wiseable, as if I were you. |
| MUTT: |
Has? Has af? Hasafency? Urp Boohooru! Booru Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I rimimirim! |
| JUTE: |
One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me fore all your hasitancy cross your qualm with trinkgilt. Here have silvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good fir yew. |
| MUTT: |
Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intellible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here where the liveries, Monomark. There where the missers moony, Minnikin Passe. |
| JUTE: |
Sumply because, as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to soil here? |
| MUTT: |
Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a riverpool. |
| JUTE: |
Load allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like? |
| MUTT: |
Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d’O Flinn. |
| JUTE: |
Boiledoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly forstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a patwhot as your rutterdamrotter, onheard of and umscene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed. |
| MUTT: |
Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dun blink roundward this all-butisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee o’er the Saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of signory icefloe was from his Inn the Bygning to whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering rue. Hither, craching estuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlwords. Now are all tombed to the mound, ishges to ishges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize! |
| JUTE: |
’Stench! |
| MUTT: |
Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange, babbylone the greatgrandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv. |
| JUTE: |
’Zmorde! |
| MUTT: |
Meldundleise! By the fearse wave benoughted. Despond’s sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O’c’stle, n’wc’stle, tr’c’stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Humbeldy Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in your whisht! |
| JUTE: |
Whysht? |
| MUTT: |
The gyant Forficules with Amni the fay. |
| JUTE: |
Howe? |
| MUTT: |
Here is viceking’s graab. |
| JUTE: |
Hwaad! |
| MUTT: |
Ore you astoneaged, jute you? |
| JUTE: |
Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud! |
(Stoop), if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop) in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the some told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed and loved end left. Forsin. Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons. The meandertale, aloss and again, of our old Heidenburgh in the days when Head-in-Clouds walked the earth. In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality. But with a rush out of his navel reaching the reredos of Ramasbatham. A terricolous vivelyon-view this; queer and, it continues to be, quakky. A hatch, a celt, an earshare the pourquose of which was to cassay the earthcrust at all of hours, furrowards, bagawards, like yoxen at the turnpath. Here say figurines billycoose arming and mounting. Mounting and arming bellicose figurines see here. Futhorc, this little effingee is for a firefing called a flintforfall. Face at the eased! O, I fay! 
ace at the waist! Ho, you fie! Upwap and dump em, 
ace to 
ace! When a part so ptee does duty for the holos we soon grow to use of an allforabit. Here (please to stoop) are selveran cued peteet peas of quite a pecuniar interest inaslittle as they are the pellets that make the tomtummy’s pay roll. Right rank ragnar rocks and with these rox orangotangos rangled rough and rightgorong. Wisha, wisha, whydidtha? Thik is for thorn that’s thuck in its thoil like thumfool’s thraitor thrust for vengeance. What a mnice old mness it all mnakes! A middenhide hoard of abjects! Olives, beets, kimmells, dollies, alfrids, beatties, cormacks and daltons. Owlets’ eegs (O stoop to please!) are here, creakish from age and all now quite epsilene, and oldwoldy wobblewers haudworth a wipe o grass. Sss! See the snake wurrums everyside! Our durlbin is sworming in sneaks. They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie, rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs, but along landed Paddy Dippingham and his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whatsthats. Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers. Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one be three, dittoh, and one before. Two nursus one make a plausible free and idim behind. Starting off with a big boaboa and threelegged calvers and ivargraine jadesses with a message in their mouths. And a hundreadfilled unleavenweight of liberorumqueue to con an we can till allhorrors eve. What a meanderthalltale to unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and auntisquattor and postproneauntisquattor! To say too us to be, every tim, mick and larry of us, sons of the sod, sons, littlesons, yea and lealittlesons, when usses not to be, every sue, siss and sally of us, dugters of Nan! Accusative ahnsire! Damadam to infinities!
True there was in nilloh’s dieybos as yet no lumpend papeer in the waste and mightmountain Penn still groaned for the micies to let flee. All was of ancientry. You gave me a boot (signs on it!) and I ate the wind. I quizzed you a quid (with for what?) and you went to the quod. But the world, mind, is, was and will be writing its own wrunes for ever, man, on all matters that fall under the ban of our infrarational senses fore the last milch camel, the heartvein throbbing between his eyebrowns, has still to moor before the tomb of his cousin charmian where his date is tethered by the palm that’s hers. But the hour, the smiting, the day of decision is not now. A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways; leave them to terracook in the slowth of the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step rubrickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in alcohoran. For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. Till Ye finally (though not yet endlike) meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies. Fillstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it, closeth thereof the. Dor.
Cry not yet! There’s many a smile to Nondum, with sytty maids per man, sir, and the park’s so dark by kindlelight. But look what you have in your handself! The movibles are scrawling in motions, marching, all of them ago, in pitpat and zingzang, for every busy eerie whig’s a bit of a torytale to tell. One’s upon a thyme and two’s behind their lettice leaf and three’s among the strubbely beds. And the chicks picked their teeths and the dombkey he begay began. You can ask your ass if he believes it. And so cuddy me only wallops have heels. That one of a wife with folty barnets. For then was the age when hoops ran high. Of a noarch and a chopwife; or of a pomme full grave and a fammy of levity; or of golden youths that wanted gelding; or of what the mischievmiss made a man do. Malmarriedad he was reversogassed by the frisque of her frasques and her prytty pyrrhique. Maye faye, she’s la gaye, this snaky woman! From that trippiery toe expectungpelick! Veil volantine, valentine eyes. She’s the very besch Winnie blows Nau on good. Flou inn, flow ann. Hohore! So it’s sure it was her not we! But lay it easy, gentle mien, we are in nearing of a norewhig. So weenybeenyveenyteeny. Comsy see! Het wis if ee newt. Lissom! Lissom! I am doing it. Hark, the corne entreats! And the larpnotes prittle.
It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when Adam was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mounty -notty man was everybully and the first leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway everybuddy else to his lovesaking eyes and when everybilly lived alove with everybiddy else and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse, laying cold hands on himself. And his two little jiminies, cousins of ours, Tristopher and Hilary, were kickaheeling their dummy on the oilcloth flure of his homerigh, castle and earthenhouse. And, be dermot, who come to the keep of his inn only the niece-of-his-in-law, the prankquean. And the prankquean pulled a rosy one and made her wit forenenst the dour. And she lit up and fireland was ablaze. And spoke she to the dour in her petty perusienne: Mark the Wans, why do I am alook alike a poss of porterpease? And that was how the skirtmisshes began. But the dour handworded her grace in dootch nossow: Shut! So her grace o’malice kidsnapped up the jiminy Tristopher and into the shandy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother warlessed after her with soft doves-gall: Stop deef stop come back to my earin stop. But she swaradid to him: Unlikelihud. And there was a brannewwail that same sabbaoth night of falling angles somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Tourlemonde and she washed the blessings of the lovespots off the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and she had her four owlers masters for to tauch him his tickles and she convorted him to the onesure all-good and he became a luderman. So then she started to rain and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother’s in a brace of samers and the jiminy with her in her pinafrond, lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his bristolry. And Jarl van Hoother had his baretholobruised heels drowned in his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with himself, and the jiminy Hilary and the dummy in their first infancy were below on the tearsheet, wringing and coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prankquean nipped a paly one and lit up again and redcocks flew flackering from the hillcombs. And she made her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am alook alike two poss of porterpease? And: Shut! says the wicked, handwording her madesty. So her madesty a’forethought set down a jiminy and took up a jiminy and all the lilipath ways to Woeman’s Land she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother bleethered atter her with a loud finegale: Stop domb stop come back with my earring stop. But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it. And there was a wild old grannewwail that altarsame laurency night of stars -hootings somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of a top into the jiminy and she had her four larksical monitrix to tauch him his tears and she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a tristian. So then she started raining, raining, and in a pair of changers, be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother’s and the Larryhill with her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of his mansionhome of another nice lace for the third charm? And Jarl van Hoother had his hurricane hips up to his pantrybox, ruminating in his holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), and the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy were belove on the watercloth, kissing and spitting, and roguing and poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and in their second infancy. And the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling. And she made her wittest in front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark the Tris, why do I am alook alike three poss of porterpease? But that was how the skirtmisshes endupped. For, like the campbells acoming with a forklance of lightning, Jarl van Hoother Boanerges himself, the old terror of the dames, came hip hop handihap out through the pikeopened arkway of his three shuttoned castles in his broad-ginger hat and his civic chollar and his allabuff hemmed and his bullbraggin soxangloves and his ladbroke breeks and his cattegut bandolair and his furframed panuncular cumbottes like a rudd yellan gruebleen orangeman in his violet indigonation, to the whole longth of the strongth of his bowman’s bill. And he clopped his rude hand to his eacy hitch and he ordurd and his thick spch spck for her to shut up shop, dappy. And the duppy shot the shutter clup. (Perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!) And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always for any girls under shurts. And that was the first peace of illiterative porthery in all the flamend floody flatuous world. How kirssy the tiler made a sweet unclose to the Narwhealian captol. Saw fore shalt thou sea. Betoun ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jiminies was to keep the peacewave and van Hoother was to git the wind up. Thus the hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis.
O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes mickelmassed bonum. Hill, rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride! Only for that these will not breethe upon Norrönesen or Irenean the secrest of their soorcelossness. Quarry silex, Homfrie Noanswa? Undy gentian festyknees, Livia Noanswa? Wolkencap is on him, frowned; audiurient, he would evesdrip, were it mouse at hand, were it dinn of bottles in the far ear. Murk, his vales are darkling. With lipth she lithpeth to him all to time of thuch on thuch and thow on thow. She he she ho she ha to la. Hairfluke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves are his buffeteers. They trompe him with their trompes: the wave of roary and the wave of hooshed and the wave of bawhawawrd and the wave of neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlistletomine. Landloughed by his neaghboormistress and perpetrified in his offsprung, sabes and suckers, the moaning pipers could tell him to his faceback, the louthly one whose loab we are devorers of, how butt for his hold halibutt, or her to her pudorpuff, the lipalip one whose libe we drink at, how biff for her tiddywink of a windfall, our breed and washer givers, there would not be a holey spier on the town nor a vestal flouting in the dock, nay, to make plein avowels, nor a yew nor an eye to play cashcash in Novo Nilbud by swamplight nor a’toole o’tall o’tall and noddy hint to the convaynience.
He dug in and dug out by the skill of his tilth for himself and all belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath his auspice for the living and he urned his dread, that dragon volant, and he made louse for us and delivered us to boll weevils amain, Unfru-chikda-uru-wukru, that mighty liberator, and begad he did, our ancestor most worshipful, till he thought of a better one in his windower’s house with that blushmantle upon him from earsend to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies wake him. And may again when the fiery bird disembers. And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said. Have you whines for my wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is a? Wake! Usqueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now, be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad. Sure, you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore, and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad. Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks’ donkey with his shoe hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. ’Twould turn you against life, so ’twould. And the weather’s that mean too! To part from Devlin is hard, as Nugent knew, to leave the clean tanglesome one lushier than its neighbour enfranchisable fields. But let your ghost have no grievance. You’re better off, sir, where you are, primesigned in the full of your dress, bloodeagle waistcoat and all, remembering your shapes and sizes, on the pillow of your babycurls, under your sycamore by the keld water where the Tory’s clay will scare the varmints, and have all you want, pouch, gloves, flask, bricket, kerchief, ring and amberulla, the whole treasure of the pyre, in the land of souls with Homin and Broin Baroke and pole ole Lonan and Nobucketnozzler and the Guinnghis Khan. And we’ll be coming here, the ombre players, to rake your gravel and bringing you presents, won’t we, fenians? And it isn’t our spittle we’ll stint you of, is it, druids? Not shabbty little imagettes, pennydirts and dodgemyeyes you buy in the soottee stores. But offerings of the field. Mieliodories that Doctor Faherty, the madison man, taught to gooden you. Poppypap’s a passport out. And honey is the holiest thing ever was, hive, comb and earwax, the food for glory (mind you keep the pot or your nectar cup may yield too light!), and some goat’s milk, sir, like the maid used to bring you. Your fame is spreading like Basilico’s ointment since the Fintan Lalors piped you overborder and there’s whole households beyond the Bothnians and they calling names after you. The menhere’s always talking of you, sitting around on the pig’s cheeks under the sacred rooftree, over the bowls of memory where every hollow holds a hallow, with a pledge till the drengs, in the Salmon House. And admiring to our supershillelagh where the palmsweat on high is the mark of your manument. All the toethpicks ever Eirenesians chewed on are chips chepped from that battery block. If you were bowed and soild and letdown itself from the oner of the load it was that paddyplanters might pack up plenty, and when you were undone in every point fore the laps of goddesses you showed our labourlasses how to free was easy. The game old Gunne, they do be saying (skull!), that was a planter for you, a spicer of them all! Begog but he was, the G.O.G! He’s duddandgunne now and we’re apter finding the sores of his sedeq, but peace to his great limbs, the buddhoch, with the last league long rest of him, while the million-candled eye of Tuskar sweeps the Moylean Main! There was never a warlord in Great Erinnes and Brettland, no, nor in all Pike County, like you, they say. No, nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king. You could fell an elmtree twelve urchins couldn’t ring round and hoist high the stone that Liam failed. Who but a Maccullaghmore the reise of our fortunes and the faunayman at the funeral to compass our cause? If you was hogglebully itself and most fiefty like you was taken waters, still what all? Where was your like to lay the cable or who was the batter could better Your Grace? Mick MacMagnus MacCawley can take you off to the pure perfection and Leatherbags Reynolds tries your shuffle and cut. But as Hopkins and Hopkins puts it, you were the rale eggynaggy and a kis to tilly up. We calls him the journeyall Buggaloffs since he went Jerusalemfaring in Arssia Manor. You had a gamier cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose of geese stubbled for All Angels’ Day. So may the priest of seven worms and scalding tayboil, Papa Vestray, come never anear you as your hair grows wheater beside the Liffey that’s in Heaven! Hep, hep, hurrah there! Hero! Seven times thereto we salute you! The whole bag of kits, falconplumes and jackboots incloted, is where you flung them that time. Your heart is in the system of the Shewolf and your crested head is in the tropic of Copricapron. Your feet are in the cloister of Virgo. Your olala is in the region of sahuls. And that’s ashore as you were born. Your shuck tick’s swell. And that there texas is tow linen. The loamsome roam to Laffayette is ended. Drop in your tracks, babe! Be not unrested! The headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith: I know thee, metherjar, I know thee, salvation boat. For we have performed upon thee, thou abramanation, who comest ever without being invoked, whose coming is unknown, all the things which the company of the precentors and of the grammarians of Christpatrick’s ordered concerning thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing. Howe of the shipmen, steep wall!
Everything’s going on the same, or so it appeals to all of us, in the old holmsted here. As popular as when Belly the First was keng and his members met in the Diet of Man. Coughings all over the sanctuary, bad scrant to me aunt Florenza. The horn for breakfast, one o’gong for lunch and dinnerchime, the same shop slop in the window, Jacob’s lettercrackers and Dr Tipple’s ViCocoa and the Eswaurds’ desippated soup beside Mother Seagull’s Syrup. Coal’s short but we’ve plenty of bog in the yard. Meat took a drop when Reilly-Parsons failed. But barley’s up again, begrained to it! The lads is attending school nessons regular, sir. Spelling beesknees with hathatansy and turning out tables by mudapplication. All for the books and never pegging smashers after Tom Bowe-Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. ’Tisraely the truth! Now isn’t it, roman pathoriks? You were the doublejoynted janitor the morning they were delivered and you’ll be a grandfer yet entirely when the ritehand seizes what the lovearm knows. Kevin’s just a doat with his cherub cheek and his little lamp and schoolbelt and bag of knicks, chalking oghres on walls and playing postman’s knock round the diggings, and if the seep were milk you could lieve his olde by his ide. But, laus sake, the devil does be in that knirps of a Jerry sometimes, the tarandtan plaidboy, making encostive inkum out of the last of his lavings and writing a blue streak over his bourseday shirt. Hetty Jane’s a Child of Mary. She’ll be coming (for they’re sure to choose her) in her white of gold with a tourch of ivy to rekindle the flame on Felix Day. And Essie Shanahan has let down her skirts. You remember Essie in Our Luna’s Convent? They called her Holly Merry her lips were so ruddy berry and Pia de Purebelle when the redminers’ riots was on about her. Were I a clerk designate to the Williamswoods menufactors I’d poster those pouters on every jamb in the town. She’s making her rep at Lanner’s twicenightly. With the tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees. Beats that cachucha flat. ’Twould dilate your heart to go.
Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and repose your honour’s lordship!
Hold him there, Ezekiel Irons, and may God strengthen you! It’s our warm spirits, boys, he’s spooring. Dimitrius O’Flagonan, cork that cure for the Clancartys! You swamped enough since Portobello to float the Pomeroy. Fetch neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther angst of Wramawitch! Here’s lumbos. Where misties swaddlum, where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O sleepy! So be yet!
I’ve an eye on queer Behan and old Kate and the butter, trust me. She’ll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcards to help to build me murial. Tippers, I’ll trip your traps! Assure a sure there! And we put on your clock again, sir, for you. Did or didn’t we, sharestutterers? So you won’t be up a stump entirely. Nor shed your remnants. The sternwheel’s crawling strong. I seen your missus in the hall. Like queenoveire. Arrah, it’s herself that’s fine, sure, don’t be talking! Shirksends? You storyan Harry chap longa me Harry chap storyan grass woman plelthy good trout. Shakes-hands. Dibble a hayfork’s wrong with her only her lex’s salig. Bald Tib does be yawning and smirking cats’ hours on the Pollockses’ woolly round tabouret cushion watching her sewing a dream together, the tailor’s daughter, stitch to her last. Or, while waiting for winter to fire the enchantment, decoying more nesters to fall down the flue. It’s an allavalonche that blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the meaning, best of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Findrinny Fair. What with reins here and ribbons there all your hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at sea or swooped through the blue like Airwinger’s bride. She was flirt-some then and she’s fluttersome yet. She can second a song and adores a scandal when the last post’s gone by. Fond of a concertina and pairs passing when she’s had her forty winks for supper after kanekannan and abbely dimpling and is in her merlin chair assotted, reading her Evening World. To see is it smarts, full lengths or swaggers. News, news, all the news. Death, a leopard, kills fellah in Fez. Angry scenes at Stormount. Stilla Star with her lucky in goingaways. Opportunity fair with the China floods and we hear these rosy rumours. Ding Tams he noise about all same Harry chap. She’s seeking her way, a chickle a chuckle, in and out of their serial story, Les Loves of Selskar et Pervenche, freely adopted to The Novvergin’s Viv. There’ll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear. Zee End. But that’s a world of ways away. Till track laws time. No silver ash or switches for that one! While flattering candles flare. Anna Stacey’s how are you! Worther waist in the noblest, says Adams and Sons, the would -pay actionneers. Her hair’s as brown as ever it was. And wivvy and wavy. Repose you now! Finn no more!
For, be that samesake sibsubstitute of a hooky salmon, there’s already a big rody ram lad at random on the premises of his haunt of the hungred bordles, as it is told me, Shop Illicit, flourishing like a lordmajor or a buaboabaybohm, litting flop a deadlop (aloose!) to lea but lifting a benbranch a yardalong (ivoeh!) on the breezy side (for showm!), the height of Brewster’s chimpney and as broad below as Phineas Barnum, humphing his share of the showthers is senken on him he’s such a granfallar, with a pocked wife in pickle that’s a flyfire and three lice nittle clinkers, two twilling bugs and one midgit pucelle. And aither he cursed and recursed and was everseen doing what your fourfootlers saw or he was neverdone seeing what you coolpigeons know, weep the clouds aboon for smiledown witnesses, and that’ll do now about the fairyhees and the frailyshees. Though Eseb fibble it to the zephiroth and Artsa zoom it round her heavens for ever. Creator, he has created for his creatured ones a creation. White monothoist? Red theatrocrat? And all the pinkprophets cohalething? Very much so! But however ’twas ’tis sure for one thing, what Sherif Toragh voucherfors and Mapqiq makes put out, that the man, Humme the Cheapner, Esc, overseen as we thought him, yet a worthy of the naym, came at this timecoloured place where we live in our paroqial fermament one tide on another with a bumrush in a hull of a wherry, the twin turbane dhow The Bey for Dybbling, this archipelago’s first visiting schooner, with a wicklowpattern waxenwench at her prow for a figurehead, the deadsea dugong updipdripping from his depths, and has been repreaching himself like a fishmummer these sixtyten years ever since, his shebi by his shide, adi and aid, growing hoarish under his turban and changing cane sugar into sethulose starch (Tuttut’s cess to him!), as also that, batin the bulkihood he bloats about when innebbiated, our old offender was humile, commune and ensectuous from his nature, which you may gauge after the bynames was put under him in lashons of languages (honnein suit and praisers be!), and, totalisating him, even hamissim of himashim, that he, sober serious, he is ee and no counter he who will be ultimendly respunchable for the hubbub caused in Edenborough.
Now (to forebare for ever solittle of Iris Frees and Lili O’Rangans), concerning the genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimpden’s occupational agnomen (we are back in the presurnames prodromarith period, of course, just when enos chalked halltraps) and discarding once for all those theories from older sources which would link him back with such pivotal ancestors as the Glues, the Gravys, the Northeasts, the Ankers and the Earwickers of Sidlesham in the Hundred of Manhood or proclaim him offsprout of vikings who had founded wapentake and seddled hem in Herrick or Eric, the best authenticated version, the Dumlat, read the Reading of Hofed-ben-Edar, has it that it was this way. We are told how in the beginning it came to pass that, like cabbaging Cincinnatus, the grand old gardener was saving daylight under his giant redwood one sultry sabbath afternoon, Hag Chivychas Eve, in prefall paradise peace by following his plough for rootles in the rere garden of mobhouse, ye olde marine hotel, when royalty was announced by runner to have been pleased to have halted itself on the highroad along which a leisureloving dogfox had cast followed, also at walking pace, by a lady pack of cocker spaniels. Forgetful of all save his vassal’s plain fealty to the ethnarch, Humphrey or Harold stayed not to yoke or saddle but stumbled out hotface as he was (his sweatful bandanna loose from his pocketcoat), hasting to the forecourts of his public in topee, surcingle, solascarf and plaid, plus fours, puttees and bulldog boots ruddled cinnabar with flagrant marl, jingling his turnpike keys and bearing aloft amid the fixed pikes of the hunting party a high perch atop of which a flowerpot was fixed earthside hoist with care. On his majesty, who was, or often feigned to be, noticeably longsighted from green youth and had been meaning to inquire what, in effect, had caused yon causeway to be thus potholed, asking, substitutionally, to be put wise as to whether paternoster and silver doctors were not now more fancied bait for lobstertrapping, honest blunt Haromphreyld answered in no uncertain tones very similarly with a fearless forehead: Naw, yer maggers, aw war jist a cotchin on thon bluggy earwuggers. Our sailor king, who was draining a gugglet of obvious adamale, gift both and gorban, upon this, ceasing to swallow, smiled most heartily beneath his walrus moustaches and, indulging that none too genial humour which William the Conk on the spindle side had inherited with the hereditary whitelock and some shortfingeredness from his greataunt Sophy, turned towards two of his retinue of gallowglasses, Michael, etheling lord of Leix and Offaly, and the jubilee mayor of Drogheda, Elcock, the two scatterguns being Michael M. Manning, protosyndic of Waterford, and an Italian excellency named Giubilei according to a later version cited by the learned scholarch Canavan of Canmakenoise (in either case a triptychal religious family symbolising puritas of doctrina, business per usuals and the purchypatch of hamlock where the paddish preties grow), and remarked dilsydulsily: Holybones of Saint Hubert, how our red brother of Pouringrainia would audibly fume did he know that we have for surtrusty bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a pikebailer no seldomer than an earwigger! For he kinned Jom Pill with his court so gray and his haunts in his house in the mourning. (One still hears that pebblecrusted laughter, japijap cheerycherrily, among the roadside tree the lady Holmpatrick planted and still one feels the amossive silence of the cladstone allegibelling: Ive mies outs ide Bourn.)
Comes the question: are these the facts of his nominigentilisation as recorded and accolated in both or either of the collateral andrewpaulmurphyc narratives? Are those their fata which we read in sibylline between the fas and its nefas? No dung on the road? And shall Nohomiah be our place like? Yea, Mulachy our kingable khan? We shall perhaps not so soon see. Pinck poncks that bail for seeks alicence where cumsceptres with scentaurs stay. Bear in mind, son of Hokmah, if so be you have metheg in your midness, this man is mountain and unto changeth doth one ascend. Heave we aside the fallacy, as punical as finikin, that it was not the king kingself but his inseparable sisters, uncontrollable nighttalkers, Skertsiraizde with Donyahzade, who afterwards, when the robbarees shot up the socialights, came down into the world as amusers and were staged by Madame Sudlow as Rosa and Lily Miskinguette in the pantalime that two pitts paythronosed, Meliodorus and Galathee. The great fact emerges that after that historic date all holographs so far exhumed initialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only and long and always good Dook Umphrey for the hungerlean spalpeens of Lucalizod and Chimbers to his cronies it was equally certainly a pleasant turn of the populace which gave him as sense of those normative letters the nickname Here Comes Everybody.
An imposing everybody he always indeed looked, constantly the same as and equal to himself and magnificently well worthy of any and all such universalisation, every time he continually surveyed, amid vociferatings from in front of Accept these few nutties! and Take off that white hat!, relieved with Stop his Grog and Put It in the Log and Loots in his (bassvoco) Boots, from good start to happy finish the truly catholic assemblage gathered together in that king’s treat house of satin alustrelike above floats and footlights from their assbawlveldts and oxgangs unanimously to clapplaud (the inspiration of his lifetime and the hits of their careers) Mr Wallenstein Washington Semperkelly’s immergreen tourers in a command performance by special request with the courteous permission for pious purposes the homedromed and enliventh performance of the problem passion play of the millentury, running strong since creation, A Royal Divorce, then near the approach towards the summit of its climax, with ambitious interval band selections from The Bo’ Girl and The Lily on all horserie show command nights from his viceregal booth (his bossaloner is ceilinged there a cuckoospit less eminent than the redritualhoods of Maccabe and Cullen) where, a veritable Napoleon the Nth, our worldstage’s practical jokepiece and retired cecelticocommediant in his own wise, this folksforefather all of the time sat, having the entirety of his house about him, with the invariable broad-stretched kerchief cooling his whole neck, nape and shoulderblades and in a wardrobepanelled tuxedo completely thrown back from a shirt well entitled a swallowall, on every point far outstarching the laundered clawhammers and marbletopped highboys of the pit stalls and early amphitheatre. The piece was this: look at the lamps. The cast was thus: see under the clock. Ladies’ circle: cloaks may be left. Pit, prommer and parterre: standing room only. Habituels conspicuously emergent.
A baser meaning has been read into these characters the literal sense of which decency can safely scarcely hint. It has been blurtingly bruited by certain wisecrackers (the stinks of Mohorat are in the nightplots of the morning) that he suffered from a vile disease. Athma, unmanner them! To such a suggestion the one selfrespecting answer is to affirm that there are certain statements which ought not to be and, one should like to hope to be able to add, ought not to be allowed to be made. Nor have his detractors, who, an imperfectly warmblooded race, apparently conceive him as a great white caterpillar capable of any and every enormity in the calendar recorded to the discredit of the Juke and Kellikek families, mended their case by insinuating that, alternatively, he lay at one time under the ludicrous imputation of annoying Welsh fusiliers in the people’s park. Hay, hay, hay! Hoq, hoq, hoq! Faun and Flora on the lea love that little old joq. To anyone who knew and loved the Christlikeness of the big cleanminded giant H. C. Earwicker throughout his excellency long vicefreegal existence the mere suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trouble in a boobytrap rings particularly preposterous. Truth, beard on prophet, compels one to add that there is said to have been quondam (pfuit! pfuit!) some case of the kind implicating, it is interdum believed, a quidam (if he did not exist it would be necessary quoniam to invent him) abhout that time stambuling haround Dumbaling in leaky sneakers with his tarrk record who has remained topantically anonymos but (let us hue him Abdullah Gamellaxarksky) was, it is stated, posted at Mallon’s at the instance of watch warriors of the vigilance committee and years afterwards, cries one even greater, Ibid, a commender of the frightful, seemingly, unto such as were sulhan sated, tropped head (pfiat! pfiat!) waiting his first of the month froods turn for thatt chopp pah kabbakks alicubi on the old house for the chargehard, Roche Haddocks off Hawkins Street. Lowe, you blondy liar, Gob scene you in the narked place and she what’s edith at home defileth these boyles! There’s a cabful of bash indeed in the homeur of that meal. Slander, let it lie its flattest, has never been able to convict our good and great and no ordinary Southron Earwicker, that homogenius man, as a pious author calls him, of any graver impropriety than that, advanced by some woodwards or regarders who did not dare deny, the shomers, that they had, chin Ted, chin Tam, chinchin Taffyd, that day consumed their soul of the corn, of having behaved with an ongentilmensky immodus opposite a pair of dainty maidservants in the swoolth of the rushy hollow whither, or so the two gown and pinners pleaded, Dame Nature in all innocency had spontaneously and about the same hour of the eventide sent them both but whose published combinations of silkinlaine testimonies are, where not dubiously pure, visibly divergent, as warpt from wept, on minor points touching the intimate nature of this, a first offence in vert or venison which was admittedly an incautious but, at its wildest, a partial exposure with such attenuating circumstances (garthen gaddeth green hwere sokeman hrideth girling) as an abnormal Saint Swithin’s summer and (Jesses Rosasharon!) a ripe occasion to provoke it.
We can’t do without them. Wives, rush to the restgowns! Ofman will toman while led is the lol. Zessid’s our kadem, villapleach, vollapluck. Fikup, for flesh Nellij, el mundo nov, ole flen! If she’s a lilyth, pull early! Pauline, allow! And malers abushed, keep black, keep black!
Guiltless of much laid to him he was clearly for so once at least he clearly and with still a trace of his erstwhile burr expressed himself as being and hence it has been received of us that it is true. They tell the story (an amalgam as absorbing as calzium chloereydes and hydrophobe sponges could make it) how one happy-go-gusty Ides-of-April morning (the anniversary, as it fell out, of his first assumption of his mirthday suit and rights in appurtenance to the confusioning of human races) ages and ages after the alleged misdemeanour when the tried friend of all creation, tiger-wood roadstaff to his stay, was billowing across the wide expanse of our greatest park in his caoutchouc kepi and great belt and hideinsacks and his blaufunx fustian and ironsides jackboots and Bhagafat gaiters and his rubberised inverness he MET a cad with a pipe. The latter, the luciferant not the oriuolate, who (the odds are) is still berting dagobout in the same straw bamer, carrying his overgoat under his schulder, sheepside out, so as to look more like a coumfry gentleman and signing the pledge as gaily as you please, hardily accosted him with: Guinness thaw tool in jew me dinner ouzel fin? (a nice how-do-you-do in Poolblack at the time as some of our olddaisers may still tremblingly recall) to ask could he tell him how much a’clock it was that the clock struck had he any idea by o’cock’s luck as his watch was bradys. Hesitency was clearly to be evitated. Execration as cleverly to be honnisoid. The Earwicker of that spurring instant, realising on fundamental liberal principles the supreme importance, nexally and noxally, of physical life (the nearest help relay being pingping K.O. Senpatrick’s Day and the fenian rising) and unwishful as he felt of being hurled into eternity right then, plugged by a softnosed bullet from the sap, halted, quick on the draw, and, replyin that he was feelin tipstaff, cue, prodooced from his gunpocket his Jurgensen’s shrapnel waterbury, ours by communionism, his by usucapture, but, on the same stroke, hearing above the skirling of harsh Mother East old Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over the wastes to south, at work upon the ten ton tonuant thunderous tenor toller in the speckled church (Couhounin’s call!), told the inquiring kidder, by Johova, it was twelve of em sidereal and tankard time, adding buttall, as he bended deeply, with smoked sardinish breath, to give more pondus to the copperstick he presented (though this seems in some cumfusium with the chapstuck ginger which, as being of sours, acids, salts, sweets and bitters compompounded, we know him to have used as chawchaw for bone, muscle, blood, flesh and vimvitals), that whereas the hakusay accusation againstm had been made, what was well known in high quarters, as was stood stated in Morganspost, by a creature in youman form who was quite beneath parr and several degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake. In greater support of his word (it, quaint anticipation of a famous phrase, has been reconstricted out of oral style into the verbal for all time with ritual rhythmics, in quiritary quietude, and toosammenstucked from successive accounts by Noah Webster in the redaction known as the Sayings Attributive of H.C. Earwicker, prize one schillings, postlots free) the flaxen Gygas tapped his chronometrum drumdrum and, now standing full erect above the ambijacent floodplain, scene of its happenence, with one Berlin gauntlet chopstuck in the hough of his ellboge (by ancientest signlore his gesture meaning: 
!) pointed at an angle of thirtytwo degrees towards his duc de Fer’s overgrown milestone as the fellow to his gage and after a readypresent pause averred with solemn emotion’s fire: Shsh shake, co-comeraid! Me only, them five ones, he is equal combat. I have won straight. Hence my no-nationwide hotel and creamery establishments which for the honours of our mewmew mutual daughters, credit me, I am woowoo willing to take my stand, sir, upon the monument, that sign of our ruru redemption, any hygienic day to this hour and to make my hoath to my dear sinnfinners, even if I get life for it, upon the Open Bible and befu before the Great Taskmaster’s eye (I lift my hat!) and in the Presence of the Deity Itself andwell of Bishop and Mrs Michan of High Church of England as of all such of said my immediate withdwellers and of every living sohole in every corner wheresoever of this globe in general which useth of my British to my backbone tongue and commutative justice that there is not one tittle of truth, allow me to tell you, in that purest of fibfib fabrications.
Gaping Gill, swift to mate errthors, stern to checkself, diagnosing through his eustacetube that it was to make with a markedly postpuberal hyperpituitary type of Heidelbergmannleich cavern ethics, lufted his slopingforward, bad Sweatagore good murrough and dublnotch on to it as he was greedly obliged, and like a sensible ham, with infinite tact in the delicate situation seen the touchy nature of its perilous theme, thanked um for guilders received and the time of day (not a little token abock all the same that that was owl the God’s clock it was) and, upon humble duty to greet his Tyskminister and he shall gildthegap Gaper and thee his a mouldy voids, went about his business, whoever it was, saluting corpses, as a metter of corse (one could hound him out had one hart to, for the monticules of scalp and dandruff droppings blaze his trail), accompanied by his trusty snarler and his permanent reflection, verbigracious: I have met with you, bird, too late, or if not, too worm and early: and erebusqued with tag for ildiot in his secondmouth language as many of the bigtimer’s verbaten words which he could balbly call to memory that same kveldeve, ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea, when suppertide and souvenir to Charlatan Mall jointly kem gently and along the quiet darkenings of Grand and Royal, ff, flitmansfluh, and, kk, ’t crept i’ hedge whenas to many a softtongue’s pawkytalk mude unswer u sufter poghyyogh, Arvanda always aquiassent, while, studying castelles in the blowne and studding cowshots over the noran, he spat in careful convertedness a musaic dispensation about his hearthstone, if you pleases (Irish saliva, mawshe dho hole, but would a respectable prominently connected fellow of Iro-European ascendances with welldressed ideas who knew the correct thing such as Mr Shallwesigh or Mr Shallwelaugh expectorate after such a callous fashion, no, thank yous! when he had his belcher spuckertuck in his pucket, pthuck?), musefed with his thockits after having supped of the dish sot and pottage which he snobbishly dabbed Peach Bombay (it is rawly only Lukanpukan pilzenpie which she knows which senaffed and pibered him), a supreme of excelling peas balled under minnshogue’s milk into whitemalt winesour, a proviand the littlebilker hoarsely relished, chaff it, in the snevel season, being as fain o’t as your rat wi’ fennel; and on this celebrating occasion of the happy escape, for a crowning of pot valiance, his regional platter, benjamin of bouillis, with a spolish olive to middlepoint its zaynith, was marrying itself (porkograso!) very deluxiously with a bottle of Phenice-Bruerie ’98, followed for second nuptials by a Piessporter, Grand Cru, of both of which cherished tablelights (though humble the bounquet ’tis a leaman’s farewell) he obdurately sniffed the cobwebcrusted corks.
Our cad’s bit of strife (knee Bareniece Maxwelton) with a quick ear for spittoons (as the aftertale hath it) glaned up as usual with dumbestic husbandry (no persicks and armelians for thee, Pomeranzia!) but, slipping the clav in her claw, broke of the matter among a hundred and eleven others in her usual curtsey (how faint these first vhespers womanly are, a secret pispigliando, amad the lavurdy den of their manfolken!) the next night nudge one as was Hegesippus over o hup a’ chee, her eys dry and small and speech thicklish because he appeared a funny colour like he couldn’t stood they old hens no longer, to her particular reverend, the director, whom she had been meaning in her mind primarily to speak with (hosch, intra! jist a timblespoon!), trusting, between cuppled lips and annie laurie promises (mighshe never have Esnekerry pudden come Annanov for her pecklapitschens!), that the gossiple so delivered in his epistolear, buried teatoastally in their Irish stew, would slip no further than his jesuit’s cloth, yet (in vinars venitas! volatiles valetotum!) it was this overspoiled priest, Mr Browne, disguised as a vicentian, who, when seized of the facts, was overheard, in his secondary personality as a Nolan, and undereared, poul soul, by accident—if, that is, the incident was an accident for here the ruah of Ecclectiastes of Hippo outpuffs the writress of Havvah-ban-Annah—to pianissime a slightly varied version of Crookedrib’s confidentials (what Mère Aloyse said but for Jesuphine’s sake!), hands between hahands, in fealty sworn (my bravor best! my fraur!), and, to the strains of The Secret of Her Birth, hushly pierce the rubiend aurellam of one Philly Thurnston, a layteacher of rural science and orthophonethics of a nearstout figure and about the middle of his forties, during a priestly flutter for safe and sane bets at the hippic runfields of breezy Baldoyle on a date (W. W. goes through the card) easily capable of rememberance by all pickersup of events national and Dublin details, the doubles of Perkin and Paullock, peer and prole, when the classic Encourage Hackney Plate was captured by two noses in a stablecloth finish, ek and nek, some and none, evelo nevelo, from the cream colt Bold Boy Cromwell after a clever getaway by Captain Chaplain Blount’s roe hinny Saint Dalough (Drummer Coxon nondepict third) at breakneck odds, thanks to you, great little, bonny little, portey little Winny Widger! you’re all their nappies! who in his neverrip mud and purpular cap was surely leagues unlike any other phantomweight that ever toppit our timber maggies.
’Twas two pisonouse Timcoves (the wetter is pest, the renns are overt and come and the voax of the turfur is hurled on our lande) of the name of Treacle Tom, as was just out of pop following the theft of a leg of Kehoe, Donnelly and Pakenham’s Finnish pork, and his own blood and milk brother Frisky Shorty (he was, to be exquisitely punctilious about them, both shorty and frisky), a tipster come off the hulks, both of them awful poor, what was out on the bumaround for an oofbird game for a jimmy o’goblin or a small thick un as chanced, while the Seaforths was making the colleenbawl, to ear wick their own hears the passon in the motor clobber make use of his law language (Edzo, Edzo on) touchin the case of Mr Adams what was in all the sundays about it which he was rubbing noses with and having a gurgle off his own along of the butty bloke in the specs.
This Treacle Tom, to whom reference has been made, had been absent from his usual wild and woolly haunts in the land of counties capalleens for some time previous to that (he was, in fact, in the habit of frequenting common lodginghouses where he slept in a nude state, hailfellow with meth, in strange men’s cots) but on racenight, blotto after divers tots of hell fire, red biddy, bull dog, blue ruin and creeping jenny, Englandine’s choicest herbage, supplied by the Duck and Doggies, the Galopping Primrose, Brigid Brewster’s, the Cock, the Postboy’s Horn, the Little Old Man’s and, all swell that aimswell, the Cup and the Stirrup, he sought his wellwarmed leababobed in a housingroom Abide With Oneanother at Block W.W. (why didn’t he back it?), Pump Court, The Liberties, and, what with moltapuke on voltapuke, resnored alcoh alcoho alcoherently to the burden of I come, my horse delayed, nom num, the substance of the tale of the evangelical bussybozzy and the rusinurbean (the “girls” he would keep calling them for the collarette and skirt, the sunbonnet and carnation) in parts (it seemed he was before the eyots of martas or otherwales the thirds of fossilyears, he having beham with katya when lavinias had her mens lease to sea in a pumpship doodly show whereat he was looking for fight niggers with whilde roarses) oft in the chilly night (the metagonistic! the epickthalamorous!) during uneasy slumber in their hearings of a small and stonybroke cashdraper’s ex-executive, Peter Cloran (discharged), O’Mara, an ex-private secretary of no fixed abode (locally known as Mildew Lisa) who had passed several nights, funnish enough, in a doorway under the blankets of homelessness on the bunk of icelond, pillowed upon the stone of destiny colder than man’s knee or woman’s breast, and Hosty (no slouch of a name), an illstarred beachbusker who, sans rootie and sans scrapie, suspicioning as how he was setting on a twoodstool on the verge of selfabyss, most starved, with melancoholia over everything in general (night birman, you served him with natigal’s nano!), had been towhead tossing on his shakedown, devising ways and manners of means of what he loved to ifidalicence somehow or other in the nation getting a hold of some chap’s parabellum in the hope of taking a wing sociable and lighting upon a sidewheel dive somewhere off the Dullkey Downlairy and Bleakrooky tramaline where he could throw true and go and blow the sibicidal napper off himself for two bits to boldywell balditude in the peace and quitybus of a one sure shot bottle, he after having being trying all he knew with the lady’s help of Madam Grisstle for upwards of eighteen colanders to get out of Sir Patrick Dun’s, through Sir Humphrey Jervis’s and into the Saint Kevin’s bed in the Adelaida’s hosspittles (from these incurable welleslays among those uncarable wellasdays through Sant Iago by his cocklehat good Lazar deliver us!) without after having been able to jerrywangle it anysides. Lisa O’Deavis and Roche Mongan (who had so much incommon, epipsychidically, if the phrase be permitted, hostis et odor insuper petroperfractus) as an understood thing slept their sleep of the swimborne in the one sweet undulant mother of tumblerbunks with Hosty just how the shavers in the shaw, the yokels in the yoats or, well, the wasters in the wilde, and the bustling tweeny dawn-of-all-works (meed of anthems here we pant!) had not been many jiffies furbishing potlids, doorbrasses, scholars’ applecheeks and linkboys’ metals when, ashhopperminded like no fella he go make bakenbeggfuss longa white man, the rejuvenated busker (for after a goodnight’s rave and rumble and a shinkhams topmorning with his coexes he was not the same man) and his broadawake bedroom suite (our boys, as our Byron called them) were up and ashuffle from the hogshome they lovenaned The Barrel, cross Ebblinn’s chilled hamlet (their routes and restings on their then superficies curiously correspondent with those lines and puncta where our tubenny habenny metro maniplumbs below the oberflake underrails and stations at this time of riding) to the thrummings of a crewth fiddle which, cremoaning and cronauning, levey grevey, witty and wevey, appy, leppy and playable, caressed the ears of the subjects of King Saint Finnerty the Festive, who, in brick homes of their own and in their flavory fraiseberry beds, heeding hardly cry of honeyman, sweet lavender or foyneboyne salmon alive, with their priggish mouths all open for the larger appraisiation of this long-awaited Messiagh of roaratorios, were only halfpast alsweeeep, and, after a brisk pause at a pawnbroking establishment for the prothetic purpose of redeeming the songster’s truly admirable false teeth and a prolonged visit to a house of call, fizz, the Old Sots’ Hole at Cujas Place in the parish of Saint Cecily within the liberty of Ceolmore not a thousand or one national leagues, that was, by Griffith’s valuation, from the site of the statue of Primewer Glasstone setting a match to the march of a maker (last of the stewards peutêtre), where, the tale rambles along, the trio of whackfolthediddlers was joined by a further-intentions-apply-tomorrow casual and a decent sort of the hadbeen variety who had just been touching the weekly insult, phew it, and all figblabbers (who saith of noun?) had stimulants in the shape of gee and gees stood by the damn decent sort after which stag luncheon and a few ones more just to celebrate yesterday, flushed with their firestufffostered friendship, the rascals came out of the licensed premises (Browne first, the small p.s. ex-ex-executive capahand in their sad rear like a lady’s postscript: I want money. Pleasend.) wiping their laughleaking lipes on their sleeves, how the bouckaleens shout their roscan generally (seinn fion, seinn fion’s araun!), and the rhymers’ world was with reason the richer for a wouldbe ballad, to the balladeer of which the world of cumannity singing owes a tribute for having placed on the planet’s melomap his lay of the vilest bogeyer but most attractionable avatar the world has ever had to explain for.
This, more krectly, lubeen or fellow-me-lieder was first poured forth where Riau Liviau riots and Colo de Houdo humps, under the shadow of the monument of the shouldhavebeen legislator (Eleutheriodendron! Spare, woodmann, spare!) to an overflow meeting of all the nations in Lenster fullyfilling the visional area and, as a singleminded supercrowd, easily representative, what with masks, whet with faces, of all sections and cross sections (wineshop and cocoahouse poured out to brim up the broaching) of our liffeyside people (to omit mention of the mainland minority and such as had wayfared via Watling, Ernin, Icknild and Stane: in chief a halted cockney car with its quotal of Hardmuth’s hacks, a northern tory, a southern whig, an eastanglian chronicler and a landwester guardian) ranging from slips of young dublinos from Cutpurse Row having nothing better to do than walk about with their hands in their kneepants, sucking airwhackers, weedulicet, jumbobricks, side by side with truant officers, three woollen balls and poplin in search of a croust of pawn to busy professional gentlemen, a brace of palesmen with dundrearies, nooning toward Daly’s, fresh from snipehitting and mallardmissing on Rutland Heath, exchanging cold sneers, massgoing ladies from Hume Street in their chairs, the bearers baited, some wandering hamalags out of the adjacent cloverfields of Mosse’s Gardens, an oblate father from Skinner’s Alley, bricklayers, a fleming in tabinet, fumant, with spouse and dog, an aged hammersmith who had some chisellers by the hand, a bout of cudgel players, not a few sheep with the braxy, two bluecoat scholars, four broke gents out of Simpson’s on the Rocks, a portly and a pert still tassing Turkey coffee and orange shrub in Hickey’s door, Peter Pim and Paul Fry and then Elliot and, O, Atkinson, suffering hell’s delights from the blains of their annuitants’ acorns, not forgetting a deuce of dianas ridy for the hunt, a particularist prebendary pondering on the roman easter, the tonsure question and greek uniates, plunk em, a lace lappet head or two or three or four from a window, and so on down to a few good old souls who, as they were juiced after taking their pledge over at the uncle’s place, were evidently under the spell of liquor from the wake of Tarry the Tailor, a fair girl, a jolly postoboy thinking off three flagons and one, a plumodrole, a halfsir from the weaver’s almshouse who clings and clings and chatchatchat clings to her, a wholedam’s, cloudhued pittycoat as child, as curiolater, as Caoch O’Leary.
The wararrow went round, so it did (a nation wants a gaze), and the ballad, in the felibrine trancoped metre affectioned by Taiocebo in his Casudas de Poulichinello Artahut, stumpstampaded on to a slip of blancovide and headed by an excessively rough and red woodcut, privately printed at the rimepress of Delville, soon fluttered its secret on white highway and brown byway to the rose of the winds and the blew of the gaels, from green archway to gold lattice and from black hand to pink ear, village crying to village, through the five pussyfours of the united states of Scotia Picta—and he who denayes it, may his hairs be rubbed in dirt!
To the added strains (so peacifold) of his majesty the flute, that onecrooned king of inscrewments, Piggott’s purest, ciello alsoliuto, which Mr Delaney (Mr Delacey?), horn, anticipating a perfect downpour of plaudits among the rapsods, piped out of his decentsoort hat, looking still more like his purseyful namesake as men of Gaul noted, but before of to sputabout, the snowycrested curl amoist the leader’s wild and moulting hair, “Ductor” Hitchcock hoisted his fezzy fuzz at bludgeon’s height, signum to his companions of the chalice, for “the Loud Fellow, boys” and “silentium in curia!” (our maypole once more where he rose of old!) and the canto was chantied there, chorussed and christened, by the old tollgate, Saint Annona’s Street and Church.
And around the lann the rann it rann and this is the rann that Hosty made. Spoken. Boyles and Cahills, Skerretts and Pritchards, viersified and piersified, may the treeth we tale of live in stoney. Here lines the refrains of. Some vote him Vike, some mote him Mike, some dub him Llyn and Phin while others hail him Lug, Bug, Dan, Lop, Lex, Lax, Gunne or Guinn. Some apt him Arth, some bapt him Barth, Coll, Noll, Soll, Will, Well, Wall, but I parse him Persse O’Reilly else he’s called no name at all. Together. Arrah, leave it to Hosty, frosty Hosty, leave it to Hosty for he’s the mann to rhyme the rann, the rann, the rann, the king of all wranns. Have you here? (Some ha) Have we where? (Some hant) Have you hered? (Others do) Have we whered? (Others dont) It’s cumming! It’s brumming! The clip, the clop! (All cla) Glass crash. THE (klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppy
crottygraddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!)
BALLAD OF PERSSE O’REILLY
(as sung by Phoblacht)
Music by O. Gianni! Words by A. Hames¡
Ardite, arditi!
Music cue.
Sh sh sh! Sh sh sh! Sh! Sh! Sh!
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall,
(Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
Hump, helmet and all?
He was one time our king of the castle
Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip
And from Green Street he’ll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy,
(Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy.
Jail him and joy.
He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare’s milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion’s reform,
(Chorus) And religious reform,
Hideous in form.
Arrah, why, says you, couldn’t he manage it?
I’ll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
(Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
Butter his horns!
(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt on ye! Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!
Balbaccio, balbuccio!
We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chickenpox and china chambers
Universally provided by this softsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He’ll Cheat E’erawan our local lads nicknamed him
When Chimpden first took the floor
(Chorus) With his bucketshop store
Down Bargainweg, Lower.
So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we’ll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And ’tis short till Sheriff Clancy’ll be winding up his unlimited company
With the bailiff’s bom at the door,
(Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
Then he’ll bum no more.
Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The hooker of that hammerfast viking
And Gall’s curse on the day when Eblana Bay
Saw his black and tan man-o’-war,
(Chorus) Saw his man-o’-war
On the harbour bar.
Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha’pence, he bawls, Donnezmoi scampitle, wick an wipin’ fampiny
Fingal MacOscar Onesime Bargearse Boniface
Thok’s min gammelhole Norveegickes moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhole Norveegickes cod.
(Chorus) A Norwegian camelold cod.
He is, begod.
Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil ye! Up with the rann, the rhyming rann!
It was during some freshwater garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo.
(Chorus) Woohoo, what’ll she doo!
The general lost her maidenloo!
He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he’s the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
(Chorus) Messrs Billing and Coo.
Noah’s larks, good as noo.
He was joulting by Wellinton’s monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
(Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
Give him six years.
’Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won’t there be earwigs on the green?
(Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,
The largest ever you seen.
Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!
Then we’ll have a free trade Gaels’ band and mass meeting
For to sod the brave son of Scandiknavery
And we’ll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and Danes,
(Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes,
And all their remains.
And not all the king’s men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there’s no true spell in Connacht or hell
(bis) That’s able to raise a Cain.
Chest Cee! ’Sdense! Corpo di baraggio! You spoof of visibility in a freakfog, of mixed sex cases among goats, hill cat and plain mousey, Bigamy Bob and his old Shanvocht! The Blackfriars treacle plaster outrage be liddled! Therewith was released in that kingsrick of Humidia a poisoning volume of cloud barrage indeed! Yet all they who heard or redelivered are now with that family of bards and Vergobretas himself and the crowd of Caraculacticors as much no more as be they not yet now or had they then notever been. Canbe in some future we shall presently here amid those zouave players of Inkermann the mime mumming the mick and his nick miming their maggies, Hilton St Just (Mr Frank Smith), Ivanne Ste Austelle (Mr J. F. Jones), Coleman of Lucan taking four parts, a choir of the O’Daley O’Doyles doublesixing the chorus in Fenn MacCall and the Serven Feeries of Loch Neach, Galloper Tropples and Hurleyquinn, and the zitherer of the past with his merrymen all, zimzim zimzim. Of the persins sin this Eyrawyggla saga (which, thorough readable to int from and, is from tubb to buttom all falsetissues, antilibellous and nonactionable and this applies to its whole wholume) poor Osti-Fosti, described as quite a musical genius in a small way and the owner of an exceedingly niced ear, with tenorist voice to match, not alone, but a very major poet of the poorly meritary order (he began Tuonisonian but worked his passage up as far as the we-all-hang-together Animandovites), no one end is known. If they whistled him before he had curtains up they are whistling him still after his curtain’s doom’s doom. Ei fù. His husband, poor old A’Hara (Okaroff?), crestfallen by things and down at heels at the time, they squeak, accepted the (Zassnoch!) ardree’s shilling at the conclusion of the Crimean War and, having flown his wild geese, alohned in crowds to warnder on like Shuley Luney, enlisted in Tyrone’s horse, the Irish whites, and soldiered a bit with Wolsey under the assumed name of Blanco Fusilovna Bucklovitch (spurious) after which the cawer and the marble halls of Pump Court Columbarium, the home of the old seakings, looked upon each other and queth their haven evermore for it transpires that on the other side of the water it came about that on the field of Vasileff’s Cornix inauspiciously with his unit he perished, saying, This papal leafless to old chap give, rawl chawclates for mouther-in-louth. Booil. Poor old dear Paul Horan, to satisfy his literary as well as his criminal aspirations, at the suggestion thrown out by the doomster in loquacity, so says the Dublin Intelligence, was thrown into a Ridley’s for inmates in the northern counties. Under the name of Orani he may have been the utility man of the troupe capable of sustaining long parts at short notice. He was. Sordid Sam, a dour decent deblaneer, haunted always by his ham, at a word from Israfel the Summoner passed away painlessly after life’s upsomdowns one hallowe’en night, ebbrous and in the state of nature, propelled from the unwashed Behind into the unwished Beyond by footblows coulinclouted upon his oyster and atlas on behanged and behooved and behicked and behulked of his last fishandblood bedscrappers, a Northwegian and his mate of the sheawolving class. Though the last straw glimt his baring this stage thunkhard is said (the pitfallen gagged him as “Promptboxer”) to have solemenly said—as had the brief thot but fell in till his head like a bass dropt neck fust in till a bung crate (cogged!): Me drames, O Loughlins, has come through! Now let the centuple celves of my egourge, as Micholas de Cusack calls them, and of all of whose I in my hereinafter of course by recourse demission me, by the coincidance of their contraries reamalgamerge in that identity of undiscernibles where the Baxters and the Fleshmans may they cease to bidivil uns and (but at this poingt though the iron thrust of his cockspurt start might have prepared us we are wellnigh stinkpotthered by the mustardpunge in the tailend) this outandin brown candlestock melt Nolan’s into peese! Han var. Disliker as he was to druriodrama, her wife Langley, the prophet, and the decentest dozendest short of a frusker whoever stuck his spickle through his spoke, disappeared (in which toodooing he has taken all the French leaves unveilable out of Calomnequiller’s Pravities) from the sourface of this earth, that austral plain he had transmaried himself to, so entirely spoorlessly (the mother of the book with a dustwhisk tabularasing his obliterature done upon her involucrum) as to tickle the speculative to all but opine (since the Levey who might have been Langley may have really been a redivivus of paganinism or a volunteer Vousden) that the hobo (who possessed a large amount of the humoresque) had transtuled his funster’s habitat to its finsterest interrimost. Bhi she. Again, if Father Dan Browne, tea and toaster to that quaintestest of yarnspinners, is Padre Don Bruno, treu and troster to the queen of Iar-Spain, was the reverend, the sodality director, that eupeptic viceflayer, a barefaced carmelite, to whose palpitating pulpit (which of us but remembers the rarevalent and hornerable Fratomistor Nawlanmore and Brawne?) sinning society sirens (see the—Roman Catholic—presspassim) fortunately became so enthusiastically attached and was an objectionable ass who very occasionally cockaded a raffles ticket on his hat which he wore all to one side like the hangle of his pan (if Her Elegance saw him she’d have the canary!) and was semiprivately convicted of malpractices with his hot-washed tableknife (glossing over the cark in his pocket) that same snob of the dunhill, fully several yearschaums riper, encountered by the General on that redletter morning or maynoon jovesday? Were they? Fuitfuit.
When Phishlin Phil wants throws his lip ’tis pholly to be fortuneflouting and whoever’s gone to Mix Hotel by the salt say water there’s nix to nothing we can do for he’s never again to sea. It is nebuless an autodidact fact of the most commonfaced experience that the shape of the average human cloudyphiz, whereas sallow has long daze faded, frequently altered its ego with the possing of the showers. (Not original!) Whence it is a slipperish matter, given the wet and low visibility (since in this scherzarade of one’s thousand one nightinesses that sword of certainty which would indentifide the body never falls), to idendifine the individuone in scratch wig, squarecuts, stock, lavaleer, regattable oxeter, baggy pants and shufflers (he is often alluded to as Slypatrick, the llad in the llane) with already an incipience (lust!) in the direction of area baldness (one is continually flrstmeeting with odd sorts of others at all sorts of ages!) who was asked by free boardschool shirkers in drenched coats overawall, Will, Conn and Otto, to tell them overagait, Vol, Pov and Dev, that fishabed ghoatstory of the haardly creditable edventyres of the Haberdasher, the two Curchies and the three Enkelchums in their Bearskin ghoats! Girles and jongers, but he has changed alok syne Thorkill’s time! Ya, da, tra, gathery, pimp, shesses, shossafat, okodeboko, nine! Those many warts, those slummy patches, half -sinster wrinkles (what has come over the face on wholebroader 
?) and (shrine of Mount Mu save us!) the large fungopark he has grown! Drink!
Sport’s a common thing. It was the Lord’s own day for damp (to wait for a postponed regatta’s eventualising is not of Battlecock Shettledore-Juxta-Mare only) and the request for a fully armed explanation was put (in Loo of Pat) to the porty (a native of the sisterisle—Meathman or Meccan?—by his brogue, ex-race eyes, lokil calour and lucal odour which are said to have been average clownturkish—though the capelist’s voiced nasal liquids and the way he sneezed at zees haul us back to the craogs and bryns of the Silurian Ordovices—who, the lesser pilgrimage accomplished, had made pats’ and pigs’ older inselt, the southeast bluffs of the stranger stepshore, a regifugium persecutorum, hence hindquarters) as he paused at evenchime for some or so minutes (Hit the pipe, dannyboy! Time to won, barmon. I’ll take ten to win.) amid the devil’s one duldrum (Apples by her blossom window and Charlottes at her tosspanomancy his sole admirers, his only tearts in store) for a fragrend calabash during his weekend pastime of executing with Anny Oakley deadliness (the consummatory pairs of provocatives, of which remained provokingly but two, the ones he fell for, Lili and Tutu, cork em!) empties which had not very long before contained Reid’s family (you ruad that before, soaky, but all the bottles in soddemd histry will not soften your bloodathirst!) stout. Having reprimed his repeater and resiteroomed his timespiece His Revenance, with still a life or two to spare for the space of his occupancy of a world at a time, rose to his feet and there, far from Tolkaheim, in a quiet English garden (commonplace!), since known as Whiddington Wild, where the joyshots rang no more his simple intensive curolent vocality, my dearbraithers, my most dearbrathairs, as he, so is a supper as is a sipper, spake of the One and told of the Compassionate, called up before the triad of precoxious scaremakers (scoretaking: Spegulo ne helpas al malbellulo, Mi kredas ke vi estas prava, Via dote la vizago rispondas fraulino) the now to ushere mythical habiliments of Our Farfar and Arthor of our doyne.
Television kills telephony in brothers’ broil. Our eyes demand their turn. Let there be seen! And wolfbone balefires blaze the trailmost if only that Mary Nothing may burst her bibby buckshee. When they set fire then she’s got to glow so we may stand some chances of warming to what every soorkabatcha, tum or hum, would like to know. The first Humphrey’s latitudinous baver with puggaree behind (calaboose belong bigboss belong Kang the Toll), his fourinhand bow, his elbaroom surtout, the refaced unmansionables of gingerine hue, the vertebrated slate umbrella, his gruff woolselywellesly with the finndrinny knopfs and the gauntlet upon the hand which in an hour not for him solely evil had struck down the mighthe mighthavebeen D’Esterre of whom his nation seemed almost already to be about to have need. Then, stealing his thunder, but in the befitting legomena of the smaller country (probable words, possibly said, of field family gleaning), a bit duskish and flavoured with a smile, seein as ow his thoughts consisted chiefly of the cheerio, he aptly sketched for our soontobe second parents (sukand see whybe!) the touching seene. The solence of that stilling! Here one might a fin fell. Boomster rombombonant! It scenes like a landescape from Wildu Picturescu or some seem om some dimb Arras, dumb as Mum’s mutyness, this mimage of the seventyseventh kusin of Kristansen is odable to os across the wineless Ere no oedor nor mere eerie nor liss potent of suggestion than in the tales of the tingmount. (Prigged!)
And there oftafter, jauntyjogging, on an Irish visavis, insteadily with shoulder to shoulder Jehu will tell to Christianier, saint to sage, the humphriad of that fall and rise while daisy winks at her pinker sister among the tussocks and the copoll between the shafts mocks the couple on the car. And as your who may look like how on the owther side of his big belt try your tyrs and cloes your noes and paradigm maymay rererise in eren. Follow we up his whip vindicative. Thurston’s! Lo bebold! La arboro, lo petrusu. The augustan peacebetothem oaks, the monolith rising stark from the moonlit pinebarren in all fortitudinous ajaxious rowdinoisy tenuacity, the angelus hour with ditchers bent upon their farm usetensiles, the soft belling of the fallow deers (doerehmoose genuane!) advertising their milky approach as midnight was striking the hours (letate!), and how brightly the great tribune outed the sharkskin smokewallet (imitation!) from his frock, kippers, and, by Joshua, he tips un a topping swank cheroot, none of your swellish soide, quoit the reverse, and how manfally he says, pluk to pluk and lekan for lukan, he was to just pluggy well suck that brown boyo, my son, and spend a whole half hour in Havana. Sorer of the kreeksmen, would not thore be old high gothsprogue? Wherefore he met Master, he mean to say, he do, sire, bester of redpublicans, at Eagle Cock Hostel on Lorenzo Tooley Street and how he wished his Honour the bannocks of Gort and Morya and Bri Head and Puddyrick, yore Loudship, and a starchbox sitting in the pit of his St Tomach’s—a strange wish for you, my friend, and it would poleaxe your sonson’s grandson utterly though your own old sweatandswear floruerunts heaved it hoch many as the times when they were turrified be the hitz.
Chee chee cheers for Upkingbilly and crow cru cramwells Downaboo! Hup, boys, and hat him! See! Oilbeam they’re lost we’ve found rerembrandtsers: their hours to date link these heirs to morra but wowhere are those yours of Yesthersdays? Farseeingetherich and Poolaulwoman, Charachthercuss and his Ann van Vogt. D.e.e.d? Edned, ended or sleeping soundlessly? Favour with your tongues! Intendite!
Any dog’s life you list you may still hear them at it, like sixes and seventies, as eversure as Halley’s comet, ulemamen, sobranjewomen, storthingboys and dumagirls, as they pass its bleak and bronze portal of your Casaconcordia: Huru more Nee, minny frickans? Hwoorledes har Dee det? Losdoor onleft, mladies, cue! Millecientotrigintadue scudi! Tippoty, kyrie, tippoty! Cha kai rotty kai makkar, sahib? Despenseme Usted, senhor, en son succo, sabez! O thaw bron orm, A’Cothraige, thinkinthou gaily? Lick-Pa-flai-hai-pa-Pa-li-si-lang-lang! Epi alo, écou, Batiste, tuvavnr dans lptit boing coing! Ismene de bumbac e meias de portocalliu! O! O! Os pipos mios es demasiada gruarso por O piccolo pocchino! Wee fee? Ung duro! Kocshis, szabad? Mercy, and you? Gomagh, thak!
And, Cod, says he with mugger’s ears in his eyes (Would you care to know the prise of a liard? Maggis, nick your nightynovel! Mass Taverner’s at the mike again! And that bagbelly is the buck to goat it!): Meggeg, m’gay chapjappy, I call our univalse to witness, as sicker as moyliffey eggs is known by our good househalters from yorehunderts of mamooth to be which they commercially are in ahoy high British quarters (conventional!) my guesthouse and cowhaendel credits will immediately stand ohoh open as straight as that neighbouring monument’s fabrication before the hygienic gllll (this was where the reverent sabboth and bottlebreaker with firbalk forthstretched touched upon his tricoloured boater which he uplifted by its pickledhoopy (he gave Stetson one and a penny for it) whileas oleaginosity of ancestralolosis sgocciolated down the both pendencies of his mutsohito liptails (Sencapetulo, a more modestuous conciliabulite never curled a torn pocketmouth), cordially inwitin the adullescence who he was wising up to do in like manner what all did so as he was able to add) lobe before the Great Schoolmaster’s. (I tell you no story.) Smile!
The house of Atreox is fallen indeedust (Ilyam, Ilyum! Maeromor Mournomates!), averging on blight like the mundinbanks of Fennyana, but deeds bounds going arise again. Life, he himself said once (his biografiend, in fact, kills him verysoon, if yet not, after), is a wake, livit or krikit, and on the bunk of our breadwinning lies the cropse of our seedfather—a phrase which the establisher of the world by law might pretinately write across the chestfront of all manorwombanborn. The scene, refreshed, reroused, was never to be forgotten, the hen and crusader ever intermutuomergent, for later in the century one of that puisne band of factferreters (then an excivil (out of the custom huts) (retired), (hurt), (under the sixtyfives act) in a dressy black modern style and wewere shiny tan burlingtons, tam, homd and dicky, quopriquos and peajagd) rehearsed it, pippa pointing, with a dignified bow (copied!) to a namecousin of the late archdeacon F. X. Preserved Coppinger (a hot fellow in his night, may the mouther of guard have mastic on him!) in a pullwoman of our first transhibernian overground with one still sadder circumstance which is a dirkanddurk heartskewerer if ever to bring bounceye brimmers from marbled eyes. Cycloptically through the windowdisks and with eddying awes the round eyes of the rundreisers, back to back, buck to bucker, on their airish chaunting car, beheld with intouristing anterestedness the clad pursue the bare, the bare the green, the green the frore, the frore the cladagain, as their convoy wheeled encirculingly abound the gigantig’s lifetree, our fireleaved loverlucky blomsterbohm, phoenix in our woodlessness, haughty, cacuminal, erubescent (repetition!), whose roots they be asches with lustres of peins. For as often as the Archicadenus, pleacing aside his Irish Field and craving their auriculars to receptacle particulars before they got the bump at Castlebar (mat and far!), spoke of it by request, all, hearing in this new reading of the part, whereby, because of Dyas in his machina, the new garrickson’s grimacing grimaldism hypostasised by substintuation the axiomatic orerotundity of that once grand old elrington bawl, the copycus’s description of that fellow-commuter’s play upon countenants, could simply imagine themselves, in their bosom’s inmost core, as pro tem locum timesported acorss the yawning (abyss), as once they were, seasiders listening to the cockshyshooter’s evensong evocation of the doomed but always ventriloquent Agitator (no not more plangorpound the billows o’er Thounawahallya Reef!), silkhouatted, a whalrhosmightiadd, aginsst the dusk of skumring (would that fane be Saint Muezzin’s calling—holy places!—and this fez brimless as brow of faithful, toucher of the ground, did wish it were—blessed be the bones!—the ghazi, power of his sword!), his manslayer’s gunwielder protended towards that overgrown leadpencil which was soon, monomentally at least, to rise as Molyvdokondylon to, to be, to be his mausoleum (O’dan stod til steyne at meisies aye skould show pon), while ollover his exculpatory features, as Roland rung, a wee dropeen of grief about to sillonise his jouejous, the ghost of resignation diffused a spectral appealingness, as a young man’s drowm o’er the fate of his waters may gloat, similar in origin and akkurat in effect to a beam of sunshine upon a coffinplate.
Not olderwise Inn the days of the Bygning would our Traveller, remote, unfriended, from van Demon’s Land, some lazy skald or maundering pote, lift wearywilly his slowcut snobsic eyes to the semisigns of his zooteac and, lengthily lingering along flaskneck, cracketcup, downtrodden brogue, turfsod, wildbroom, cabbageblad, stockfisch, longingly learn that there at the Angel were herberged for him poteen and tea and praties and baccy and wine width woman wordth warbling: and informally quasibegin to presquesm’ile to queasithin’… (Nonsense! There was not very much windy Nous blowing at the given moment through the hat of Mr Melancholy Slow!)
But in the pragma and by laws of casuality what formal cause made a smile of that tothink? Who, under ye great bow of ’s heaven, was he to whom? O’Breen’s not his name nor the brown one his maid. Whose in thunder and weddin and soddin and order are the placewheres? Kiswasti, kisker, kither, kitnabudja? Tal the tem of the tumulum. Giv the gav of the grube. Be it cudgelplayers’ country or fishfellows’ town or leeklickers’ land or paubpanungopovengreskey. What regnans raised the rains have levelled but we hear the pointers and can gauge their compass for the melos yields the mode and the mode the manners, plicyman, plausiman, plousiman, plab. Tsin tsin tsin tsin! The forefarther folkers for a prize of two peaches with Ming, Ching and Shunny on the lie low lea. We’ll sit down on the hope of the ghouly ghost for the titheman troubleth but his hantitat hies not here. They answer from their zoans. Hear the four of them! Hark, torroar of them! I, says Armagh, and a’m proud o’ it. I, says Clonakilty, God help us! I, says Deansgrange, and say nothing. I, says Barna, and what about it? Hee haw! Before he fell hill he filled heaven: a sdream, alplapping streamlet, coyly coiled um, cool of her curls. We were but thermites then, wee, wee. Our antheap we sensed as an Hill of Allen, the Barrow for an People, one Jotnursfjaell: and it was a grummelung amung the porktroop that wonderstruck us as thunder yunder.
Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible where his adjudgers are seemingly freak threes but his judicandees plainly minus twos. Nevertheless Madam’s Toshowus waxes largely more lifeliked (entrance, one kudos; exits, free) and our notional gullery is now completely complacent, an exegious monument, aerily perennious. Oblige with your blackthorns; gamps, degrace! And there many have paused before that exposure of him by old Tom Quad, a flashback in which he sits sated, gowndabout, in clericalease habit, watching bland Sol slithe dodgsomely into the nethermore, a globule of maugdleness about to corrugitate his mild dewed cheek and the tata of a tiny victorienne, Alys, pressed by his limper looser.
Yet certes one is. Eher the following winter had overed the pages of nature’s book and till Ceadurbar-atta-Cleath became Dablena Tertia, the shadow of the huge outlander, maladik, multvult, magnoperous, had bulked at the bar of a rota of tribunals, in manor hall as in thieves’ kitchen, mid pillow talk and chithouse chat, on Marlborough Green as through Molesworth Fields, here sentenced pro tried with Jedburgh justice, there acquitted con testimony with benefit of clergy.
His Thing Mod have undone him: and his madthing has done him man. His beneficiaries are legion: they number up his years. Greatwheel Dunlop was the name was on him in the part he created: behung, all we are his bisaacles. As hollyday in his house so was he priest and king to that: ulvy came, envy saw, ivy conquered. Lou! lou! They have waved his green boughs o’er him as they have torn him limb from lamb. For his muertification and uxpiration and dumnation and annuhulation.
With schreis and grida, deprofound souspirs. Steady, sullivans! Mannequins, pause! Longtong’s breach is fallen down but Graunya’s spreed’s abroad. Ahdostay, feedailyones, and feel the Flucher’s bawls! For the total of your flout is not fit to fan his fettle, O! Have a ring and sing wohl! Chin, chin! Chin, chin! And of chorus all chimed din width the eatmost boviality. Swiping rums and beaunes and sherries and ciders and negus and citronnades too. The strongers: Oho, oho, Mester Begge, you’re about to be bagged in the bog again. Bugge. But softsies seufsighed: Eheu, for gassies! But, lo! lo! by the threnning gods, human, erring and condonable, what the statues of our kuo, who is the messchef be our kuang, ashu ashure there, the unforgettable treeshade looms up behind the jostling judgments of those, as all should owe, malrecapturable days.
Tap and pat and tapatagain (fire firstshot, Missiers the Refuseleers! Peingpeong! For saxonlootie!), three tommix, soldiers free, cockaleak and cappapee, of the Coldstream Guards were walking in (pardonnez-leur, je vous en prie, eh?) Montgomery Street. One voiced an opinion in which on either side (pardonnez!), nodding, all the Finner Camps concurred (je vous en prie, eh?). It was the first woman, they said, souped him that fatal wellesday, Lili Coninghams, by suggesting him they go in a field. Wroth mod eldfar, ruth redd stillstand, wrath wrackt wroth, confessed private Pat Marchison retro. (Terse!) Thus contenters with santoys play. One of our coming Vauxhall on-theboards who is resting for the moment (she has been callit by a noted stagey elecutioner a wastepacket Sittons) was interfeud in a waistend pewty parlour. Looking perhaps even more pewtyflushed in her cherryderry padouasoys, girdle and braces by the Halfmoon and Seven Stars, russets from the Blackamoor’s Head, amongst the climbing boys at his Eagle and Child and over the corn and hay emptors at their Black and All Black, Mrs F— A— saidaside, half in stage of whisper to her confidante glass, while recoopering her cartwheel chapot (ahat! we now know what thimbles a’baquets on lallance o’talls mean), she hoped Sid Arthar would git a Chrissman’s portrout of orange and lemonsized orchids with holleggs and ether, from the feeatre of the Innocident, as the worryld had been uncained. Then, while it is odrous comparisoning to the sprangflowers of his burstday which was a viridable goddinpotty for the reinworms and the charlattinas and all branches of climatitis, it has been such a wanderful noyth untirely, added she, with many regards to Maha’s pranjapansies. (Tart!) Prehistoric, obitered to his dictaphone an entychologist, his propenomen is a properismenon. A dustman nocknamed Sevenchurches in the employ of Messrs Ashburn, Soulpetre and Ashreborn, prairmakers, Glintalook, was asked by the sisterhood the vexed question during his middag collation of leaver and buckrom alternatively with stenk and kitteney phie in a hashhoush and, thankeaven, responsed impulsively: We have just been propogandering his nullity suit and what they took out of his ear among my own crush. All our fellows at O’Dea’s sages with Aratar Calaman he is a cemented brick, buck it all! A more nor usually sober cardriver, who was jauntingly hosing his runabout, Ginger Jane, took a strong view. Lorry hosed her as he talked and this is what he told rewritemen: Irewaker is just a plain pink joint reformee in private life but folks all have it by brehemons laws he has parliamentary honours. Eiskaffier said (Louigi’s, you know that man’s, brillant savourain): Mon foie, you wish to ave some homelette, yes, lady? Good, mein leber! Your hegg he must break himself. See, I crack, so, he sit in the poele, umbedimbt! A perspirer (over sixty) who was keeping up his tennises panted he kne ho har twa to clect infamatios but a diffpair flannels climb wall and trespassing on doorbell. After fullblown Braddon hear this fresky troterella! A railways barmaid’s view (they call her Spilltears Rue) was thus expressed to sympathisers of the Dole Line, Death Avenue, anent those objects of her pityprompted ministrance, to wet, man and his syphon: Ehim! It is ever too late to whissle when Phyllis floods her stable. It would be skarlot shame to jailahim in lockup, as was proposed to him by the Seddoms creature, what matter what merrytricks went off with his revulverher in connections with ehim being a norphan and enjoining such wicked illth, ehim! Well done, Drumcollakill, Kitty Tyrrel is proud of you! was the reply of a B.O.T. official (O blame not the board!) while the Daughters Benkletter murmured in uniswoon: Golforgilhisjurylegs! Brian Lynskey, the cub curser, was questioned at his shouting box, Bawlonabraggat, and gave a snappy comeback, when saying: Paw! Once more I’ll hellhowl! I am for caveman chase and sahara sex, burk you! Them two bitches ought to be leashed, canem! Up hog and hoar hunt! Paw! A wouldbe martyr (who is attending on Saint Asitas where he is being taught to wear bracelets), when grilled on the point, revealed the undoubted fact that the consequence would be that so long as Sankya Moondy played his mango tricks under the mystletry, with shady apsaras sheltering in his leaves’ licence and his shadowers torrifried by the potent bolts of indradiction, there would be fights all over Cuxhaven. (Tosh!) Missioner Ida Wombwell, the seventeenyearold revivalist, said concerning the coincident of interfizzing with grenadines and other respectable and disgusted peersons using the park: That perpendicular person is a brut! But a mignificent brut! “Caligula” (Mr Danl Magrath, bookmaker, wellknown to Eastrailian poorusers of the Sydney Parade Ballotin) was, as usual, antipodal with his: Striving todie, hopening tomellow. Ware Splash. Cobbler. We have meat two hourly, sang out El Caplan Buycoat, with the famous padre’s turridur’s capecast, meet too ourly, matadear! Dan Meiklejohn, precentor, of S.S. Smack and Olley’s was probiverbal with his upsiduxit: Mutatus mutandus. Dauran’s lord (“Sniffpox”) and Moirgan’s lady (“Flatterfun”) took sides and crossed and bowed to each other’s views and recrossed themselves. The dirty dubs upin their flies, went too free, echoed the dainty drabs downin their scenities, una mona. Sylvia Silence, the girl detective (Meminerva, but by now one hears turtlings all over Doveland!), when supplied with informations as to the several facets of the case in her cozydozy bachelure’s flat, quite o’erlooking John a’Dream’s mews, leaned back in her really truly easychair to query restfully through her vowelthreaded syllabelles: Have you evew thought, wepowtew, that sheew gweatness was his twagedy? Nevewtheless accowding to my considewed attitudes fow this act he should pay the full penalty, pending puwsuance, as pew Subsec. 32, Section 11, of the C.L.A. Act 1885, anything in this Act to the contwawy notwithstanding. Jarley Jilke began to silke for he couldn’t get home to Jelsey but ended with: He’s got the sack that helped him moult instench of his gladsome rags. Meagher, a naval rating, seated on one of the granite cromlech setts of our new fishshambles for the usual aireating after the ever popular act, with whom were Questa and Puella, piquante and quoite (this had a cold in her brain while that felt a sink in her summock, wit’s wat, wot’s wet), was encouraged, although nearvanashed himself, by one of his co-affianced to get your breath, Walt, and gobbit, and, when then chidden by her fastra sastra to saddle up your pance, Naville, thus co-replied to her other’s thankskissing: I lay my two fingerbuttons, fiansee Meagher (he speaks!), he was to blame about your two velvetthighs up Horniman’s Hill—as hook and eye blame him or any other piscman?—but I also think, Puellywally, by the siege of his trousers there was someone else behind it—you bet your boughtem blarneys!—about their three drummers down Keysars Lane. (Trite!)
Be these meer marchant taylors’ fablings of a race referend with oddman rex? Is now all seenheard then forgotten? Can it was, one is fain in this leaden age of letters now to wit, that so diversified outrages (they have still to come!) were planned and partly carried out against so staunch a covenanter if it be true that any of those recorded ever took place for many, we trow, beyessed to and denayed of, are given to us by some who use the truth but sparingly and we on this side ought to sorrow for their pricking pens on that account? The seventh city, Urovivla, his citadear of refuge, whither (would we believe the laimen and their counts), beyond the outbraved gales of Atreeatic, changing clues with a baggermalster, the hejirite had fled, silentiousissuemeant under night’s altosonority, shipalone, a raven of the wave (be mercy, Mara! A he whence Rahoulas!), from the ostmen’s dirtby on the old vic, to forget in expiating manslaughter and, reberthing in remarriment out of dead seekness to devine previdence (if you are looking for the bilder deep your ear on the movietone!), to league his pagan lot, palm and patte, with a papishee (for mine qvinne I thee giftake and bind my hosenband I thee haltar), the wastobe land, a lottuce land, a luctuous land, Emeraldillium, the peasant pastured, in which by the fourth commandment with promise his days apostolic were to be long by the abundant mercy of Him Which Thundereth From On High, murmured, would rise against him with all which in them were, franchisables and inhabitands, astea as agora, helotsphilots, do him hurt, poor jink, ghostly following bodily, as were he made a curse for them, the corruptible lay quick, all saints of incorruption of an holy nation, the common or ere-in-garden castaway, in red resurrection to condemn so they might convince him, first pharoah, Humpheres Cheops Exarchas, of their proper sins. Businessbred to speak with a stiff upper lip to all men and most occasions, the Man we wot of took little short of fighting chances but for all that he or his or his care were subjected to the horrors of the premier terror of Errorland. (Perorhaps!)
We seem to us (the real Us!) to be reading our Amenti in the sixth sealed chapter of the going forth by black. It was after the show at Wednesbury that one tall man, humping a suspicious parcel, when returning late amid a dense particular on his home way from the second house of the Boore and Burgess Christy Menestrels by the old spot, Roy’s Corner, had a barkiss revolver placed to his faced with the words you’re shot, major! by an unknowable assailant (masked) against whom he had been jealous over Lotta Crabtree or Pomona Evlyn. More than that, Whenn the Waylayer (not a Lucalizod diocesan or even of the Glendalough see but hailing fro’ the prow of Little Britain), mentioning in a bytheway that he, the crawsopper, had, in edition to Reade’s cutless centiblade, a loaded Hobson’s which left only twin alternatives as, viceversa, either he would surely shoot her, the aunt, by pistol (she could be okaysure of that!) or, failing of such, bash in Patch’s blank face beyond recognition, pointedly asked with gaelish gall wodkar blizzard’s business Thornton had with that Kane’s fender, only to be answered by the aggravated assaulted that that was the snaps for him, Midweeks, to sultry well go and find out if he was showery well able.
But how transparingly nontrue, gentle writer! His feet one is not a tall man, not at all, man. No such parson! no such fender! no such lumber! no such race! Was it supposedly in connection with a girl, Myramy Huey or Colores Archer, under Flaggy Bridge (for ann there is but one liv and her newbridge is her old) or to explode his twelvechamber and force a shrievalty entrance that the heavybuilt Abelbody in a butcherblue blouse from One Life One Suit (a men’s wear store), with a most decisive bottle of single in his possession, seized after dark by the town guard at Haveyou-caughtemerod’s temperance gateway, was there in the gate’s way.
Fifthly, how truetoned on his first time of hearing the wretch’s statement that, muttering Irish, he had had had o’gloriously a’lot too much hanguest or hoshoe fine to drink in the House of Blazes, the Parrot in Hell, the Orange Tree, the Glibt, the Sun, the Holy Lamb and, lapse not leashed, in Ramitdown’s ship hotel since the morning moment he could dixtinguish a white thread from a black till the engine of the laws declosed unto Murray and was only falling fillthefluthered up against the gatestone pier which, with the cow’s bonnet a’top o’it, he parasoliloquisingly falsetook for a cattlepillar with purest peaceablest intentions. Yet how lamely hobbles the hoy of his then pseudojocax explanation how, according to his own story, he was a process server and was merely trying to open zozimus a bottlof stoub by mortially hammering his magnum bonum (the curter the club the sorer the savage) against the bludgey gate for the boots about the swan, Maurice Behan, who hastily threw on a pair of old Sir Bunchamon’s pants, stepped into his shoes, with nothing in his hald barra tinnteack, and came down with homp, shtemp and jumphet to the tiltyard from the wastes u’sleep in his obi ohny overclothes or choker, attracted by the norse of gunplay, said he war ’prised safe in bed as he dreamed that he’d wealthes in mormon halls when wokenp by a fourth loud snore out of his land of byelo while hickstrey’s mews was grazing in the moonlight by hearing hammerang on the pandywhank scale emanating from the blind pig and anything like it (oonagh! oonagh!) in the whole history of that Mullingcan Inn he never. This battering babel allover the door and sideposts, he always said, was not in the very loutest like the belzeybabble of a bottle of boose which would not rouse him out o’ slumber deep but reminded him loads more of the martiallawsey marses of foreign musikants’ instrumongs playing Delandy is Cartager on the ragnar rock to Dulyn or the overthrewer to the third last days of pompery, if anything. And that after this most mooningless knockturn the young reine came down desperate and the old liffopotamus herself started ploring all over the plain, as mud as she cud be, ruinating all the bouchers’ schurts and the backers’ wischandtugs so that, be the chandeleure of the Rejaneyjailey, they were all nigh wasching the walters off, the weltering walters off. Whyte?
Just one moment. A pinch in time of the ideal, musketeers! Alphos, Burkos and Caramis, leave Astrelea for the astrollajerries and for the love of the saunces and the honour of keavens pike paddywhackback to Pamintul. And roll away the reel world, the reel world, the reel world! And call all your smokeblushes, Snowwhite and Rosered, if you will have the real cream! Now for a strawberry frolic! Filons filoosh! Cherchons la flamme! Fammfamm! Fammfamm!
Come on, ordinary man, Maschinsky, Scapolopolos, Duzinascu or Other, with that large big nonobli head and that blanko berbecked fischial ekksprezzion. Your machelar’s mutton leg’s getting musclebound from being too pulled. Noah Beery weighed stone thousand one when Hazel was a hen. Now his fat’s falling fast. Therefore, chatbags, why not yours? There are twenty-nine sweet reasons why Blossomtime’s the best. Elders fall for green almonds when they’re raised on bruised stone root ginger though it winters on their heads as if auctumned round their waistbands. If you’d had pains in your hairs you wouldn’t look so orgibald. You’d have Colley Macaires on your lump of lead. Now listen, Mr Leer! And stow that sweatyfunnyadams simper!
Take an old geeser who calls on his skirt. Note his sleek hair, so elegant, tableau vivant. He vows her to be his own honeylamb, swears they will be papa pals, by Sam, and share good times way down west in a guaranteed happy lovenest when May moon she shines and they twit twinkle all the night, combing the comet’s tail upright and shooting popguns at the stars. Creampuffs all to time! Every nice, missymackenzies! For dear old grumpapar he’s gone on the razzledar, through gazing and crazing and blazing at the stars. Compree? She wants her wardrobe to hear from above by return with cash so as she can buy her Peter Robinson trousseau and cut a dash with Arty, Bert or possibly Charley Chance (who knows?) so tolloll, Mr Hunker, you’re too dada for me to dance (so off she goes!) and that’s how half the gels in town has got their bottom drars while grumpapar he’s trying to hitch his braces on to his trars. But old grum he’s not so clean dippy between sweet you and yum (not on your life, boy! not in those trousers! not by a large jugful!) for someplace on the sly, where Furphy he isn’t by, old grum has his gel number two (bravevow, our Grum!) and he would like to canoodle her too some part of the time for he is downright fond of his own number one but O he’s fair mashed on peaches number two so that if he could only canoodle the two, chivee chivoo, all three would feel genuinely happy, it’s as simple as A.B.C., the two mixers, we mean, with their cherrybum chappy (for he is simply shamming dippy) if they all were afloat in a dreamlifeboat, hugging two by two in his zoo-doo-you-doo, tofftoff for thee, missymissy for me and how-cameyou-e’enso for Farber, in his tippy, upindown dippy, tiptoptippy canoodle, can you? Finny!
Ack, ack, ack. With which clap, trap and soddenment, three to a loaf, our mutual friends the fender and the bottle at the gate seem to be implicitly in the same bateau, so to singen, bearing also several of the earmarks of design, for there is in fact no use in putting a tooth in a snipery of that sort and the amount of all those sort of things which has been going on onceaday in and twiceaday out every other nachtistag among all kinds of promiscuous individuals at all ages in private homes and reeboos publikiss and alloverall and elsewhere throughout secular sequence the country over and overabroad has been particularly stupendous. To be continued. Federals’ Uniteds’ Transports’ Unions’ for Exultations of Triumphants’ Ecstasies.
But resuming inquiries. Will it ever be next morning the postal unionist’s (officially called carrier’s, Letters Scotch, Limited) strange fate (Fierceendgiddyrex he’s hight, d.e., the losel that hucks around missivemaids’ gummibacks) to hand in a huge chain envelope, written in seven divers stages of ink from blanchessance to lavandaiette, every pothook and pancrook bespaking the wisherwife, superscribed to Hyde and Cheek, Edenberry, Dubbllenn, WC, and subpencilled by yours A Laughable Party, with afterwite, S.A.G.? Will whatever will be written in lappish language with inbursts of maggyer always seem semposed, black looking white and white guarding black, in that siamixed twoatalk used twixt stern swift and jolly roger? Will it bright upon us, nightle, and we plunging to our plight? Well, it might now, mircle, so it light. Always and ever till Cox’s wife, twice Mrs Hahn, pokes her beak into the matter with Owen K. after her, to see whawa smutter after, will this kiribis pouch filled with litterish fragments lurk dormant in the paunch of that halpbrother of a herm, a pillarbox?
The coffin, a triumph of the illusionist’s art, at first blench naturally taken for a handharp (it is hardwarp to tristinguish jubabe from jabule or either from tubote when all three have just been invened), had been removed from the hardware premises of Oetzmann and Nephew, a noted house of the gonemost west which in the natural course of all things continues to supply funeral requisites of every needed description. Why needed, though? Indeed needed (wouldn’t you feel like rattanfowl if you hadn’t the oscar?) because the flash brides or bride in their lily boleros one games with at the Nivynubies’ finery ball and your upright grooms that always come right up with you (and by jingo when they do!), what else in this mortal world, now ours, when meet there night, mid their nackt, me there naket, made their nought, the hour strikes, would bring them rightcameback in the flesh, thumbs down, to their orses and their hashes.
To proceed. We might leave that nitrience of oxagiants to take its free of the air and just analectralyse that very chymirical combination, the gasbag where the warder works. And try to pour somour heiteroscene up the almostfere. In the bottled heliose case continuing, Long Lally Tobkids, the special, sporting a fine breast of medals, and a conscientious scripture -reader to boot in the brick and tin choorch round the corner, swore like a Norewheezian tailliur on the stand before the proper functionary that he was up against a right querrshnorrt of a mand in the butcher of the blues who, he guntinued, on last epening after delivering some carcasses, muttanchepps and meatjutes on behalf of Messrs Otto Sands and Eastman, Limericked, victuallers, went and, with his unmitigated astonissment, hickicked at the dun and doorass against all the runes and, when challenged about the pretended hick (it was kickup and down with him) on his solemn by the imputant imputed, said simply: I appop pie oath, Phillyps Captain. You did, as I sostressed before. You are deepknee in error, sir, Madam Tomkims, let me then tell you, replied with a gentlewomanly salaam MackPartland (the meatmam’s family, and the oldest in the world except nick, name). And Phelps was flayful with his peeler. But his phizz fell.
Now to the obverse. From velveteens to dimities is barely a fivefinger span and hence these camelback excesses are thought to have been instigated by one or either of the causing causes of all, those rushy hollow heroines in their skirtsleeves, be she the margretta be she the posque. Oh! Oh! Because it is a horrible thing to have to say to say to day but one dilalah, Lupita Lorette, shortly after in a fit of the unexpectednesses drank carbolic with all her dear placid life before her and paled off while the other soiled dove that’s her sister-in-love, Luperca Latouche, finding one day while dodging chores that she stripped teasily for binocular man and that her jambs were jimpjoyed to see each other, the nautchy girly soon found her fruitful hat too small for her and rapidly taking time, look, she rapidly took to necking, partying and selling her spare favours in the haymow or in lumber closets or in the greenawn ad huck (there are certain intimacies in all ladies’ lavastories we just lease to imagination) or in the sweet churchyard close itself for a bit of soft coal or an array of thin trunks, serving whom in fine that same hot coney à la zingara which our own little Graunya of the chilired cheeks dished up to the greatsire of Oscar, that son of a Coole. Houri of the coast of emerald, arrah of the lacessive poghue, Aslim-all-Muslim, the resigned to her surrender, did not she, come leinster’s eve, true dotter of a dearmud (her pitch was Forty Steps and his perch old Cromwell’s Quarters), with so valkirry a licence as sent many a poor pucker packing to perdition, again and again, ay, and again sfidare him, tease fido, eh tease fido, eh eh tease fido, toos topples topple, stop, ye dug of a dog of a dgiaour, ye! Angealousmei! And did not he, like Arcoforty, farfar off Bisavolo, missbrand her behaveyous with iridescent huecry of down right mean false sop lap sick dope? Tawfulsdreck! A reine of the shee, a shebeen quean, a queen of pranks. A kingly man, of royal mien, regally robed, exalted be his glory! ! So gave, so take. Now not, not now. He would just a min. Suffering trumpet! He thought he want. Whath? Hear, O hear, living of the land! Hungreb, dead era, hark! He hea, eyes ravenous on her lippling lills. He hear her voi of day gon by. He hears! Zay, zay, zay! But, by the beer of his profit, he cannot answer. Upterputty till rise and shine! Nor needs none shaft ne stele from Phenicia or Little Asia to obelise on the spout, neither pobalclock neither folkstone, nor sunkenness in Tomar’s Wood to bewray how erpressgangs score off the rued. The mouth that tells not will ever attract the unthinking tongue and so long as the obseen draws theirs which hear not so long till allearth’s dumbnation shall the blind lead the deaf. Tatcho, tawney yeeklings! The column of lumps leads the pattrin of the leaves behind us. If violence to life, limb and chattels, often as not, has been the expression, direct or through an agent male, of womanhid offended (ah! ah!) has not levy of blackmail from the times the fairies were in it and fain for wilde erthe blothoms followed an impressive private reputation for whispered sins?
Now, by memory inspired, turn wheel again to the whole of the wall. Where Gyant Blyant fronts Peannlueamoore. There was once upon a wall and a hooghoog wall a was and such a wallhole did exist. Ere ore or ire in Aaarlund. Or you Dair’s Hair or you Diggin Mosses or your horde of orts and oriorts to garble a garthen of Odin and the lost paladays when all the eddams ended with aves. Armen. The doun is theirs and still to see for menags if he strikes a lousaforitch and we’ll come to those baregazed shoeshines if you just shoodov a second. And let oggs be good old goggles and Isther Estarr play Yesther Asterr. In the drema of Sorestost Areas, Diseased. A stonehinged gate there was for another thing while the suroptimist had bought and enlarged that shack under fair rental of one yearlyng sheep (prime), value of sixpence, and one small yearlyng goat (cadet), value of eightpence, to grow old and happy in (hogg it and kid him) for the reminants of his years; and when everything was got up for the purpose he put an applegate on the place by no means as some pretend a bedstead in loo thereof to keep out donkeys (the pigdirt hanging from the jags to this hour makes that clear) and just thenabouts the iron gape, by old custom left open to prevent the cat from getting at the gout, was triple -patlockt on him on purpose by his faithful poorters to keep him inside probably and possibly enaunter he felt like sticking out his chest too far and tempting gracious providence by a stroll on the peoplade’s eggday, unused as he was as yet to being freely clodded.
O, by the by, lets wee brag of praties, it ought to be always remembered in connection with what has gone before that there was a northroomer, Herr Betreffender, out for his zimmer holedigs, digging in number 32 at the Rum and Puncheon (branch of Dirty Dick’s free house) in Laxlip (where the Sockeye Sammons were stopping at the time orange fasting) prior to that, a Kommerzial (Gorbotipacco, he was wreaking like Zentral Oylrubber) from Osterich, the U.S.E., paying (Gaul save the mark!) 11/- in the week (Gosh, these wholly romads!) and he missed a soft felt and, take this in, six quid fifteen of conscience money in the first deal of Yuly wheil he was, swishing beesnest with blessure and swobbing broguen eeriesh myth brocken dootsch, making his reporterage on Der Fall Adams for the Frankofurto Siding, a Fastland payrodicule, and, er, constated that one had on him the Lynn O’Brien, a meltoned lammswolle, disturbed and wider he might should the same zurichschicken other he would, with tosend and obertosend tonnowatters, one monkey’s damages become. Now you must know, franksman, to make a heart of glass, that the game of gaze and bandstand butchery was merely a Patsy O’Strap tissue of threats and obuses such as roebucks raugh at pinnacle’s peak and after this sort.
Humphrey’s unsolicited ad hock visitor, Davy or Titus, on a burgley’s clan march from the middle west, a hikely excellent crude man about roads who knew his Bullfoost Mountains like a starling bierd, after doing a long dance untidled to Cloudy Green, deposend his bockstump on the waityoumaywantme, after having blew some quaker’s (for you, Oates!) in through the houseking’s keyhole to attract attention bleated through the gale outside which the tairor of his clothes was hogcallering, first, be the hirsuiter, that he would break his bulsheywigger’s head for him, next, be the heeltapper, that he would break the gage over his lankyduckling head the same way he would crack a nut with a monkeywrench and, last of all, be the stirabouter, that he would give him his (or the umperom’s or anybloody else’s) thickerthanwater to drink and his bleday steppebrodhar’s into the bucket. He demanded more wood alcohol to pitch in with, alleging that his grandfather’s was all taxis and that it was only after ten o’connell and that his isbar was a public oven for the sake of irsh irskhusky, and then, not easily discouraged, opened the wrathfloods of his atillarery and went on at a wicked rate, weathering against him in mooxed metaphores from eleven thirty to two in the afternoon without even a luncheonette interval for House, son of Clod, to come out, you jewbeggar, to be Executed. Amen.
Earwicker, that patternmind, that paradigmatic ear, receptoretentive as his of Dionysius, longsuffering, although whitening under restraint in the sititout corner of his conservatory behind faminebuilt walls, his thermos flask and ripidion flabel by his side and a walrus whiskerbristle for a tuskpick, compiled, while he mourned the flight of his wild guineese, a long list (now feared in part lost) to be kept on file of all the abusive names he was called (we have been compelled for the rejoicement of foinne loidies and the humours of Milltown etcetera by Josephine Brewster in the collision known as Contrastations with Inkermann and so on and so onward, lacies in loo water, flee, celestials, one clean turv): Firstnighter, Informer, Old Fruit, Yellow Whigger, Wheatears, Goldy Geit, Bogside Beauty, Yass We’ve Had His Badannas, York’s Porker, Funnyface, At Baggotty’s Bend He Bumped His Bride, Grease with the Butter, Opendoor Ospices, Cainandabler, Ireland’s Eighth Wonderful Wonder, Beat My Price, Codsoilman, Moonface the Murderer, Hoary Hairy Hoax, Midnight Sunburst, Remove that Bible, Hebdromadary Publocation, Tummer the Lame the Tyrannous, Blau Clay, Tight before Teatime, Read Your Pantojoke, Acoustic Disturbance, Thinks He’s Gobblasst the Good Dook of Ourguile, W.D.’s Grace, Gibbering Bayamouth of Dublin, His Farther was a Mundzucker and She Had Him in a Growler, Burnham and Bailey, Artist, Unworthy of the Homely Protestant Religion, Terry Cotter, You’re Welcome to Waterfood, Signed the Ribbonmen, Lobsterpot Lardling, All for Arthur of this Town, Hooshed the Cat from the Bacon, Leatherbags Donald, The Ace and Deuce of Paupering, O’Reilly’s Delights to Kiss the Man behind the Borrel, Magogagog, Swad Puddlefoot, Gouty Ghibellino, Loose Luther, Hatches Cocks’ Eggs, Muddle the Plan, Luck before Wedlock, I Divorce Thee Husband, Tanner and a Make, Go to Hellena or Come to Connies, Piobald Puffpuff, Purged out of Burke’s, He’s None of Me Causin, Barebarean, Peculiar Person, Grunt Owl’s Facktotem, Twelve Months’ Aristocrat, Lycanthrope, Flunkey Beadle Vamps the Tune Letting on He’s Loney, Thunder and Turf Married into Clandorf, Left Boot Sent on Approval, Cucumberer of Lord’s Holy Ground, Stodge Arschmann, Awnt Yuke, Tommy Furlong’s Pet Plagues, Archdukon Cabbanger, Last Past the Post, Kennealey Won’t Tell Thee Off Nancy’s Gown, Scuttle to Cover, Salary Grab, Andy MacNoon in Annie’s Room, Awl Out, Twitchbratschballs, Bombard Street Bester, Sublime Porter, A Ban for Le King of the Burgaans and a Bom for Ye Sur of all the Ruttledges, O’Phelim’s Cutprice, And at Number Wan Wan Wan, What He Done to Castlecostello, Sleeps with Feathers and Ropes, It is Known Who Sold Horace the Rattler, Enclosed Find the Sons of Fingal, Swayed in his Falling, Wants a Wife and Forty of Them, Let Him Do the Fair, Apeegeequanee Chimmuck, Plowp Goes his Whastle, Ruin of the Small Trader, He — —, Milkinghoneybeaverbrooker, Vee was a Vindner, Sower Rapes, Armenian Atrocity, Sickfish Bellyup, Edomite, — —, Man Devoyd of the Commoner Characteristics of an Irish Nature, Bad Humborg, —, Hraabhraab, Coocoohandler, Dirt, Miching Daddy, Born Burst Feet Foremost, Woolworth’s Worst, Easyattic Phallusaphist, Guilteypig’s Bastard, Fast in the Barrel, Boose in the Bed, Mister Fatmate, In Custody of the Polis, Boawwll’s Alocutionist, Deposed: but, anarchistically respectsful of the liberties of the noninvasive individual, did not respond a solitary wedgeword beyond such sedentarity, though it was as easy as kissanywhere for the passive resistant in the booth he was in to reach for the hello gripes and ring up Kimmage Outer 17.67 because, as the fundamentalist explained when at last shocked into speech, touchin his woundid feelins in the fuchsiar, the dominican mission for the sowsealist potty was on at the time and he thought the rowmish devowtion known as the howly rowsary might reeform ihm, Gonn.
That more than considerably unpleasant bullocky before he rang off, by way of final mocks for his grapes, drunkishly pegged a few glatt stones, all of a size, at the wicket in support of his words that he was not guilphy but, after he had so slungavollayed, reconnoitring through his semisubconscious the seriousness of what he might have done had he really polished off his terrible intentions finally caused him to change the bawling and leave downg the whole grumus of brookpebbles pangpung and, having sobered up a bit, paces his groundould diablen lionndub, the flay the flegm, the floedy fleshener (purse, purse, pursyfurse, I’ll splish the splume of them all!), this black backblocks boor bruskly put out his langwedge and quite quit the paleologic scene, telling how by his selfdenying ordnance he had left Hyland on the dissenting table, after exhorting Earwicker or, in slightly modified phraseology, Messrs or Missrs Earwicker, Seir, his feminisible name of multitude, to cocoa come outside to Mockerloo out of that for the honour of Crumlin with his broody old flishguds, Gog’s curse to thim, so as he could brianslog and burst him all dizzy, you go bail, like Potts Fracture did with Keddle Flatnose and nobodyatall with Wholyphamous and build rocks over him or, if he didn’t, for two and thirty straws, be Cacao Campbell, he didn’t know what he wouldn’t do for him nor nobody else nomore nor him, after which, batell martell, a brisha a milla a stroka a boola, so the rage of Malbruk, playing on the least change of his manjester’s voice the first heroic couplet from the fuguall tropical, Opus Elf, Thortytoe,
My schemes into obeyance for
This time has had to fall,
they bit goodbyte to their thumb and, his bandol eer his solgier, dripdropdrap on pool or poldier, wishing the toff a falladelfian in the morning, proceeded with a Hubbleforth slouch in their slips backwords (Et Cur Heli!) in the directions of the duff and demb institutions about ten or eleven hundred years lurch away in the cloudletlitten gorge of Patself on the Bach. Adyoe!
And thus, with this rochelly exetur of Bully Acre, came to close that last stage in the siegings round our archicitadel which we would like to recall, if old Nestor Alexis would wink the worth for us, as Bar-le-Duc and Dog-an-Doras and Bangen-op-Zoom.
Yed he med leave to many a door beside of Oxmanswold for so witness his chambered cairns silent that are at browse up hill and down coombe and on eolithostroton, at Howth or at Coolock or even at Enniskerry: a theory none too rectiline of the evoluation of human society as the testament of the rocks from all the dead unto some the living. Oliver’s lambs we do call them, skatterlings of a stone, and they skall be gathered unto him, their herd and paladin, as nubilettes to cumule, in that day of Greenman Rise O (lost leaders live! the heroes return!) hwen, same the lightning lancer of Azava Arthurhonoured (some Finn, some Finn avant!), he skall wake from earthsleep in his valle of briers, haught crested elmer, and o’er dun and dale the wulverulverlord (protect us!) his mighty horn skall roll, orland, roll.
For in those deyes his Deyus shall ask of Allprohome and call to himm: Allprohome! Allprohome! And he make answer: Add some! Nor wink nor wank. Animadiabolum, mene credidisti mortuum? Silence was in thy faustive halls, O Truiga, when thy green woods went dry but there will be sounds of manymirth on the night’s ear ringing when our pantriarch of Comestowntonobble gets the pullover on his boots.
Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it! His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart’s adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff, his extremities extremely so: Fengless, Pawmbroke, Chilblaimend and Baldowl. Humph is in his doge. Words weigh no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.
As the lion in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his Nile (shall Ariuz forget Arioun or Boghas the baregams of the Marmarazalles from Marmeniere?) it may be, tots wearsense full a naggin in twentyg have sigilposted what in our brievingbust, that the besieged bedreamt him still and solely of those lililiths undeveiled which had undone him, gone for aye, and knew not the watchful treachers at his wake, and theirs to stay. Fooi, fooi, chamermissies! Zeepyzoepy, larcenlads! Zijnzijn zijnzijn! It may be, we moest ons hasten selves te declareer it, that he reglimmed? presaw? the fields of heat and yields of wheat where corngold Ysit? shamed and shone. It may be, we habben to upseek a bitty door our good township’s courants want we knew’t, that with his deepseeing insight (had not wishing oftbeen but good time wasted), petrified within his patriarchal shamanah, broadsteyne ’bove citie (Twillby! Twillby!), he, conscious of enemies, a kingbilly whitehorsed in a Finglas mill, prayed as he sat on anxious seat (kunt ye neat gift mey toe bout a peer saft eyballds!) during that three and a hellof hours’ agony of silence, ex profundis malorum, with unfeigned charity that his ouxtrador wordwounder, an engels to the teeth who, nomened Nash of Girahash, would go anyoldwhere in the weeping world on his mottled belly (the rab, the kreeponskneed!) for milk, music or married missusses, might, mercy to providential benevolence’s (who hates prudencies) astuteness, unfold into the first of a distinguished dynasty of his posteriors, blackfaced connemaras not of the fold but elder children of his household, his most besetting of ideas (pace his twolve predamanant passions) being the formation, as in more favoured climes, where the Meadow of Honey is guestfriendly and the Mountain of Joy receives, of a truly criminal stratum, Ham’s cribcracking yeggs, thereby at last eliminating from the oppidump much desultory delinquency from all classes and masses with directly derivative decasualisation: sigarius (sic!) vindicat urbes terrorum (sicker!): and so, to mark a lank taal she arter, the hobedience of the citizens elp the ealth of the ole.
Now gode. Let us leave theories there and return to here’s here. Now hear. ’Tis gode again. The teak coffin, Pughglasspanelfitted, feets to the east, was to turn in handy later, and pitly patly near the porpus, materially effecting the cause. And this, liever, is the thinghowe. Any number of conservative public bodies, through a number of select and other committees having power to add to their number, before voting themselves and himself, town, port and garrison, by a fit and proper resolution, following a koorts order of the groundwet, once for all out of plotty existence, as a forescut, so you maateskippey might to you cuttinrunner on a neuw pack of klerds, made him, while his body still persisted, their present of a protem grave in Moyelta of the best Lough Neagh pattern, then as much in demand among misonesans as the Isle of Man today among limniphobes. Wacht even! It was in a fairly fishy kettlekerry after the Fianna’s foreman had taken his handful, enriched with ancient woods and dear dutchy deeplinns mid which were an old knoll and a troutbeck, vainyvain of her osiery and a chatty sally with any Wilt or Walt who would ongle her as Izaak did to the tickle of his rod and watch her waters of, her sillying waters of, and there now, brown peater everipple (may their quilt gild lightly over his somnolutent form!), Whoforyou lies his last, by the wrath of Bog, like the erst curst Hun in the bed of his treubleu Donawhu.
Best. This wastohavebeen underground heaven, or mole’s paradise, which was probably also an inversion of a phallopharos intended to foster wheat crops and to ginger up the tourist trade (its architect, Mgr Peurelachasse, having been obcaecated lest he should petrifake suchanevver while the contractors, Messrs T. A. Birketts and L. O. Tuohalls, were made invulnerably venerable), first in the west, our misterbilder, Castlevillainous, openly damned and blasted by means of a hydromine, system Sowan and Beltiny, exploded from a reinvented T.N.T. bombingpost up ahoy of eleven hundred and thirtytwo wingrests (circiter) to sternboord out of his aerial thorpeto, Auton Dynamon, contacted with the expectant minefield by tins of improved ammonia lashed to her shieldplated gunwale and fused into tripup cables, slipping through tholes and playing down from the conning tower into the ground battery fuseboxes, all differing as clocks from keys since nobody appeared to have the same time of beard, some saying by their Oorlog it was Sygstrygg’s to nine, more holding with the Ryan vogt it was Dane to pfife. He afterwards, whaanever his blaetther began to fail off him and his rough bark was wholly husky and, stoop by stoop, he neared it (would-manspare!), carefully lined the ferroconcrete result with rotproof bricks and mortar, fassed to fossed, and retired beneath the heptarchy of his towerettes, the beauchamp, byward, bell and lion, the white, the wardrobe and bloodied, so encouraging (insteppen, alls als hats beliefd!) additional useful councils public with hoofd offdealings which were welholden of ladykants te huur out such as the Breeders’ Union, the Guild of Merchants of the Staple et a.u.c. to present unto him with funebral pomp over and above that a stone slab with the usual MacPelah address of valediction, a very fairworded instance of falsemeaning adamelegy: We have done ours gohellt with you, Heer Herewhippit, overgiven it, skidoo!
But t’house and allaboardshoops! Show coffins, winding sheets, cinerary urns, liealoud brasses, snuffchests, poteentubbs, goodbuy bierchepes, lacrimal vases, hoodendoses, reekwaterbeckers, breakmiddles, zootzaks for eatlust, including upyourhealthing rookworst and meathewersoftened forkenpootsies and for that matter, javel also, any kind of inhumationary bric au brac for the adornament of his glasstone honophreum would, met these trein of konditiens, naturally follow, halas, in the ordinary course, enabling that roundtheworlder wandelingswight, did suches pass him, to live all safeathomely the presenile days of his life of opulence, ancient ere decrepitude, late lents last lenience till stuffering stage, whaling away the whole of the while, lethelulled (hypnos chilia eonon!) between explosion and reexplosion (Donnaurwatteur! Hunderthunder!) from grosskopp to megapod, embalmed, of grand age, rich in death anticipated.
But abide Zeit’s sumonserving, rise after fall: blueblitzbolted from Sideria, buried burrowing in Gehinnon, there, knowing the hingeworms of the hallmirks of habitationlessness, to proliferate through all his Unterwealth, seam by seam, sheol om sheol, and revisit our Uppercrust of Utilitarios, the divine one, the hoarder hidden, propagating his plutorpopular progeniem of pots and pans and pokers and puns from biddenland to boughtenland, the spearway fore the spoorway.
The other spring offensive on the heights of Abraham may have come about all quite by accidence. Foughtarundser (for Breedabrooda had at length persuaded him to have himself to be as septuply buried as the murdered Cian in Finntown) had not been three monads in his watery grave (what vigilantes and ridings then and spuitwyne pledges with aardappel frittling!) when portrifaction, dreyfussed as ever, began to ramp, ramp, ramp, the boys are parching. A hoodenwinkle gave the signal and a blessing paper freed the flood. Why did the patrizien make him scares with his gruntens? Because the druiven were muskating at the door. From both Celtiberian camps (granting at the onset for the sake of argument that men on the two sides, in New South Ireland and Vetera Uladh, bluemin and pillfaces, during the ferment With the Pope or On the Pope, had, moors or letts, grant ideas, grunted) all conditions, poor cons and dives mor, each, of course, on the purely doffensive since the eternals were owlwise on their side every time, were drawn toowards their Bellona’s Black Bottom, once Woolwhite’s Waltz (Ohiboh, how becrimed, becursekissed and bedumbtoit!), some for want of proper feeding in youth, others already caught in the honourable act of slicing out careers for family and carvers in conjunction: and, if emaciated enough, the person garrotted may have suggested to whomever took the ham of, the plain being involved in darkness, low cirque waggery, nay, even the first old wugger of himself in the flesh, whiggissimus incarnadined, when falsesighted by the ifsuchhewas bully on the hill, a tory of the tories, for there had circulated freely fairly among his opposition the feeling that in so hibernating Massa Eewacka, who, previous to that demidetached life, had been known of barmicidal days, cook said, between soup and savoury, to get outside his own length of rainbow trout and taerts atta tarn as no man of woman born, nay, could, like the great crested grebe, devour his three score ten of roach per lifeday, ay, and as many minnow a minute (the big mix, may Gibbet choke him!), was, like the salmon of his ladderleap, all this time of totality, noctu semenipsum manducare, secretly and by suckage feeding on his own misplaced fat.
Ladies did not disdain those pagan ironed times of the first city (called after the ugliest Danadune) when a frond was a friend inneed to carry, as earwigs do their dead, their soil to the earthball where indeeth we shall calm decline, our legacy unknown. Venuses were gigglibly temptatrix, vulcans guffawably eruptious and the whole wives’ world frockful of fickles. Fact, any human inyan you liked any erenoon or efter would take her bare goddkin out, or an even pair of hem (lugod! lugodoo!), and prettily pray with him (or with em even), everyhe to her taste, long for luck, tapette and tape petter and take pettest of all. Tip! Wells she’d woo and wills she’d win but how the deer knowed where she’d marry her! Arbour, bucketroom, caravan, ditch? Coach, carriage, wheelbarrow, dungcart?
Kate Strong (tip!), a widow (tiptip!)—she pulls a lane picture for us in a dreariodreama setting, glowing and very vidual, of old dumplan as she nosed it, a homelike cottage of elvanstone with droppings of biddies, stinkend pusshies, moggies’ duggies, rotten witchawubbles, festering rubbages and beggars’ bullets, if not worse, sending salmofarious germs in gleefully through the smithereen panes—Widow Strong, then, as her weaker had turned him to the wall (tiptiptip!), did most all the scavenging from good King Hamlaugh’s gulden dayne onwards, though her lean besom cleaned but sparingly, and her bare statement reads that, there being no macadamised sidetracks on those old nekropolitan nights barring a footbatter, Bryant’s Causeway, bordered with speedwell, white clover and sorrel a wood knows, which left off, being beaten, where the plaintiff was struck, she left down, as scavengers who will be scavengers must, her filthdump near the Serpentine in Phornix Park (at her time called Finewell’s Keepsacre but later tautaubapptossed Pat’s Purge), that dangerfield circling butcherswood where fireworker oh flaherty engaged a nutter of castlemallards and ah for archer stunned ’s turk, all over which fossil footprints, bootmarks, fingersigns, elbowdints, kneecaves, breechbowls a.s.o. were all successively traced of a mostenvolving description. What subtler timeplace of the weald than such wolfsbelly castrament will hide a leabhar from Thursmen’s brandihands or a loveletter, lostfully hers, that would be lust on Ma, than there where ructions ended, than here where race began: and by four hands of forethought the first babe of reconcilement is laid in its last cradle of hume sweet hume. Give over it! And no more of it! So pass the pick for child sake! O men!
For hear Allhighest sprack for krischnians as for propagana fidies: and his nuptial eagles sharped their beaks of prey: and every murphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this terrine: as it was let it be, says he! And it is as though where Agni araflammed and Mithra monished and Shiva slew as mayamutras the streamlettes of the obluvial waters of our noarchic memory withdrew, windingly goharksome, to some hastyswasty timberman torchpriest, flamenfan, the ward of the wind that lightened the fire that lay in the wood that Jove bolt, at her rude word: Posidonius O’Fluctuary! Lave that bloody stone as it is! What are you doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock way up your path? Slip around, you, by the rare of the minister’s! And, you, take that barrel back where you got it, MacShane’s, and go the way your old one went, Hatchettsbury Road! And, gish, how they gushed away, the pennyfares, a whole school for scamper, with their sashes flying sish behind them, all the little pirlypettes! Issy-la-Chapelle! Any lucans, please?
Yes, the viability of vicinals if invisible is invincible. And we are not trespassing on his corns either. Look at all the plotsch! Flaminian! If this was Hannibal’s walk it was Hercules’ work. And a hungried thousand of the unemancipated slaved the way. The mausoleum lies behind us (O Adgigasta, multipopulipater!) and there are milestones in their cheadmilias faultering along the tramestrack, by Brahm and Anton Hermes! Per omnibus secular seekalarum. Amain. But the past has made us this present of a rhedarhoad. So more boher to O’Connell! Though rainyhidden, you’re rhinohide. And if he’s not a Romeo you may scallop your hat. Wereupunder in the fane of Saint Fiacre! Halte!
It was hard by the howe goes there, plainly on this disoluded and a buchan cold spot, rupestric then, resurfaced that now is, that Luttrell sold if Lautrill bought, in the saddle of Brennan’s (now Malpasplace?) pass, versts and versts from true civilisation, not where his dreams top their traums halt (Beneathere! Beneathere!) but where livland yontide meared with the wilde, saltlea with flood, that the attackler, though under medium and between colours, with truly cropatkin pluck engaged the Adversary who had more in his eye than was less to his leg but whom, for plunder sake, he mistook in the heavy rain to be Oglethorpe or some other ginkus, Parr aparrently, to whom the headandheelless chickenestegg bore some michelangiolesque resemblance, making use of sacrilegious languages to the defect that he would challenge their hemosphores to exterminate them but he would cannonise the b—y b—r’s life out of him and lay him out contritely as smart as the b—r had his b—y nightprayers said, three patrecknocksters and a couplet of hellmuirries (tout est sacré pour un sacreur, femme à barbe ou homme-nourrice), at the same time, so as to pluggwell let the blubbywail ghoats out of him, catching holst of an oblong bar he had and with which he usually broke furnitures he rose the stick at him. The boarder incident prerepeated itself. The pair (whethertheywere Nippoluono engaging Wei-Ling-Taon or de Razzkias trying to reconnoistre the general Boukeleff, man may not say) struggled apairently for some considerable time (the cradle rocking equally to one and oppositely from the other on its law of capture and recapture) under the All-In rules around the booksafe, fighting like purple top and tipperuhry Swede, as stuck as that cat to that mouse in that tube of that christchurch organ (did the imirage of Girl Cloud Pensive float above them, light young charm, in ribbons and pigtail?), and in the course of their tussle the taller man, who had opened his bully bowl to beg, said to the miner who was carrying the worm (a handy term for the portable distillery which consisted of three vats, two jars and several bottles, though we purposely say nothing of the stiff, both parties having an interest in the spirits):
— Let me go, Pautheen! I hardly knew ye.
Later on, after the solstitial pause for refleshmeant, the same man (or a different and younger ham of the same him) asked in the vermicular with a very oggly chew-chin-grin as if he forgot something:
— Was six victolios fifteen pigeon takee offa you, tell he me, stlongfella, by pickypocky ten to foul months behindaside?
There were some further collidabanter and severe tries to convert for the best part of an hour and now a woden affair in the shape of a webley (we at once recognise our old friend Ned of so many illortemporate letters) fell from the intruser who (Secremented Serviour of the Divine Zeal!) where-upon became friendly and, saying not his shirt to tear, to know wanted, joking and knobkerries all aside laying, if his change companion, who stuck still to the invention of his strongbox with a tenacity corrobberating their mutual tenitorial rights, happened to have the loots change of a tenpound crickler about him at the moment, addling that, hap so, he would pay him back the six vics odd, do you see, out of that for what was taken on the man of samples last Yuni or Yuly, do you follow me, Capn? To this the other, Billi with the Boule, who had mummed and mauled up to that (for he was hesitency carried to excelcism) rather amusedly replied:
— Woowoo would you be grossly surprised, Hill, to learn that, as it so happens, I honestly have not such a thing as the loo, as the least chance of a tinpanned crackler anywhere about me at the present mohomoment but I believe I can see my way, as you suggest, it being Yuletide or Yuddanfest and as it’s mad nuts, son, for you when it’s hatter’s hares, mon, for me, to advance you something like four and sevenpence between hopping and tropping which you might just as well have, boy baches, to buy J. J. and S. with.
There was a minute silence before memory’s fire’s rekindling and then. Heart alive! Whwh at very first wind of gaygay and whiskwy, ’s wick ears pricked up, the starving gunman, strike him pink for a chip off the old flint, became strangely calm and forthright sware by all his lards porsenal that the thorntree of Sheol might ramify up his Sheofon to the lux apointlex but he would go good to him suntime, marx my word fort (in the Nichtian glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious tongues this is nat language at any sinse of the world and one might as fairly go and kish his sprogues as fail to certify whether the wartrophy eluded at some lives earlier was that somethink like a jug, to what, a coctable French hen or the portlifowlium of hastes and leisures, about to continue), remarxing in languidoily, seemingly much more highly pleased than tongue could tell at this opening of a lifetime and the foretaste of the Dun Bank pearlmothers and the boy to wash down which he would feed to himself in the Ruadh Cow at Tallaght and then into the Good Woman at Ringsend and after her inat Conway’s Inn at Blackrock and, first to fall, cursed be all, where appetite would keenest be, funeral fare or fun fain real, atte Adam and Eve’s in Quantity Street by the grace of game Queen Tailte, her will and testament:
— You stunning little southdowner! I’d know you anywhere, Declaney, let me trucefully tell you, in or out of the lexincton of life, and who the hell else, be your blanche patch on the boney part! Goalball I’ve struck this daylit dielate night of nights, by golly! My hat, you have some bally German grit, sundowner!
He spud in his faust (axin): he toped the raw best (pardun): he poked his pick (a tip is a tap): and he tucked his friend’s leave. And with that the queer mixture exchanged the pax in an embrace or poghue puxy as practised between brothers of the same breast, hillelulia, killelulia, allenalaw, and, having ratified before the god of the day their torgantruce which belittlers have schmallkalled the treatyng to cognac, turning his fez menialstrait in the direction of Mosca, he first got rid of a few bitsmillers and hurooshoos and levanted off with tubular jurbulance at a bull’s run over the assback bridge, spitting his teeths on roots, with the seven and four in danegeld and their humoral hurlbat or other uncertain weapon of lignum vitae (but so evermore rhumanasant of a toboggan poop) picked up, to keep some crowplucking appointment with some rival rialtor anywheres between Pearidge and the Littlehorn while this poor delaney who they left along with the confederate fender behind and who, albeit ballsbluffed, bore up wonderfully wunder all of it with a whole number of plumsized contusiums, plus alasalah bruised coccyx, all over him, reported the occurrence in the best way he could, to the flabbergaze of the whole lab, giving the Paddybanners the military salute as for his exilicy’s the O’Daffy, in justifiable hope that, in nobiloroman review of the hugely sitisfactuary conclusium of their negotiations and the jugglemonkysh agripment deinderivative, some lotion or fomentation of poppyheads would be jennerously exhibited to the parts, at the nearest watchhouse on Vicar Lane, the white ground of his face all covered with diagonally redcrossed nonfatal mammalian blood as proof positive of the seriousness of his character and that he was bleeding in self defience (stanch it!) from the nostrils, lips, pavilion and palate, while some of his hitter’s hairs had been pulled off his knut’s head by Colt though otherwise his allround health appeared to be middling along as it proved most fortunate that not one of the two hundred and six bones and five hundred and one muscles in his corso was a whit the whorse for her whacking. Herwho?
Nowthen, leaving clashing ash, brawn and muscle and brassmade to oust earthenborn and rockcrystal to wreck isinglass but wurming along gradually for our savings backtowards motherwaters so many miles from bank and Dublin stone (olympiading even till the eleventh dynasty to reach that thuddysickend Hamlaugh) and to the question of boney’s unlawfully obtaining a pierced paraflamme and claptrap fireguard, there crops out the still more salient point of the politish leanings and town pursuits of our forebeer, El Don De Dunelli (may his ship thicked stick in the bottol of the river and all his crewsers stock locked in the burral of the seas!), who, when within the black of your toenail, sir, of being mistakenly ambushed by one of the uddahveddahs and as close as made no matter, mam, to being kayoed offhand when the hyougono heckler with the Peter the Painter wanted to hole him, was consistently practising the first of the primary and imprescriptible liberties of the pacific subject by circulating (be British, boys, to your bellybone and chuck a chum a chance!) alongst one of our umphrohibited semitary thrufahrts, open to buggy and bike, to walk, Wellington Park Road, with the curb or quaker’s quacknostrum under his auxter and his alpenstuck in his redhand, a highly commendable exercise, or, number two of our acta legitima plebeia, on the brink (beware to baulk a man at his will!) of taking place upon a public seat, to what, bare by Butt’s, most easterly (but all goes west!) of blackpool bridges, as a public protest and naturlikevice without intent to annoy either, being praisegood thankfully for the wrathbereaved ringdove and the fearstung boaconstrictor and all the more right jollywell pleased, which he was, at having other people’s weather.
But to return to the Atlantic and Phenitia Proper. As if that were not to be enough for anyone but little headway, if any, was made in solving the wasnottobe crime conundrum when a child of Maam, Festy King, of a family long and honourably associated with the tar and feather industries, who gave an address in old plomausch Mayo of the Saxons in the heart of a foulfamed potheen district, was subsequently haled up at the Old Bailey on the calends of Mars under an incompatibly framed indictment of both the counts (from each equinoxious points of view, the one fellow’s fetch being the other follow’s person), that is to see, flying cushats out of his ouveralls and making fesses immodst his forces on the field. Oyeh! Oyeh! When the prisoner, soaked in methylated, appeared in dry dock, appatently ambrosiaurealised like Kersse’s Korduroy Karikature, wearing (besides stains, rents and patches) his fight shirt, straw braces, souwester and a policeman’s corkscrew trowswers all out of the true (as he had purposely torn up all his cymtrymanx bespokes in the mamertime), deposing for his exution with all the fluors of sparse in the royal Irish vocabularly how the whole padderjagmartin tripiezite suet and all the sulfeit of copperas had fallen off him quatz unaccountably like the chrystalisations of Alum on Even while he was trying for to stick fire to himcell (in feacht he was dripping as he found upon stripping for a pipkin of malt as he feared the coold raine), it was attempted by the crown (P.C. Robort) to show that King, elois Crowbar, once known as Meleky, impersonating a climbing boy, rubbed some pixes of any luvial peatsmoor o’er his face, plucks and pussas, with a clanetourf as the best means of disguising himself and was at the middlewhite fair in Mudford of a Thoorsday, feishts of Peeler and Pole, under the illassumed names of Tykingfest and Rabworc picked by him and Anthony out of a tellafun book, ellegedly with a pedigrue pig (unlicensed) and a hyacinth. They were on that sea by the plain of Ir nine hundred and ninetynine years and they never cried crack or ceased from regular paddlewicking till that they landed their two and a trifling selves, amadst camel and ass, greybeard and suckling, priest and pauper, marmatron and merrymeg, into the meddle of the mudstorm. The gathering, convened by the Irish Angricultural and Prepostoral Ouraganisations to help the Irish muck to look his brother dane in the face, and attended, thanks to Larry, by large numbers of christies and jews’ totems, tospite of the deluge, was distinctly of a scattery kind when the bally-bricken he could get no good of, after cockofthewalking through a few fancyfought mains, ate some of the doorweg, the pikey later selling the gentleman ratepayer because she, Francie’s sister, that is to say, ate a whole side of her (the animal’s) sty, Qui Sta Troia, in order to pay off, hiss or lick, six doubloons fifteen arrears of his, the villain’s not the rumbler’s, rent.
Remarkable evidence was given, anon, by an eye, ear, nose and throat witness, whom Wesleyan chapelgoers suspected of being a plainclothes priest, W— P—, situate at Nullnull, Medical Square, who, upon letting down his rice and peacegreen coverdisk and having been sullenly cautioned against yawning while being grilled, smiled (he had had a onebumper at parting from Mrs Molroe in the morning) and stated to his eliciter under his morse mustaccents (gobbless!) that he slept with a bonafides and that he would be doorbringing there that night and how he was pleased to remember the filth of November, hatinaring, rowdy O, which, with the jiboulees of Juno and the dates of ould lanxiety, was going, please the Rainmaker, to decembs within the ephemerides of profane history, all one with Tournay, Yetstoslay and Temorah, and that one thing which would pigstickularly strike a person of such sorely tried observational powers as Sam, him and Moffatt, though theirs not to reason why, the striking thing about it was that he was patrified to see, hear, taste and smell on Struggle Street as his time of night how Hyacinth O’Donnell, B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and wordpainter, with part of a sivispacem (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the fair green at the hour of twentyfour o’clock sought (the bullycassidy of the friedhoffer!) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded another two of the old kings, Gash MacGale and Roaring O’Crian, Jr, both changelings, unlucalised, of no address and in non-communicables, between him and whom ever since wallops before the Mise of Lewes bad blood existed on the ground of the boer’s trespass on the bull or because he firstparted his polarbeeber hair in twoways or because they were creepfoxed andt grousuppers over a nippy in a noveletta or because they could not say meace (mute and daft!), meathe. The lifigants, he said, local congsmen and donalds, kings of the arans and the dalkeys, kings of mud and tory, even the goat king of Killorglin, were egged on by their supporters in the shape of bitterwomen with bowstrung hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness waving crimson petties and screaming like stuck kruegers from Isod’s towertop.
There were cries from the thicksets in court and from the macdublins on the bohernabreena of: Mind Messer, the ban from Banagher, Mick, sir! Prodooce O’Donner. A Bu! Exhibit his relics! Use the tongue mor! Give lip less!
But it oozed out in Deadman’s Dark Scenery Court through crossexanimation of the casehardened testis that when and where that knife of knifes the threepartied ambush was laid (roughly spouting around half hours ’twixt dusk in dawn, by Waterhose’s, Meddle Europeic Time, near Stop and Think, high chief evervirens and only abfalltree in auld the land) there was not as much light from the widowed moon as would dim a child’s altar. The mixer, accordingly, was bluntly broached, and in the best basel to boot, as to whether he was one of those lucky cocks for whom the audible-visible-gnosible-edible world existed. That he was only too cognitively conatively cogitabundantly sure of it because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping morphomelosophopancreates, as he most significantly did, whenevery he thought he heard he saw he felt he made a bell clipperclipperclipperclipper. Whether he was practically sure too of his lugs and truies in this king and blousyman business? That he was pediculously so. Certified? As cad could be. Be lying? Be the lonee I will. It was Morbus O’Somebody? A’quite. Szerday’s son? A satyr in weddens. And how did the greeneyed mister arrive at the B.A.? That it was like his poll. A crossgrained trapper with murty odd oogs, awlforated ares, inquiline nase and a twitcherous mouph? He would be. Who could bit you att to a tenyerdfuul when aastalled? Ballera jobbera. Some majar bore too? Iguines. And with a stopper head, bottle shoulders, a barrel bauck and tumblerous legs, redipnominated Helmingham Erchenwyne Rutter Egbert Crumwall Odin Maximus Esme Saxon Esa Vercingetorix Ethelwulf Rupprecht Ydwallo Bentley Osmund Dysart Yggdrasselmann? Holy Saint Eiffel, the very phoenix! It was Chudley Magnall once more between the deffodates and the dumb scene? The two childspies was preesing him auza de Vologne but the renting of his rock was from the three wicked Vuncouverers. Forests bent down awhits, arthou sure? Yubete, Cumhilum comes! One of the oxmen’s thingabossers, hvad? Wirrgeling and boeuffickly bucephull. And had he been refresqued by the founts of bounty playing there—is—a—grain—aleland in Long’s gourgling barral? A loss of lordedward and a lack of sirphilip a surgeoned showeradown could suck more gargling bubbles out of the five lamps in Portterand’s praise. Wheataured, however, and with fallen mammaries? As whouse wouldn’t, laving his leaftime in Blackpool. Bott, of course, he could call himself Tem too if he had time to? You butt he could anytom. When he pleased? Win and place. A stoker temptated by evesdripping against the driver who was a witness as well? Sacred avatar, how the devil did they guess it! Two dreamyums in one dromium? Yes and no error. And both as like as a duel of lentils? Peacisely. So he was pelted out of the coram populo, was he? Be the powers that be, that he was. The prince in principel should not expose his person? Macchevuole! Rooskayman, kamerad? Sooner Gallwegian he would say. Not unintoxicated, fair witness? Drunk as a fishup. Askt to whether she minded whither he smuked? Not if he barkst into phlegms. Anent his ajacciulations to his Crosscann Lorne, cossa? It was corso in cursu on coarser again. The gracious miss was we not doubt sensible how yellowatty on the forx was altered? That she esually was, O’Dowd me nut! As to his religion, if any? It was the see-you-Sunday sort. Exactly what he, Sour Harry, meant by a pederast prig? Bejacob’s goat, just a gent who prayed his lent. And if this middleclassed portavorous was a useful beast? Bynight as useful as a vomit to a shorn man. If he had ragnarised dtheir gcourts marsheyls? Dthat nday in ndays he had. Lindendelly, coke or skillies, spell me gart without a gate? Harlyadrope. The grazing rights (Mrs Magistra Martinette) expired with the expiry of the goat’s sire, if they were not mistaken? That he exactly could not tell the worshipfuls but his mother-in-waders had the recipis for the price of the coffin and that he was there to tell them that herself was the velocipede that could tell them kitcat. A maundarin tongue in a pounderin jowl? Father ourder about the mathers of prenanciation. Distributary endings? And we recommends. Quare hircum? No answer. Unde gentium fe …? No ah. Are you not danzzling on the age of a vulcano? Siar, I am deed. And how olld of him? He was intendant to study pulu. Which was meant in a shirt of two shifts macoghamade or up Finn’s threehatted ladder? That a head in thighs under a bush at the sunface would bait a serpent to a millrace through the heather. Arm bird colour defdum ethnic fort perhaps? Sure and glomsk handy jotalpheson as well. Hokey jasons, then, in a pigeegeeses? On a pontiff’s order as ture as there’s an ital on atac. As a gololy bit to joss? Leally and tululy. But why this hankowchaff and whence this second tone, son-yet-sun? He had the cowtaw in his buxers, flay of face. So this that Solasistras, setting odds evens at defiance, took the laud from Labouriter? What displaced Tob, Dilke and Halley, not been greatly in love with the game. And, changing the venders from the king’s head to the republican’s arms, as to the pugnaxities evinxed from flagfall to antepost during the effrays round fatherthyme’s beckside and the regents in the plantsown raining, with the skiddystars and the morkernwindup, how they appealed to him then? That it was wildfires night on all the bettygallaghers, Mickmichael’s soords shrieking shrecks through the wilkinses and Neckanicholas’ toastingforks pricking prongs up the tunnybladders. Let there be fight? And there was. Foght. On the site of the Angel’s, you said? Guiney’s Gap, he said, between what they said and the pussykitties. In the middle of the garth, then? That they mustn’t touch it. The devoted couple was or were only two disappainted solicitresses on the job of the unfortunate class on Saturn’s mountain fort? That was about it, jah! And Camellus then said to Gemellus: I should know you? Parfaitly. And Gemellus then said to Camellus: Yes, your brother? Obsolutely. And if it was all about that, egregious sir? About that and the other. If he was not alluding to the whole in the wall? That he was when he was not eluding from the whole of the woman. Briefly, how such beginall finally struck him now? Like the crack that bruck the benk in Multifarnham. Whether he fell in with what they meant? That he suppoxed he did. Thos Thoris, Thomar’s Thom? The rudacist rotter in Roebuckdom. Surtopical? And subhuman. If it was, in yappanoise language, ach bad clap? Oo! Caught offal mist? Shocking! Bladyughfoulmoecklenburgwhurawhorascortastrumpapornanennykocksapastippatappatupperstrippuckputtanach, eh? Ah! Such as turly pearced our really’s? That he might, that he might never, that he might never that night, treely and rurally! Augs and ohrs with Rhian O’Kehley, to put it tertianly, we wrong? You have it alright.
Meirdreach an Oincuish!
But a new complexion was put upon the matter when to the perplexedly uncondemnatory bench (whereon punic judgeship strove with penal law) the senior king of all, Pegger Festy, as soon as the outer layer of stuccko-muck had been removed at the request of a few live jurors, declared in a loudburst of poesy through his Brythonic interpreter on his oath, mhuith peisth mhuiseas fearra bheura muirre hriosmas, whereas take notice be the relics of the bones of the storybouchal that was ate be Cliopatrick (the sow) princess of parked porkers, afore God and all their honours and king’s commons that, what he would swear to the Tierney of Dundalgan or any other Tierney, yif live thurkells folloged him about sure that was no steal and that, nevertheless what was deposited from that eyebold earbig noseknaving gutthroat, he did not fire a stone either before or after he was born down and up to that time. And, incidentalising that they might talk about Markarthy or they might walk to Baalastartey or they might join the nabour party and come on to Porterfeud, this the sockdologer had the neck to endorse with the head bowed on him over his outturned noreaster by protesting to his lipreaders with a justbeencleaned barefacedness, abeam of moonlight’s hope, in the same trelawney what he would impart, pleas bench, to the Llwyd Josas and the gentlemen in Jury’s and the four of Masterers, who had been all those yarns yearning for that good one about why he left Dublin, that, amreeta beaker coddling doom, as an Inishman was as goods as any cantonnatal, if he was to parish by the market steak befare the dorming of the mawn he skuld never ask to see sight or light of this world or the other world or any either world of Tyre-nan-Og, as true as he was there in that jackabox that minute, or wield or wind (no thanks t’yous!) the inexousthausthible wassailhorn of iskybaush tot the hailth up the wailth of the endknown abgod of the fire of the moving way of the hawks with our hairoes in Warhorror, if ever in all his exchequered career he up or lave a chancery hand to take or throw the sign of a mortal stick or stone at man, yoelamb or salvation army either before or after being puptised down to that most holy and ever blessed hour. Awham.
Here, upon the halfkneed castleknocker’s attempting kithoguishly (in his excitement the laddo had broken exthro Castilian into which the whole audience perseguired and pursuited him olla podrida) to lilt his holymess the paws and make the sign of the Roman Godhelic faix (xaroshie, zdrst!), outbroke much yellachters from the owners in the heall (Ha!) in which, under the mollification of methaglin, the testifighter reluctingly, but with ever so ladylike indecorum, joined. (Ha! Ha!)
The hilariohoot of Pegger’s Windup cumjostled as neatly with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter’s as were they, isce et ille, equals of opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature or of spirit, iste, as the sole condition and means of its himundher manifestation and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duadestinies.
Whereas the maidies of the bar (a pairless trentene, a lunarised score), when the eranthus myrrmyrred Show’m the Posed, fluttered and flattered around the willingly pressed, nominating him for the swiney prize, complimenting him, the captivating youth, on his having all his senses about him, stincking thyacinths through his curls (O feen! O deur!) and bringing busses to his cheeks, their masculine Oirisher Rose (his neece cleur!), and legando round his nice new neck for him and pizzicagnoling his woolly-wags, with their dindy dandy sugar de candy, couriermechree me postheen flown, to believe them of all his untiring young dames and send them treats in their times, Ymen, it was not unobserved of those presents, their worships, how, of one among all, her deputised to defeme him by the Lunar Sisters’ Celibacy Club, a lovelooking leapgirl, all all alonely, Gemma Gentia of the Makegiddyculling Reeks, he, wan and pale in his unmixed admiration, seemed blindly, mutely, tastelessly, tactlessly innamorate, with heruponhim in shining aminglement, the shaym of his hisn shifting into the shimmering of her hers (youthsy, beautsy, hee’s her chap and shey’ll tell memmas when she gays whom) till the wild wishwish of her sheeshea melted moist musically mid the dark deepdeep of his shayshaun.
And whereas distracted (for was not just this in effect which had just caused that the effect of that which it had caused to occur?) the four justicers laid their wigs together, Untius, Muncius, Punchus and Pylax, but could do no worse than promulgate their standing verdict of Nolans Brumans whereonafter King, having murdered all the English he knew, picked out his pockets and left the tribunal scotfree, trailing his Tommeylommey’s tunic in his hurry, thereinunder proudly showing off the blink pitch to his britgits to prove himself (an’t plase yous!) a rael genteel. To the Switz bobbyguard’s curial but courtlike: Commodore valley O hairy, Arthre jennyrosy?, the firewaterloover returted with such a vinesmelling fortytudor ages rawdownhams tanyouhide as would turn the latten stomach even of a tumass equinous (we were prepared for the chap’s clap cap, the accent, but, took us as, by, surprise and now we’re geshing it like gush gash from a burner!) so that all the twofromthirty advocatesses within echo, pulling up their briefs at the krigkry Shun the Punman!, safely and soundly soccered that fenemine Parish Poser (how dare he!) umprumptu rightoway hames, much to his thanks, gratiasagam, to all the wrong donatrices (for like your true venuson Esau he was dovetimid as the dears at Bottome), to biss Drinkbottle’s Dingy Dwellings (toegang) where he shat in (zoo) like the muddy goalbird who he was (dun), the chassetitties belles conclaiming: You and your gift of your gaft of your garbage abaht our Farvver! and gaingridando: Hon! Verg! Nau! Putor! Skam! Schams! Shames!
And so it all ended. Artha kama dharma moksa. Ask Kavya for the kay. And so everybody heard their plaint and all listened to their plause. The letter! The litter! And the soother the bitther! Of eyebrow pencilled, by lip-stipple penned. Borrowing a word and begging the question and stealing tinder and slipping like soap. From dark Rosa Lane a sigh and a weep, from Lesbia Looshe the beam in her eye, from lone Coogan Barry his arrow of song, from Sean Kelly’s anagrim a blush at the name, from I am the Sullivan that trumpeting tramp, from Suffering Dufferin the sit of her style, from Kathleen May Vernon her mebbe fair efforts, from Fillthepot Curran his scotchlove machreether, from hymn Op 2 Phil Adolphos the weary O, the leery, O, from Samyouwill Leaver or Damyouwell Lover that jolly old molly bit or that bored saunter by, from Timm Finn again’s weak, tribes, loss of strength to his sowheel, from the wedding on the greene, agirlies, the gretnass of joyboys, from Pat Mullen, Tom Mallon, Dan Meldon, Don Maldon a slickstick picnic made in Moate by Muldoons. The solid man saved by his sillied woman. Crackajolking away like a hearse on fire. The elm that whimpers at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Syce ran with it. Hand tore it and wild went war. Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace. It was folded with cunning, sealed with crime, uptied by a harlot, undone by a child. It was life but was it fair? It was free but was it art? The old hunks on the hill read it to perlection. It made ma make merry and sissy so shy and rubbed some shine off Shem and put some shame into Shaun. Yet Una and Ita spell famine with drought and Agrippa, the propastored, spills tripulations in his threne. Ah, furchte fruchte, timid Danaides! Ena milo melomou, frai is frau and swee is too, swee is two when swoo is free, ana mala woe is we! A pair of sycopanties with amygdaleine eyes, one old obster lumpky pumpkin and three meddlars on their slies. And that was how, framm sin fromm son, acity arose, finfin funfun, asitting arows. Now tell me, tell me, tell me then!
What was it?
A..….!
?..… O!
So there you are now there they were, when all was over again, the four with them, setting around upin their judges’ chambers, in the muniment room of their marshalsea, under the auspices of Lally, around their old traditional tables of the law like somany solans to talk it over allthesameagain. Well and druly dry. Suffering law the dring. Accourting to king’s evelyns. So help her goat and kiss the bouc. Festives and highajinks and jintyaun and her beetyrossy bettydoaty and not to forget now a’duna o’darnel. The four of them and thank court now there were no more of them. So pass the push, for port’ sake. Be it soon. Ah ho! And do you remember Singabob, the bad-father, the same, the great Howdoyoucallem, and his old nickname, Dirty Daddy Pantaloons, in his monopoleums, behind the war of the two roses, with Michael Victory, the sheemen’s preester, before he caught his paper dispillsation from the poke, old Minace and Minster York? Do I mind? I mind the gush off the mon like Ballybock manure works on a tradewinds day. And the O’Moyly gracies and the O’Briny rossies chassing him bluchface and playing him pranks. How do you do todo, North Mister? Get into my way! Ah dearome forsailorshe! Gone over the bays! When ginabawdy meadabawdy! Yerra, why would she heed that old gasometer with his hooping coppin and his dyinboosycough and all the birds of the southside after her, Minxy Cunningham, their dear divorcee darling, jimmies and jonnies, to be her jo? Hold hard. There’s three other corners to our isle’s cork float. Sure, ’tis well I can telesmell him, H2CE3 that would take a township’s breath away! Gob and I nose him too as well as I do meself, heaving up the Kay Wall by the 32 to 11 with his limelooking horsebags full of sesameseed, the Whiteside Kaffir, and his sayman’s effluvium and his scentpainted voice, puffing out his thundering big brown cabbage! Pa! Thawt I’m glad a gull for his pawsdeen fiunn! Goborro, sez he, Lankyshies! Gobugga ye, sez I, O breezes! I sniffed that lad long before anyone. It was when I was in my farfather out at the west and she and myself, the redheaded girl, firstnighters down Sycomore Lane. Fine feelplay we had of it mid the kissabetts frisking in the kool kurkle dusk of the lushiness. My perfume of the pampas, says she (meaning me), putting out her netherlights, I’d sooner one precious sip at your pure mountain dew than enrich my acquaintance with that big brewer’s belch.
And now a drink is shorter than a story. And so they went on, the four-bottle men, the analists, unquam and nunquam and lunquam again, their anschluss, about her whosebefore and his wheresafter and how she was lost away away in the fern and how he was founded deap on deep in anear and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the snappings and the sighings and the pantings and the ukukukings and the (hist!) the springapartings and the (hast!) the bybyscuttlings and all the scandalmunkers and the pure craigs that used to be (up) that time living and lying and rating and riding round Nunsbelly Square. And all the buds in the bush. And the laughing jackass. Harik! Harik! Harik! The rose is white in the darik! And sunfella’s nose has got rhinoceritis from haunting the roes in the parik! So all rogues lean to rhyme. And contradrinking themselves about Lillytrilly law pon hilly and Mrs Niall of the Nine Corsages and the old markiss, their besterfar, and, arrah, sure there was never a marcus at all at all among the manlies, and dear sir armoury, queer sir rumoury, and the old house by the churpelizod and all the goings on so very wrong long before when they were going on retreat in the old gammeldags, the four of them, in Milton’s Park under lovely Father Whisperer and making her love with his stuffstuff in the languish of flowers and feeling to find was she mushymushy, and wasn’t that very both of them, the saucicissters, a drahereen o machree!, and (peep!) meeting waters most improper (peepette!) ballround the garden, trickle trickle trickle triss, please, miman, may I go flirting? farmer’s gone with a groom, how they used her, mused her, licksed her and cuddled. I differ with ye! Are you sure of yourself now? You’re a liar, excuse me! I will not and you’re another! And Lully holding their breach of the peace for them. Pool loll Lolly! To give and to take! And to forgo the pasht! And all will be forgotten! Ah ho! It was too too bad to be falling out about her kindness pet and the shape of ooooooooourang’s time. Well, all right, Lelly. And shakeahand. And schenkusmore. For Craig sake. Be it suck.
Well?
Well, even should not the framing up of such figments in the evidential order bring the true truth to light as fortuitously as a dimseer’s setting of a starchart might (heaven helping it!) uncover the nakedness of an unknown body in the fields of blue or as forehearingly as the sibspeeches of all mankind have foliated (earth seizing them!) from the root of somefunner’s stotter, all the soundest sense to be found immense our special mentalists now holds (securus iudicat orbis terrarum) that by such playing possum our hagious curious encestor bestly saved his brush with his posterity, you, charming coparcenors, us, heirs of his tailsie. Gundogs of all breeds were beagling with renounced urbiandorbic bugles, hot to run him, given law, on a scent breasthigh, keen for the worry. View! From his holt outratted, across the Juletide’s genial corsslands of Humfries Chase from Mullinahob and Peacockstown, then bearing right upon Tankardstown, the outlier, a white noelan which Mr Loewensteil FitzUrse’s basset beaters had first misbadgered for a bruin of some swart, led bayers the run, then through Raystown and Harlockstown and, louping the loup, to Tankardstown again. Ear canny hare for doubling, through Cheeverstown they raced him, through Loughlinstown and Nutstown to wind him by the Boolies. But from the good turn when he last was lost, check, upon Ye Hill of Rut in full winter coat with ticker pads, pointing for his rooming house in his rolltoproyal hessians, a deaf fuchser’s volponism hid him close in covert, miraculously ravenfed and buoyed up, in rumer, reticule, onasum and abomasum, upon (may Allbrewham have his mead!) the creamclotted sherriness of cinnamon syllabub. Mikkelraved, Nikkelsaved. Hence hounds hied home. Preservative perseverance in the reeducation of his intestines was thus the rebuttal by whilk he sort of git the big bulge on the whole bunch of spasoakers, dieting against glues and gravies, in that sometime prestreet protown. Vainly violence, virulence and vituperation sought wellnigh utterly to attax and abridge, to derail and depontify, to enrate and inroad, to ongoad and unhume the great shipping mogul and underlinen overlord.
But the spoil of hesitants, the spell of hesitency. His atake is it ashe, tittery taw tatterytail, hasitense humponadimply, heyheyheyhey a winceywencky.
Assemblymen murmured. Reynard is slow!
One feared for his days. Did there yawn? ’Twas his stommick. Eruct? The libber. A gush? From his visceals. Pung? Delivver him, orelode! He had laid violent hands on himself, it was brought in Fugger’s Newsletter, lain down, all in, fagged out, with equally melancholy death. For the triduum of Saturnalia his goatservant had paraded hiz willingsons in the Forum while the jenny infanted the lass to be greeted raucously with houx and epheus and (the Yard stated) measured with missiles too from a hundred of manhood and a wimmering of weibes. Big went the bang: then wildewide was quiet: a report: badoldkaraktercommonorrumcanbung: silence: last Fama put it under ether. The noase or the loal had dreven him blem, blem, stun blem. Sparks flew. He had fled again (open shunshema!) this country of exile, sloughed off, sidleshomed via his old nordest subterranean tunnel shored with bedboards, stowed away and ankered in a dutch bottom, tunk the Arsa, hod S.S. Finlandia, and was even now, under an islamitic newname, occupying, in his seventh generation, a physical body, Cornelius Magrath’s, in Asia Major, where as Turk of the theatre (the first house all flatty: the king, eleven sharps) he had bepiastered the buikdanseuses from the opulence of his omnibox while as Arab at the streetdoor he had bepestered the bumbashaws for the alms of a para’s pence. Wires hummed. Peacefully general astonishment assisted by regrettitude had put a term till his existence: he saw the family saggarth, resigned himself, put off his remainders, was recalled and scrapheaped by the Maker. Chirpings crossed. An infamous private ailment (vulgovariovenereal) had claimed endright, closed his vicious circle, snap. Jams jarred. He had walked towards the middle of an ornamental lilypond when innebriated up to the point where braced shirts meet knickerbockers, as wangfish daring the buoyant waters, when rodmen’s firstaiding hands had rescued un from very possibly several feet of demifrish water. Mush spread. On Umbrella Street, where he did drinks from a pumps, a kind workman, Mr Whitlock, gave him a piece of his wood. What words of power were made fas between them, ekenames and auchnomes, acnomina ecnumina, that, O that, did Hansard tell us, would gar ganz Dub’s ear wag in every pub of all the citta! Batty believes a baton while Hogan hears a hod yet Peer prefers a punsil shapner and Cope and Bull go cup and ball. And the Cassidy-Craddock rome and reme round e’er a wiege ne’er a waage is still immer and immor awagering over it, a cradle with a care in it or a casket with a kick behind. Toties testies quoties questies. The war is in words and the wood is the world. Maply me, willowy we, hickory he and yew yourselves. Howforhim chirrupeth evereachbird! From golddawn glory to glowworm gleam. We were low quacks did we not tacit turn. Elsewere there here no concern of the Guinnesses. Cracklings crickled. A human pest cycling (pist!) and recycling (past!) about the sledgy streets of the garden -city, here he was (pust!) again! He was loose at large and (O baby!) might be anywhere, but only the ruining of the rain has heard. Morse nuisance noised when a disguised exnun of huge standbuild and masculine manners in her fairly fat forties, Carpulenta Gygasta, hattracted hattention by harbitrary conduct with a hominibuzz. Aerials bizzed to coastal listeners of an oertax collector’s budget, fullybigs, sporran, tie, tuft, tabard and bloody antichill cloak, its tailor’s (Baernfather’s) tab reading V.P.H., found nigh Scald-brothar’s Hole, and divers shivered to think what kaind of beast, wolves, croppies or fourpenny friars had devoured him. C.W. cast wide. Hvidfinns lyk, drohneth svertgleam, Valkir lockt. On his pinksir’s postern, the boys had it, at Whitweekend had been nailed an inkedup name and title, inscribed in the national cursives, accelerated, regressive, filiform, turreted, and envemoloped in piggotry: Move up, Mumpty! Mike room for Rumpty! By order, Nickellous Plugg! And this go, no pentecostal jest about it, how gregarious his race soever or skilful learned wise cunning knowledgable clear profound his saying fortitudofraught or prudentiaproven, were he chief, count, general, fieldmarshal, prince, king or Myles the Slasher in his person, with a moliamordhar mansion in the Breffnian empire and a place of inauguration on the hill of Tullymongan, there had been real murder of the ragheallach royghal raxacraxian variety: the MacMahon chaps, it was, that had done him in. On the field of Verdor the rampant combatants had left him lion with his dexter handcoup wresterected in a puree de paumee bloody proper. Indeed not a few thick and thin wellwishers, mostly of the clontarfminded class (Colonel John Bawle O’Roarke, feroxamplus), even ventured so far as to loan or beg copies of D. Blayny’s trilingual triweekly, Scatterbrains’ Aftening Posht, so as to make certain sure onetime and be satisfied of their quasicontribusodalitarian’s having become genuinely quite beetly dead whether by land whither by water. Transocean atalaclamoured him: The latter! The latter! Shall their hope then be silent or Macfarlane lack of lamentation? He lay under leagues of it in deep Bartholomew’s Deep.
Achdung! Pozor! Attenshune! Vikeroy Besights Smucky Yung Pigeschoolies. Tri Paisdinernes Eventyr Med Lochlanner Fathach I Fionnuisgehaven. Bannalanna Bangs Ballyhooly Out Of Her Buddaree Of A Bullavogue.
Wherefore let it hardly by any being thinking be said either or thought that the prisoner of that sacred edifice, were he an Ivor the Boneless or an Olaf the Hvide, was at his best a onestone parable, a rude breathing on the void of to be, a venter hearing his own bauchspeech in backwords, or, more strictly, but tristurned initials, the cluekey to a worldroom beyond the roomwhorld; for scarce one, or pathetically few, of his dodecanal sammenlivers cared seriously or for long to doubt with Kurt Fuld van Dijke (the gravitational pull perceived by certain fixed residents and the capture of uncertain comets chancedrifting through our system suggesting an authenticitatem of his aliquitudinis) the canonicity of his existence as a tesseract.
But, their bright little contemporaries notwithstanding, brave news world come to town of how on the morrowing morn of the suicidal murder of the unrescued expatriate, aslike as asnake comes sliduant down that oaktree onto the duke of beavers (you may have seen some liquidamber exude exotic from a balsam poplar at Parteen-a-lax, Limestone Road, and cried: Abies Magnifica! not, noble fir?), a quarter of nine, imploring his resipiency, saw the infallible spike of smoke jutstiff punctual from the seventh gable of our Quintus Centimachus’ porphyroid buttertower and ten thirsty p.m., with oaths upon his lastingness (estout pourporteral!), the lamps of maintenance, beaconsfarafield, innerhalb the ziggurat, all brevetnamed, the wasting wyvern, the tawny of his mane, the swinglowswaying bluepaw brors, the outstanding man, the lolllike lady, being litten for the long (O laud, how long!) lifesnight, a suffusion of fineglass transom and leadlight panes. En caecos harauspices! Annos longos patimur!
Dispersal women wondered. Was she fast?
Do tell us allabout. As we want to hear allabout. So tellus tellas allabouter. Finickin here and funickin there. Or whether she looked alottylike. Like ussies. And whether the why he had his windup. Like themses. Shut? Notes and queries, tipbids and answers, the laugh and the shout, the ards and downs.
Now listen to one aneither and liss them down and smoothen out your leaves of rose. The war is o’er. Wimwim wimwim! Was it Unity Moore or Estella Swifte or Varina Fay or Quarta Quaedam? Toemaas, mark oom for yor ounckel! Pigeys, hold op med yer leg! Who, but who (for second time of asking), was then the scourge of the parts about folkrich Lucalizod, it was wont to be asked, as, in ages behind of the Homo Capite Erectus, what price Peabody’s money, or, to put it bluntly, whence is the herrington’s white cravat, as, in epochs more cainozoic, who struck Buckley, though nowadays as thentimes every schoolfilly of sevenscore moons or more who knows her intimologies and every colleen bawl aroof and every redflam-melwaving warwife and widowpeace upon Dublin Wall for ever knows as yayas is yayas how it was Buckleyself (we need no blooding paper to tell it neither) who struck and the Russian generals (da! da!) instead of Buckley who was caddishly struck by him when by herselves. What fullpried paulpoison in the spy of three castles or which hatefilled smileyseller? And that such a vetriol of vinom, that queen’s head affranchisant, a quiet stinkingplaster zeal could cover, prepostered or postpaid! The loungelizards of the pumproom had their nine days’ jeer and pratschkats at their platschpails too and holenpolendom beside, Szpaszpas Szpissmas, the zhanyzhonies, when, still believing in her owenglass when izarres were twinklins that the upper reaches of her mouthless face and her impermanent waves were the better half of her, one nearer him, dearer than all, first warming creature of his early morn, bondwoman of the man of the house and murrmurr of all the mackavicks, she who had given his eye for her bed and a tooth for a child till one one and one ten and one hundred again, O me and O ye, cadet and prim, the hungray end anngreen (and if she is older now than her teeth she has hair that is younger than thighne, my dear!), she who shuttered him after his fall and waked him widowt sparing and gave him keen and made him able and held adazillahs to each arche of his noes, she who will not rast her from her running to seek him till, with the kelp of the Okeanic, some such times that she shall have been after hiding the crumbends of his enormousness in the areyou lookingfor Pearlfar sea (ur, uri, uria!), stood forth, buruzburn the gorygory old danworld, in gogor’s name, for gagar’s sake, dragging the countryside in her train, with her louisequean’s brogues and her culunder buzzle and her little bolero, boa and all, and two times twenty curlicorms for her hairdress, specks on her eyeux and spudds in horeilles and a circusfix riding her Parisianne’s cockneze, a vaunt her straddle from Equerry Egon, when Tinktink in the churchclose clinked Steploajazzyma Sunday, sola, with pawns, prelates and pookas pelotting in her piecebag for Handiman the Chomp, Esquoro, biskbask, to crush the slander’s head.
Wery weeny wight, plead for Morandmor! Notre Dame de la Ville, mercy of thy balmheartsyheat! Ogrowdnyk’s beyond herbata tay, wort of the drogist. Bulk him no bulkis. Be still, O quick! Speak him, dumb! Hush, ye fronds of Ulma! Stimm unto stein! And let him rest, thou wayfarer, and take no gravespoil from him! Neither mar his mound! The bane of Tut is on it. Ware! But there’s a little lady waiting and her name is A.L.P. And you’ll agree. She must be she. For her holden heirheaps hanging down her back. He spenth his strenth amok haremscarems: Poppy, Narancy, Giallia, Chlora, Marinka, Anileen, Parme. And ilk a those dames had her rainbow huemoures yet for whilk o her whims but he coined a cure. Tifftiff togay, kissykissy tonay and agelong pine tomauranna. Then who but Crippled-with-Children would speak up for Dropping-with-Sweat?
Sold him her lease of ninenineninetee,
Tresses undresses so dyedyedaintee,
Goo, the groot gudgeon, gulphed it all.
Hoo was the C.O.D.?
Bung!
At Island Bridge she met her tide.
Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom!
The Fin had a flux and his Ebba a ride.
Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom!
We’re all up to the years in hues and cribies.
That’s what she’s done for wee!
Woe!
Nomad may roam with Nabuch but let naaman laugh at Jordan! For we, we have taken our sheet upon her stones where we have hanged our hearts in her trees; and we list, as she bibs us, by the waters of babalong.
In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!
Her untitled mamafesta memorialising the Mosthighest has gone by many names at disjointed times. Thus we hear of The Augusta Angustissimost for Old Seabeastius’ Salvation, Rockabill Booby in the Wave Trough, Here’s to the Relicts of All Decencies, Anna Stessa’s Rise to Notice, Knickle Down Duddy Gunne and Arishe Sir Cannon, My Golden One and My Selver Wedding, Amoury Treestam and Icy Siseule, Saith a Sawyer til a Strame, Ik dik dopedope et tu mihimihi, Buy Birthplate for a Bite, Which of your Hesterdays Mean ye to Morra?, Hoebegunne the Hebrewer Hit Waterman the Brayned, Arcs in his Ceiling Flee Chinx on the Flur, Rebus de Hibernicis, The Crazier Letters, Groans of a Britoness, Peter Peopler Picked a Plot to Pitch his Poppolin, An Apology for a Big (some such nonoun as Husband or Husboat or Hosebound is probably understood for we have also the pluterplethoric My Hoonsbood Haansbaad’s a Journey to Porthergill Gone and He Never Has the Hour), Ought One To Visit One?, For Ark see Zoo, Cleopater’s Needlework Ficturing Aldborougham on the Sahara with the Coombing of the Cammmels and the Parlourmaids of Aegypt, Cock in the Pot for Father, Placeat Vestrae, A New Cure for an Old Clap, Where Portentos they’d Grow Gonder how I’d Wish I Woose a Geese, Gettle Netties, Thrust him not, When the Myrtles of Venice Played to Bloccus’s Line, To Plenge Me High He Waives Chiltern on Friends, Oremunds Queue Visits Amen Mart, E’en Tho’ I Granny a-be He would Fain Me Cuddle, Twenty of Chambers, Weighty Ten Beds and a Wan Ceteroom, I Led the Life, Through the Boxer Coxer Rising in the House with the Golden Stairs, The Following Fork, He’s my O’Jerusalem and I’m his Po, The Best in the West, By the Stream of Zemzem under Zigzag Hill, The Man That Made His Mother in the Marlborry Train, Try Our Taal on a Taub, The Log of Anny to the Base All, Nopper Tipped a Nappiwenk to his Notylytl Dantsigirls, Prszss Orel Orel the King of Orlbrdsz, Intimier Minnelisp of an Extorreor Monolothe, Drink to Him, My Juckey, and Dhoult Bemine Thy Winnowing Sheet, I Ask You to Believe I was his Mistress, He Can Explain, From Victrolia Nuancee to Allbart Noahnsy, Da’s a Daisy so Guimea your Handsel too, What Barbaras Done to a Barrel Organ Before the Rank, Tank and Bombtail, Huskvy Admortal, What Jumbo made Jalice and what Anisette to Him, Ophelia’s Culpreints, Hear Hubty Hublin, My Old Dansk, I am Older nor the Rogues among Whisht I Slips and He Calls Me his Dual of Ayessha, Suppotes a Ventriliquorst Merries a Corpse, Lapps for Finns this Funnycoon’s Week, How the Buckling Shut at Rush in January, Look to the Lady, From the Rise of the Dudge Pupublick to the Fall of the Potstille, Of the Two Ways of Opening the Mouth, I have not Stopped Water Where It Should Flow and I Know the Twentynine Names of Attraente, The Tortor of Tory Island Traits Galasia like his Milchcow, From Abbeygate to Crowalley Through a Lift in the Lude, Smocks for Their Graces and Me Aunt for Them Clodshoppers, How to Pull a Good Horuscoup even when Oldsire is Dead to the World, Inn the Gleam of Waherlow, Fathe He’s Sukceded to My Esperations, Thee Steps Forward, Two Stops Back, My Skin Appeals to Three Senses and My Curly Lips Demand Columbkisses, Gage Street on a Crany’s Savings, Them Lads made a Trion of Battlewatschers and They Totties a Doeit of Deers, In My Lord’s Bed by One Whore Went Through It, Mum It Is All Over, Cowpoyride by Twelve Acre Terriss in the Unique Estates of Amessican, He Gave me a Thou so I Serve Him with Thee, Of all the Wide Torsos in all the Wild Glen, O’Donogh, White Donogh, He’s Hue to Me Cry, I’m the Stitch in his Baskside, You’d be Nought without Mom, To Keep the Huskies off the Hustings and Picture Pets from Lifting Shops, Norsker, Torsker, Find the Poddle, He Perssed Me Here with the Ardour of a Tonnoburkes, A Boob was Weeping, His Mower was Reaping, O’Loughlin, Up from the Pit of my Stomach I Swish you the White of the Mourning, Inglo-Andean Medoleys from Tommany Moohr, The Great Polynesional Entertrainer Exhibits Ballantine Brautchens with the Link of Natures, The Mimic of Meg, Neg and the Mackeys, Entered as the Lastest Pigtarial and My Pooridiocal at Stitchioner’s Hall, Siegfield Follies and or a Gentlehomme’s Faut Pas, See the First Book of Jealesies Pessim, The Suspended Sentence, A Pretty Brick Story for Childsize Heroes, As Lo Our Sleep, I Knew I’d Got it in Me so Thit Settles That, Thonderbalt Captain Smeth and La Belle Sauvage Pocahonteuse, Way for Wet Week Welikin’s Douchter Marianne, The Last of the Fingallians, It Was Me Egged Him On to the Stork Exchange and Lent My Dutiful Face to His Customs, Chee Chee Cheels on their China Miction, Pickedmeup Peters, Lumptytumtumpty had a Big Pall, Pimpimp Pimpimp, Measly Ventures of Two Lice and the Fall of Fruit, The Fokes Family Interior, If my Spreadeagles Wasn’t so Tight I’d Loosen my Cursits on that Bunch of Maggie-straps, Allolosha Popofetts and Howhe Cotchme Eye, Seen Aples and Thin Dyed, i big U to Beleaves from Love and Mother, Fine’s Fault was no Felon, Exat Delvin Renter Life, The Flash that Flies from Vuggy’s Eyes has Set Me Hair on Fire, His is the House that Malt Made, Divine Views from Back to the Front, Abe to Sare Stood Icyk Neuter till Brahm Taulked Him Common Sex, A Nibble at Eve Will that Bowal Relieve, Allfor Guineas, Sounds and Compilments Libidous, Seven Wives Awake Aweek, Airy Ann and Berber Blut, Amy Licks Porter while Huffy Chops Eads, Abbrace of Umbellas or a Trippple of Caines, Buttbutterbust, From the Manorlord Hoved to the Misses O’Mollies and from the Dames to their Sames, Manyfestoons for the Colleagues on the Green, An Outstanding Back and an Excellent Halfcentre if Called On, As Tree is Quick and Stone is White So is My Washing Done by Night, First and Last Only True Account all about the Honorary Mirsu Earwicker L.S.D. and the Snake (Nuggets!) by a Woman of the World who only can Tell Naked Truths about a Dear Man and all his Conspirators how they all Tried to Fall him by Putting it all around Lucalizod about Privates Earwicker and a Pair of Sloppy Sluts plainly Showing all the Unmentionability falsely Accusing about the Raincoats.
The proteiform graph itself is a polyhedron of scripture. There was a time when naif alphabetters would have written it down the tracing of a purely deliquescent recidivist, possibly ambidextrous, snubnosed probably and presenting a strangely profound rainbowl in his (or her) occiput. To the hardily curiosing entomophilust then it has shown a very sexmosaic of nymphosis in which the eternal chimerahunter, Oriolopos, now frond of sugars, then lief of saults, the sensory crowd in his belly coupled with an eye for the goods trooth bewilderblissed by their night effluvia with guns like drums and fondlers like forceps, persequestellates his vanessas from flore to flore. Somehows this sounds like the purest kidooleyoon wherein our madern-accrution of lour lore is rich. All’s so herou from us hin in a kitchernott darkness, by hasard and worn rolls arered, we must grope on till zerogh hour like pou owl giaouirs as we are would we salve aught of moments for our aysore today. Amousin though not but. Closer inspection of the bordereau would reveal a multiplicity of personalities inflicted on the document or documents and some prevision of virtual crime or crimes might be made by anyone unwary enough before any suitable occasion for it or them had so far managed to happen along. In fact, under the close eyes of the inspector the traits featuring the chiaroscuro coalesce, their contrarieties eliminated, in one stable somebody similarly as by the providential warring of heartshaker with housebreaker and of dramdrinker against freethinker our social something bowls along bumpily, experiencing a jolting series of prearranged disappointments, down the long lane of (it’s as semper as oxhousehumper!) generations, more generations and still more generations.
Say, baroun lousadoor, who in hallhagal wrote the durn thing anyhow? Erect, beseated, amountback, against a partywall, below freezigrade, by the use of quill or style, with turbid or pellucid mind, accompanied or the reverse by mastication, interrupted by visit of seer to scribe or of scribe to site, atwixt two showers or atosst of a trike, rained upon or blown around, by a rightdown regular racer from the soil or by a too pained whittlewit laden with the loot of learning?
Now, patience. And remember patience is the great thing. And above all things else we must avoid anything like being or becoming out of patience. A good plan used by worried business folk who may not have had many momentums to master Kung’s doctrine of the meang or the propriety codestruces of Carprimustimus is just to think of all the sinking fund of patience possessed in their conjoint names by both brothers Bruce with whom are incorporated their Scotch spider and Elberfeld’s Calculating Horses. If after years upon years of delving in ditches dark one tubthumper more than others, Kinihoun or Kahanan, giardarner or mear measenmanouger, has got up for the darnall same purpose of reassuring us with all the barbar of the Carragee-house that our great ascendant was properly speaking three syllables less than his own surname (yes, yes, less!), that the ear of Dionn Earwicker aforetime was the trademark of a broadcaster with wicker local jargon for an ace’s patent (Hear! Calls! Everywhair!), then as to this radiooscillating epiepistle to which, cotton, silk or samite, kohol, gall or brickdust, we must ceaselessly return, whereabouts exactly at present in Siam, Hell or Tophet under that glorisol which plays touraloup with us in this Aludin’s Cove of our cagacity is that bright soandsuch to slip us the dinkum oil?
Naysayers we know. To conclude purely negatively from the positive absence of political odia and monetary requests that its page cannot ever have been a penproduct of a man or woman of that period or those parts is only one more unlookedfor conclusion leaped at, being tantamount to inferring from the nonpresence of inverted commas (sometimes called quotation marks) on any page that its author was always constitutionally incapable of misappropriating the spoken words of others.
Luckily there is another cant to the questy. Has any fellow of the dime a dozen type, it might with some profit some dull evening quietly be hinted—has any usual sort of ornery josser, flatchested, fortyish, faintly flatulent and given to ratiocination by syncopation in the elucidation of complications, of his greatest Fung Yang dynasdescendanced, only another the son of, in fact, ever looked sufficiently longly at a quite everywaylooking stamped addressed envelope? Admittedly it is an outer husk: its face, in all its featureful perfection of imperfections, is its fortune: it exhibits only the civil or military clothing of whatever passionpallid nudity or plaguepurple nakedness may happen to tuck itself under its flap. Yet to concentrate solely on the literal sense or even the psychological content of any document to the sore neglect of the enveloping facts themselves circumstantiating it is just as hurtful to sound sense (and, let it be added, to the truest taste) as were some fellow in the act of perhaps getting an intro from another fellow turning out to be a friend in need of his, say, to a lady of the latter’s acquaintance, engaged in performing the elaborative antecistral ceremony of upstheres, straightway to run off and vision her plump and plain in her natural altogether, preferring to close his blinkhard’s eyes to the ethiquethical fact that she was, after all, wearing for the space of the time being some definite articles of evolutionary clothing, inharmonious creations, a captious critic might describe them as, or not strictly necessary or a trifle irritating here and there but for all that suddenly full of local colour and personal perfume and suggestive, too, of so very much more and capable of being stretched, filled out, if need or wish were, of having their surprisingly like coincidental parts separated, don’t they now, for better survey by the deft hand of an expert, don’t you know? Who in his heart doubts either that the facts of feminine clothiering are there all the time or that the feminine fiction, stranger than the facts, is there also at the same time, only a little to the rere? Or that one may be separated from the other? Or that both may then be contemplated simultaneously? Or that each may be taken up and considered in turn apart from the other?
Here let a few artifacts fend in their own favour. The river felt she wanted salt? That was just where Brien came in. The country asked for bearspaw for dindin? And boundin aboundin it got it surly. We who live under heaven, we of the clovery kingdom, we middleseas people have often watched the sky overreaching the land. We suddenly have. Our isle is Sainge. The place. That stern chuckler, Mayhappy Mayhapnot, once said to repeation in that lutran conservatory way of his that Isitachapel-Asitalukin was the one place, ult aut nult, in this madh vaal of tares (whose verdhure’s yellowed therever Phaiton parks his car while its tamelised tay is the drame of Drainophilias) where the possible was the improbable and the improbable the inevitable. If the proverbial bishop of our holy and undivided with this me ken or no me ken Zot is the Quiztune havvermashed his twoe nails on the head we are in for a sequentiality of improbable possibles though possibly nobody after having grubbed up a lock of cwold cworn aboove his subject probably in Harrystotalies or the vivle will go out of his way to applaud him on the onboiassed back of his remark for, utterly impossible as are all these here events, they are probably as like those which may have taken place as any others which never took person at all are ever likely to be. Ahahn!
About that original hen. Midwinter (fruur or kuur?) was in the offing and Premver a promise of a pril when, as kischabrigies sang life’s old sahatsong, an iceclad shiverer, merest of bantlings, observed a cold fowl behaviourising strangely on that fatal midden or chip factory or comical-bottomed copsjute (dump for short) afterwards changed into the orangery when in the course of deeper demolition unexpectedly one bushman’s holiday its limon threw up a few spontaneous fragments of orangepeel, the last remains of an outdoor meal by some unknown sunseeker or placehider illico way back in his mistridden past. What child of a strandlooper but keepy little Kevin in the despondful surrounding of such sneezing cold would ever have trouved up on a strete that was called strate a motive for future saintity by euchring the finding of the Ardagh chalice by another heily innocent and beachwalker whilst trying with pious clamour to wheedle Tipperaw raw raw reeraw puteters out of Now Sealand in spight of the patchpurple of the massacre, a dual a duel to die to day, goddam and biggod, sticks and stanks, of most of the Jacobiters.
The bird in the case was Belinda of the Dorans, a more than quinquegintarian (Terziis prize with Serni medal, Cheepalizzy’s Hane Exposition), and what she was scratching at at the hour of klokking twelve looked for all this zogzag world like a goodishsized sheet of letterpaper originating by transhipt from Boston (Mass.) of the last of the first to Dear whom it proceeded to mention Maggy well & allathome’s health well only the hate turned the milk on the van Houtens and the general’s elections with a lovely face of some born gentleman with a beautiful present of wedding cakes for dear thank you Chriesty and with grand funferall of poor Father Michael don’t forget unto life’s & Muggy well how are you Maggy & hopes soon to hear well & must now close it with fondest to the twoinns with four crosskisses for holy paul holey corner holipoli whollyisland pee ess from (locust may eat all but this sign shall they never) affectionate largelooking tache of tch. The stain, and that a teastain (the overcautelousness of the masterbilker here, as usual, signing the page away), marked it off on the spout of the moment as a genuine relique of ancient Irish pleasant pottery of that lydialike languishing class known as a hurry-me-o’er-the-hazy.
Why then how?
Well, almost any microphotoist worth his chemicots will tip anyone tossing him the teaser that if a negative of a horse happens to melt enough while drying, well, what you do get is, well, a positively grotesquely distorted macromass of all sorts of horsehappy values and masses of meltwhile horse. Tip. Well, this freely is what must have occurred to our missive (there’s a sod of a turb for you! please wisp off the grass!) unfilthed from the boucher by the sagacity of a lookmelittle likemelong hen. Heated residence in the heart of the orangeflavoured mudmound had partly obliterated the negative to start with, causing some features palpably nearer your pecker to be swollen up most grossly while the farther back we manage to wiggle the more we need the loan of a lens to see as much as the hen saw. Tip.
You is feeling like you was lost in the bush, boy? You says: It is a puling sample jungle of woods. You most shouts out: Bethicket me for a stump of a beech if I have the poultriest notions what the forest he all means. Gee up, girly! The quad gospellers may own the targum but any of the zingari shoolerim may pick a peck of kindlings yet from the sack of auld hensyne.
Lead, kindly fowl! They always did: ask the ages. What bird has done yesterday man may do next year, be it fly, be it moult, be it hatch, be it agreement in the nest. For her socioscientific sense is sound as a bell, sir: her volucrine automutativeness right on normalcy: she knows, she just feels she was kind of born to lay and love eggs (trust her to propagate the species and hoosh her fluffballs safe through din and danger!): lastly but mostly, in her genesic field it is all game and no gammon: she is ladylike in everything she does and plays the gentleman’s part every time. Let us auspice it! Yes, before all this has time to end the golden egg must return with its vungence. Man will become dirigible, ague will be rejuvenated, woman with her ridiculous white burden will reach by one step sublime incubation, the manewanting human lioness with her dishorned discipular manram will lie down together publicly flank upon fleece. No, assuredly, they are not justified, those gloompourers who grouse that letters have never been quite their old selves again since that weird weekday in bleak Janiveer (yet how palmy date in a waste’s oasis!) when, to the shock of both, Biddy Doran looked at literature.
And. She may be a mere marcella, this midget madgetcy, Misthress of Arths. But. It is not a hear or say of some anomorous letter, signed Toga Girilis (teasy dear). We have a cop of her fist right against our nosibos. We note the paper with her jotty young watermark: Notre Dame du Bon Marché. And she has a heart of Arin! What lumililts as she fols with her fallimineers and her nadianods. As a strow will shaw so does the wind blague, recting to show the rudess of a robur, curling and shewing the fansaties of a frizette. But how many of her readers realise that she is not out to dizzledazzle with a graith uncouthrement of postmantuam glasseries from the lapins and the grigs? Nuttings on her wilelife! Grabar gooden grandy for old almeanium adamologists like Dariaumaurius and Zovotrimaserovmeravmerouvian; (dmzn!); she feel plain plate one flat fact thing and if, lastways firdstwise, a man alones sine anyon anyons utharas has no rates to done a kik at with anyon anakars about tutus milking fores and the rereres on the outerrand asikim the tutus to be forrarder. Thingcrooklyexineverypasturesixdixlixencehimaroundhersthemaggerbykinkinkankanwithdownmindlookingated. Mesdaims, Marmouselles, Mescerfs! Silvapais! All schwants (schwrites) ischt tell the Cock’s trooth about him. Kapak kapuk. No minzies matter. He had to see life foully, the plak and the smut (schwrites). There were three men in him (schwrites). Dancings (schwrites) was his only ttoo feebles. With apple harlottes. And a little mollvogels. Spissially (schwrites) when they peeches. Honeys wore camelia paints. Yours very truthful. Add dapple inn. Yet it is but an old story, the tale of a Treestone with one Ysold, of a Mons held by tentpegs and his Pal whatholootsed on the run, what Cadman could but Badman wouldn’t, any Genoaman against any Venis, and why Kate takes charge of the waxworks.
Let us now, weather, health, dangers, public orders and other circumstances permitting, when perfectly convenient, if you police, ofter you, policepolice, pardoning mein, ich beam so fresch, hey?, drop this jiggery-pokery and talk straight turkey as meet to mate for while the ear, be we mikealls or nicholists, may sometimes be inclined to believe others the eye, whether browned or nolensed, finds it devilish hard now and again even to believe itself. Habes aures et num videbis? Habes oculos ac mannepalpabunt? Tip! Drawing nearer to take our slant at it (since after all it has met with misfortune while all underground), let us see all there may remain to be seen.
I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear. You are a poorjoist, unctuous to polise nopebobbies and tunnibelly soully when ’tis thime took o’er home, gin. We cannot say aye to aye. We cannot smile noes from noes. Still. One cannot help noticing that rather more than half of the lines run north-south in the Nemzes and Bukarahast directions while the others go west-east in search from Maliziies with Bulgarad for, tiny tot though it looks when schtschupnistling alongside other incunabula, it has its cardinal points for all that. These ruled barriers along which the traced words run, march, halt, walk, stumble at doubtful points, stumble up again in comparative safety seem to have been drawn first of all in a pretty checker with lamp-black and blackthorn. Such crossing is antechristian, of course, but the use of the homeborn shillelagh as an aid to calligraphy shows a distinct advance from savagery to barbarism. It is seriously believed by some that the intention may have been geodetic or, in the view of the cannier, domestic economical. But by writing thithaways end to end and turning, turning and end to end hithaways writing and with lines of litters slittering up and louds of latters slettering down, the old semetomyplace and jupetbackagain from Ham Let Rise till Hum Lit Sleep, where in the waste is the wisdom?
Another point. In addition to the original sand, pounce powder, drunkard paper or soft rag used (any vet or inhanger in our sot’s social can see the seen for seemself, a wee ftofty od room, the cheery spluttered on the one karrig, a darka disheen of voos from Dalbania, any gotsquantity of racky, a portogal and some buk setting out on the sofer, you remember the sort of softball sucker motru used to tell us when we were all biribiyas or nippies and messas) it has acquired accretions of terricious matter whilst loitering in the past. The teatimestained terminal (say not the tag, mummer, or our show’s a failure!) is a cosy little brown study all to oneself and, whether it be thumbprint, mademark or just a poor trait of the artless, its importance in establishing the identities in the writer complexus (for if the hand was one the minds of active and agitated were more than so) will be best appreciated by never forgetting that both before and after the battle of the Boyne it was a habit not to sign letters always. Tip. And it is surely a lesser ignorance to write a word with every consonant too few than to add all too many. The end? Say it with missiles then and thus arabesque the page. You have your cup of scalding Souchong, your taper’s waxen drop, your cat’s paw, the clove or coffinnail you chewed or champed as you worded it, your lark in clear air. So why, pray, sign anything as long as every word, letter, penstroke, paperspace is a perfect signature of its own? A true friend is known much more easily, and better into the bargain, by his personal touch, habits of full or undress, movements, response to appeals for charity than by his footwear, say.
And, speaking anent Tiberias and other incestuish salacities among gerontophils, a world of warning about the tenderloined passion hinted at. Some softnosed peruser might mayhem take it up erogenously as the usual perfectly usual case of spoons, prostituta in herba plus dinky pinks deliberatively summersaulting off her bisexycle at the main entrance of curate’s perpetual soutane suit with her one to see and awoh! who picks her up as gingerly as any balmbearer would to feel whereupon the virgin was most hurt and nicely asking: whyre have you been so grace a mauling and where were you chaste me child? Be who, farther potential? and so wider but we grisly old Sykos who have done our unsmiling bit on ’alices, when they were yung and easily freudened, in the penumbra of the procuring room (and what oracular comepression we have had, very priveetly, of course, to apply to them!) could (did we care to sell our feebought silence in camera) tell our very moistnostrilled one that father in such virgated contexts is not always that undemonstrative relative (often held up to our contumacy) who settles our hashbill for us and what an innocent allabroad’s adverb such as Michaelly looks like can be suggestive of under the pudendascope and, finally, what a neurasthene nympholept, endocrine-pineal typus, of inverted parentage with a prepossessing drauma present in her past and a priapic urge for congress with agnates before cognates fundamentally is feeling for under her lubricitous meiosis when she refers with liking to some feeler she fancie’s face. And. Mm. We could. Yes. What need to say? ’Tis as human a little story as paper could well carry, in affect, as singsing so Salaman susuing to swittvitles while as unbluffingly blurtubruskblunt as an Esra, the cat, the cat’s meeter, the meeter’s cat’s wife, the meeter’s cat’s wife’s half better, the meeter’s cat’s wife’s half better’s meeter, and so back to our horses, for we also know, what we have perused from the pages of I Was A Gemral, that showting up of Bulsklivism by “Schottenboum”, that Father Michael about this red time of the white terror equals the old regime and Margaret is the social revolution while cakes mean the party funds and dear thank you signifies national gratitude. In fine, we have heard, as it happened, of Spartacus intercellular. We are not corknered yet, dead hand! We can recall, with voluntears, the froggy jew and sweeter far ’twere now wes-thinks in Dumbil’s fair city ere one more year is o’er. We tourned our coasts to the good gay tunes when from down swords the sea merged the oldowth guns and answer made the bold O’Dwyer. But. Est modest in verbos. Let a prostitute be whoso stands before a door and winks or parks herself in the fornix near a makeussin wall (sinsin! sinsin!) and the curate one who brings strong waters (gingin! gingin!), but also, and dinna forget, that there is many asleeps between someathome’s first and moreinausland’s last, that the beautiful presence of waiting kates will until life’s (!) be more than enough to make any milkmike, in the tonguage of sweet tarts, punch hell’s hate into his twin nicky, and that Maggy’s tea, or your Majesty, if heard as a boost from a born gentleman is (?). For if the iridated lingo gasped between kicksheets, however basically English, were to be preached from the homo-sapuel mouths of wickerchurchwardens and metaphysicians in the row and advokaatoes, allvoyous, demivoyelles, languoaths, lesbiels, dentelles, gutter-howls and furtz, where would their practice be or where the human race itself were the Pythagorean sesquipedalia of the panepistemion, however apically Volapucky, grunted and gromwelled, ichabod, habakuk, opanoff, uggamyg, hapaxle, gomenon, ppppfff, over country stiles, behind slated dwellinghouses, down blind lanes or, when all fruit fails, under some sacking left on a coarse cart?
So hath been, love: tis tis: and will be: till wears and tears and ages. Thief us the night, steal we the air, shawl thiner liefest, mine! Here, O here, insult the fair! Traitor, bad hearer, brave! The lightning look, the birding cry, awe from the grave, everflowing on the times. Feueragusaria iordenwater; now godsun shine on menday’s daughter; a good clap, a fore marriage, a bad wake, tell hell’s well; such is manowife’s lot of lose and win again, like he’s gruen quhiskers on who’s chin again, she plucketed them out but they grown in again. So what are you going to do about it? O dear!
If juness she saved! Ah ho! And if yulone he pouved! The olold stoliolum! From quiqui quinet to michemiche chelet and a jambebatiste to a brulo-brulo! It is told in sounds in utter that, in signs so adds to, in universal, in polygluttural, in each auxiliary neutral idiom, sordomutics, florilingua, sheltafocal, flayflutter, a con’s cubane, a pro’s tutute, strassarab, ereperse and anythongue athall. Since nozzy Nanette tripped palmyways with High-ho Harry there’s a spurtfire turf a’kind o’kindling whenoft as the souffsouff blows her peaties up and a claypot wet for thee, my Sitys, and talkatalka tell Tibbs has eve: and whathough (revilous life proving aye the death of ronaldses when win power wine has bucked the kick on poor won man) billiousness has been billiousness during milliums of millenions and our mixed racings have been giving two hoots on three jeers for the grape, vine and brew and Pieter’s in Nieuw Amsteldam and Paoli’s where the poules go and rum smelt his end for him and he dined off sooth american (it would give one the frier even were one a normal kettlelicker) this oldworld epistola of their weatherings and their marryings and their buryings and their natural selections has combled tumbled down to us fersch and made-at-all-hours like an auld cup on tay. As I was hottin me souser. Haha! And as you was caldin your dutchy hovel. Hoho! She tole the tail of her toon. Huhu!
Now, kapnimancy and infusionism may both fit as tight as two trivets but while we in our wee free state, holding to that prestatute in our charter, may have our irremovable doubts as to the whole sense of the lot, the interpretation of any phrase in the whole, the meaning of every word of a phrase so far deciphered out of it, however unfettered our Irish daily independence, we must vaunt no idle dubiosity as to its genuine authorship and holusbolus authoritativeness. And let us bringtheecease to beakerings on that clink, olmond bottler! On the face of it, to volt back to our desultory horses, and for your roughshod mind, baffelost bull, the affair is a thing once for all done and there you are somewhere and finished in a certain time, be it a day or a year or even supposing it should eventually turn out to be a serial number of goodness gracious alone knows how many days or years. Anyhow, somehow and somewhere, before the bookflood or after her ebb, somebody mentioned by name in his telephone directory, Coccolanius or Gallotaurus, wrote it, wrote it all, wrote it all down, and there you are, full stop. O, undoubtedly yes, and very potably so, but one who deeper thinks will always bear in the baccbuccus of his mind that this downright there you are and there it is is only all in his eye. Why?
Because, Soferim Bebel, if it goes to that (and dormerwindow gossip will cry it from the housetops no surelier than the writing on the wall will hue it to the mod of men that mote in the main street), every person, place and thing in the chaosmos of Alle anyway connected with the gobblydumped turkery was moving and changing every part of the time: the travelling inkhorn (possibly pot), the hare and turtle pen and paper, the continually more and less intermisunderstanding minds of the anticollaborators, the as time went on as it will variously inflected, differently pronounced, otherwise spelled, changeably meaning vocable scriptsigns. No, so holp me Petault, it is not a miseffectual whyacinthinous riot of blots and blurs and bars and balls and hoops and wriggles and juxtaposed jottings linked by spurts of speed: it only looks as like it as damn it: and, sure, we ought really to rest thankful that at this deleteful hour of dungflies dawning we have even a written on with now dried ink scrap of paper at all to show for ourselves, tare it or leaf it (and we are luffed to ourselves as the soulfisher said when he led the cat out of the boat), after all that was lost and plundered of it even to the hidmost coignings of the earth and by all means, after a good ground kiss to Terracussa and for wars luck our lefftoff’s flung over our homoplate, cling to it as with drowning hands, hoping against hope all the while that, by the light of philophosy (and may she never folsage us!), things will begin to clear up a bit one way or another within the next quarrel of an hour and be hanged to them as ten to one they will too, please the pigs, as they ought to categorically as, strictly between ourselves, there is a limit to all things so this will never do.
For, with that farmfrow’s foul flair for that flayfell foxfetor (the calamite’s columitas calling for calamitous calamitance), who that in scrutinising marvels at those indignant whiplooplashes: those so prudently bolted or blocked rounds: the touching reminiscence of an incomplete trail or dropped final: the gossipy threadreels, a round thousand whirligig glorioles, prefaced by (alas!) now illegible airy plumeflights, all tiberiously ambi-embellishing the initials majuscule of Earwicker: the meant to be baffing chrismon trilithon sign 
, finally called after some his hes hecitency Hec, which, moved contrawatchwise, represents his title in sigla as the smaller Δ, fontly called following a certain change of state of grace of nature alp or delta, when single, stands for or tautologically stands beside the consort (though for that matter, since we have heard from Cathay cyrcles how the hen is not mirely a tick or two after the first fifth fourth of the second eighth twelfth—siangchang hongkong sansheneul—but yirely the other and thirtieth of the ninth from the twentieth, our own vulgar 432 and 1132 irrespectively, why not take the former for a village inn, the latter for an upsi-down bridge, a multiplication marking for crossroads ahead, which you like pothook for the family gibbet, their old fourwheedler for the bucker’s field, a tea anyway for a tryst someday, and his onesidemissing for an allblind alley leading to an Irish plot in the Champ de Mors, not?): the steady monologuy of the interiors: the pardonable confusion for which some blame the cudgel and more blame the soot but unthanks to which the pees with their caps awry are puite as often as not taken for pews with their tails in their mouths, thence your Pristopher Polumbos, hence our Kat Kresbyterians: the curt witty wotty dashes never quite just right at the trim trite truth letter: the sudden spluttered petulance of some capItalIsed mIddle: a word as cunningly hidden in its maze of confused drapery as a fieldmouse in a nest of coloured ribbons: that absurdly bullsfooted bee declaring with an even plainer dummpshow than does the mute commoner with us how hard a thing it is to mpe mporn a gentlerman: and look at this prepronominal funferal, engraved and retouched and edgewiped and puddenpadded, very like a whale’s egg farced with pemmican, as were it sentenced to be nuzzled over a full trillion times for ever and a night till his noddle sink or swim by that ideal reader suffering from an ideal insomnia: all those red raddled obeli cayennepeppercast over the text calling unnecessary attention to errors, omissions, repetitions and misalignments: that (probably local or personal) variant maggers for the more generally accepted majesty which is but a trifle and yet may quietly amuse: those superciliouslooking crisscrossed Greek ees awkwardlike perched there and here out of date like sick owls hawked back to Athens: and the geegees too, jesuistically formed at first but afterwards genuflected aggrily toewards the occident: the Ostrogothic kakography affected for certain phrases of Etruscan stabletalk and, in short, the learning betrayed at almost every line’s end: the headstrength (at least eleven men of thirtytwo palfrycraft) revealed by a constant labour to make a ghimel pass through the eye of an iota: this, for instance, utterly unexpected sinistrogyric return to one peculiar sore point in the past: those throneopen doubleyous (of an early muddy terranean origin whether man chooses to damn them agglutinatively loo—too—blue—face—ache or illvoodawpeehole or, kants koorts, topplefouls) seated with such flopright-down determination and reminding uus ineluctably of nature at her naturalest while that fretful fidget eff (the hornful digamma of your bornabar-bar, rarely heard now save when falling from the unfashionable lipsus of some hetarosexual but used always in two boldfaced print types—one of them as wrongheaded as his Claudian brother, is it worth while interrupting to say?—throughout the papyrus by our copyist as the revise mark) stalks all over the page, broods, 
, sensationseeking an idea, amid the verbiage, gaunt, stands dejectedly in the diapered window margin with its basque of bayleaves all aflutter about its forksfrogs, paces with a frown, jerking to and fro, flinging phrases here, there, or returns, inhibited, with some half-halted suggestion, 
, dragging its shoestring: the curious warning sign before our protoparent’s ipsissima verba (a very pure nondescript, by the way, sometimes a palmtailed otter, more often the arbutus fruitflowerleaf of the cainapple) which paleographers call a leak in the thatch or the Aranman ingperwhis through the hole of his hat, indicating that the words which follow may be taken in any order desired, hole of Aran man the hat through the whispering his ho (here keen again and begin again to make soundsense and sensesound kin again): those haughtypitched disdotted aitches easily of the rariest inasdroll as most of the jaywalking eyes we do plough into halve, unconnected, principial, medial or final, always jims in the jam, sahib, as pipless as threadworms: the innocent exhibitionism of those frank yet capricious underlinings: that strange exotic serpentine, since so properly banished from our scripture (about as freakwind a wetterhand now as to see a rightheaded ladywhite don a corkhorse), which, ever longer and of more morosity, seems to uncoil so spirally in its invincible insolence and swell lacertinelazily before our eyes under pressure of the writer’s hand: the ungainly musicianlessness so painted in sculpting selfsounder ah ha as blackartful as a podatus and dumbfounder oh ho oaproariose as ten canons in skelterfugue: the studious omission of year number and era name from the date, the one and only time when the writer seems at least to have grasped the beauty of restraint: the lubricitous conjugation of the last with the first: the gipsy mating of a grand stylish gravedigging with secondbest buns (an interpolation: these munchables occur only in the Bootherbrowth family of MSS, Bb = Cod iv, Pap ii, Brek xi, Lun iii, Dinn xvii, Sup xxx, Fullup MDCXC: the scholiast has hungrily misheard a deadman’s toller as a muffinbell): the four shortened ampersands under which we can glypse at and feel for ourselves across all those rushyears the warm soft short pants of the quickscribbler: the vocative lapse from which it begins and the accusative hole in which it ends itself: the aphasia of that heroic agony of recalling a once loved number leading slip by slipper to a general amnesia of misnomering one’s own: next those ars—rrrr!—those ars all bellical, the highpriest’s hieroglyph of kettletom and oddsbones, wrasted redhandedly from our hallowed rubric prayer for truce with booty, O’Remus pro Romulo, and rudely from the fane’s pinnacle tossed down by porter to within an aim’s ace of their quatrain of rubijets among Those Who arse without the Temple nor since Roe’s Distillery burn’d have quaff’d Night’s firefill’d Cup But jig jog jug as Day the Dicebox Throws, whang, loyal six I lead, out wi’ yer hearts’ bluid, blast ye, and there she’s for you, sir, whang her, the fine ooman, rouge to her lobster locks, the rossy, whang, God and O’Mara has it with his ruddy old Villain Rufus, wait, whang, God and you’re another he hasn’t for there’s my spoil five of spuds’s trumps, whang, whack on his pigsking’s kisser for him, K.M. O’Mara where are you!: then (coming over to the left aisle corner down) the cruciform postscript from which three basia or shorter and smaller oscula have been overcarefully scraped away, plainly inspiring the tenebrous τunc page of the Book of Kells (and then it need not be lost sight of that there are exactly three squads of candidates for the crucian rose awaiting their turn in the marginal panels of Columkiller, chugged in their three ballotboxes, then set apart for such hanging committees, where two was enough for anyone, starting with old Matthew himself, as he with great distinction said then just as since then people speaking have fallen into the custom, when speaking to a person, of saying two is company when the third person is the person darkly spoken of, and then that last labiolingual basium might be read as a suavium if whoever the embracer then was wrote with a tongue in his—or perhaps her—cheek as the case may have been then): and the fatal droopadwindle slope of the blamed scrawl, a sure sign of imperfectible moral blindness: the toomuchness, the fartoomanyness of all them fourlegged ems—and why spell dear god with a big thick dhee (why, O why, O why?)—the cut and dry aks and wise form of the semifinal: and, eighteenthly or twentyfourthly, but at least, thank Maurice, lastly when all is zed and done, the penelopean patience of its last paraphe, a colophon of no fewer than seven hundred and thirtytwo strokes tailed by a leaping lasso—who thus at all this marvelling but will press on hotly to see the vaulting feminine libido of those interbranching ogham sex upandinsweeps sternly controlled and easily repersuaded by the uniform matteroffactness of a meandering male fist?
Duff-Muggli, who now may be quoted by very kind arrangement (his electroscophonious photosensition under suprasonic light control may be logged for by our none too distant futures as soon as tone values can be turned out from Chromophilomos Limited at a millicentime the microamp), first called this kind of paddygoeasy partnership the ulykkean or tetrachiric-quadrumane or ducks and drakes or debts and dishes perplex (v. Some Forestallings over that Studium of Sexophonologistic Schizophrenesis, vol. xxiv pp. 2–555) after the wellinformed observation, made miles apart from the Master by Tung-Toyd (cf. Later Frustrations amengst the Neomugglian Teachings abaft the Semiunconscience, passim), that in the case of the littleknown periplic bestteller popularly associated with the names of the wretched mariner (trianforan deffwedoff our plumsucked pattern shape-keeper) a Punic admiralty report, From MacPerson’s Oshean Round By the Tides of Jason’s Cruise, had been cleverly capsized and saucily republished as a dodecanesian baedeker of the every-tale-a-treat-in-itself variety which could hope satisfactorily to tickle me gander as game as your goose.
The unmistaken identity of the persons in the Tiberiast duplex came to light in the most devious of ways. The original document was in what is known as Hanno O’Nonhanno’s unbrookable script, that is to say it showed no signs of punctuation of any sort. Yet on holding the verso against a lit rush this new book of Morses responded most remarkably to the silent query of our world’s oldest light and its recto let out the piquant fact that it was but pierced butnot punctured (in the university sense of the term) by numerous stabs and foliated gashes made by a pronged instrument. These paper wounds, four in type, were gradually and correctly understood to mean stop, please stop, do please stop, and O do please stop respectively and, following up their one true clue, the circumflexuous wall of a single-minded men’s asylum, accentuated by bi tso fb rok engl a ssan dspl itch ina—Yard inquiries pointed out → that th
d bîn “provòked” by 
fork, 
f 
grave Brofè
or; th é’s Brèak-fast-table;; acùtely profèššionally piquéd, to=introd
çe nòt
n f 
[
pòn n plāñe (?) s’’ rfaiç’e’] by pn
! ingh 
les (sic) in iSpåce?! Deeply religious by nature and position, and warmly attached to Thee, smearbread and better and Him and newlaidills, it was rightly suspected that such ire could not have been visited by him, Brotfressor Prenderguest, even underwittingly, upon the ancestral pneuma of one whom, with rheuma, he venerated shamelessly at least once a week at Cockspur Common as his apple in his eye and her first boy’s best friend and, though plain English for a married lady misled heaps by the way, yet when some peerer or peeress detected that the fourleaved shamrock or quadrifoil jab was more recurrent wherever the script was clear and the term terse and that these two were the selfsame spots naturally selected for her perforations by Dame Partlet on her dungheap thinkers all put grown in waterunspillfull Pratiland only and a playful fowl and musical me by not you in any case, two and two together, and, with a swarm of bisses honeyhunting after, a sigh for shyme (O, the pettybonny rouge!) separated modest mouths. So be it. And it was. The lettermaking of the explots of Fjorgn Camhelsson when he was in the Kvinnes country with Soldru’s men. With acknowledgment of our fervour of the first instant he remains years most fainfully. For postscrapt see spoils. Though not yet had the sailor sipped that sup nor the humphar foamed to the fill. And fox and geese still kept the peace around L’Auberge du Père Adam.
Small need after that, old Jeromesolem, old Huffsnuff, old Andycox, old Olecasandrum, for quizzing your weekenders come to the R.Q. with: he shoots off in a hiss, muddles up in a mussmass and his whole’s a dismantled noondrunkard’s son.
Howbeit we heard not a son of sons to leave by him to oceanic society in his old man without a thing in his ignorance, Tulko MacHooley. And it was thus he was at every time, that son, and the other time, the day was in it and after the morrow. Diremood is the name is on the writing chap of the psalter, the juxtajunctor of a dearmate and he passing out of one desire into its fellow. The daughters are after going and looking for him, Torba’s nicelookers of the fair necks. Wanted for millinary servance to olderly’s person by the Totty Askinses. Formelly confounded with amother. May be growing a moustache, did you say, with an adorable look of amuzement? And uses noclass billiardhalls with an upandown ladder? Not Hans the Curier though had he had have only had some little laughings and some less of cheeks and were he not so warried by his bulb of persecussion he could have, ay, and would have, as true as Essex bridge. And not Gophephgo-gossip, I declare to man! Noe! To all’s much relief one’s half hypothesis of that jabberjaw ape amok the showering jestnuts of Bruisanose was hotly dropped and his room taken up by that odious and still today insuffciently malestimated notesnatcher, Shem (kak, pfooi, bosh and fiety, much earny, Gus, poteen? Sez you!) the Penman.
So?
Who do you no tonigh, lazy and gentleman?
The echo is where in the back of the wodes; callhim forth!
(Shaun Mac Irewick, briefdragger, for the concern of Messrs Jhon Jhamieson and Song, rated one hundrick and thin per storehundred on this nightly quisquiquock of the twelve apostrophes, set by Jockit Mic Ereweak. He misunderstruck an aim for am otto of number three of them and left his free natural ripostes to four of them in their own fine artful disorder.)
1. What secondtonone myther rector and maximost bridgesmaker was the first to rise taller through his beanstale than the bluegum buaboababbaum or the giganteous Wellingtonia Sequoia; went nudiboots with trouters into a liffeyette when she was barely in her tricklies; was well known to claud a conciliation cap onto the esker of his hooth; sports a chainganger’s albert solemenly over his hullender’s epulence; thought he weighed a new ton when there felled his first lapapple; gave the heinousness of choice to everyknight betwixt yesterdicks and twomaries; had sevenal successive-coloured serebanmaids on the same big white drawringroam horthrug; is a Willbeforce to this hour at house as he was in heather; pumped the catholick wartrey and shocked the prodestung boyne; killed his own hungery self in anger as a young man; found fodder for five when allmarken rose goflooded; with Hirish tutores Cornish made easy; voucher of rotables, toll of the road; bred manyheaded stepsons for one leapyourown taughter; is too funny for a fish and has too much outside for an insect; like a heptagon crystal emprisoms trues and fauss for us; is infinite swell in unfitting induments; once was he shovelled and once was he arsoned and once was he inundered and she hung him out billbailey; has a quadrant on his tile to tell Toler cad a’clog it is; offers chances to Long on but stands up to Legge before; found coal at the end of his harrow and mossroses behind the seams; made a fort out of his postern and wrote F.E.R.T. on his buckler; is escapemaster-in-chief from all sorts of houdingplaces; if he outharrods against barkers, to the shoolbred he acts whiteley; was evacuated at the mere appearance of three germhuns and twice besieged by a sweep; from zoomorphology to omnianimalism he is brooched by the spin of a coin; towers, an eddistoon, amid the lampless casting swannbeams on the deep; zemzem, zemzem; threatens thunder upon malefactors and sends whispers up fraufraus’ froufrous; when Dook Hookbackcrook upsits his ass boose-worthies jeer and junket but they boos him oos and baas his aas when he lukes like Hunkett Plunkett; by sosannsos and search a party on a lady of this city; business, reading newspaper, smoking cigar, arranging tumblers on table, eating meals, pleasure, etcetera, etcetera, pleasure, eating meals, arranging tumblers on table, smoking cigar, reading newspaper, business; minerals, wash and brush up, local views, juju toffee, comic and birthdays cards; those were the days and he was their hero; pink sunset shower, red clay cloud, sorrow of Sahara, oxhide of Iren; arraigned and attainted, listed and lited, pleaded and proved; catches his check at banck of Indgangd and endurses his doom at chapel exit; brain of the franks, hand of the christian, tongue of the north; commands to dinner and calls the bluff; has a block at Morgen’s and a hatache all the afternunch; plays gehamerat when he’s ernst but misses mousey when he’s lustyg; walked as far as the Head where he sat in state on the Rump; shows Early English tracemarks and a marigold window with manigilt lights, a myrioscope, two remarkable piscines and three wellworthseeing ambries; arches all portcullised and his nave dates from dots; is a horologe unstoppable and the Benn of all bells; fuit, isst and herit, and though he’s mildewstaned he’s mouldystoned; is a quercuss in the forest but plane member for Megalopolis; mountunmighty, faunonfleet-foot; plank in our platform, blank in our scoutum; hidal, in carucates he is enumerated, hold as an earl, he counts; shipshaped phrase of buglooking words with a form like the easing moments of a graminivorous; to our dooms brought he law, our manoirs he made his vill of; was an overgrind to the underground and acqueduced for fierythroats; sends boys in socks acoughawhooping when he lets farth his carbonoxside, and silk stockings show her shapings when he looses hose on hers; stocks dry puder for the Ill people and pinkun’s pellets for all the Pale; gave his mundyfoot to Miserius, her pinch to Anna Livia, that superfine pigtail to Cerisia Cerosia and quid rides to Titius, Caius and Sempronius; made the man who had no notion of shopkeepers feel he’d rather play the duke than play the gentleman; shot two queans and shook three caskles when he won his game of dwarfs; fumes inwards like a strombolist till he smokes at both ends; Manmote, be fier of him, Womankind, pietad!; shows one white drift of snow among the gorsegrowth of his crown and a chaperon of repentance on that which shed gore; pause and quies, triple bill; went by metro for the polis and then hoved by; to the finders, hail! woa, you that seek!; whom fillth had plenished, dearth devoured; hock is leading, cocoa comes next, emery tries for the flag; can dance the O’Bruin’s polerpasse at Noolahn to his own orchistruss accompaniment; took place before the internatural convention of catholic midwives and found stead before the congress for the study of endonational calamities; makes a delictuous entrée and finishes off the course between sweets and savouries; flouts for forecasts, flairs for finds and the fun of the fray on the fairground; cleared out three hundred sixty five idles to set up one all khalassal for henwives hoping to have males; the flawhoolagh, the grasping one, the kindler of paschal fire; forbids us our trespassers as we foregate him; the phoenix be his pyre, the cineres his sire!; piles big pelium on little ossas like the pilluls of hirculeads; has an eatupus complex and a drinkthedregs kink; wurstmeats for chumps and cowcarlows for scullions; when he plies for our favour is very trolly ours; two psychic espousals and three desertions; may be matter of fact now but was futter of magd then; Cattermole Hill, ex-mountain of flesh, was reared up by stress and sank under strain; tank it up, dank it up, tells the tailor to his tout; entoutcas for a man, but bit a thimble for a maid; blimp, blump; a dud letter, a sing a song a sylble, a byword, a sentence with surcease; while stands his canyouseehim frails shall fall; was hatched at Cellbridge but ejoculated abrood; as it gan in the biguinnengs so wound up in a battle of Boss; Roderick, Roderick, Roderick, O, you’ve gone the way of the Danes; variously catalogued, regularly regrouped; a bushboy’s holoday, a quacker’s mating, a wenches’ sandbath; the same homoheatherous checkinlossegg as when Sollyeye airly blew ye; real detonation but false report; spa mad but inn sane; half emillian via bogus census but a no street hausmann when allphannd; is the handiest of all andies and a most alleghant spot to dump your hump; hands his secession to the new patricius but plumps plebmatically for the bloody old centuries; eats with doors open and ruts with gates closed; some dub him Rotshield and more limn him Rockyfellow; shows he’s fly to both demisfairs but thries to cover up his tracers; seven dovecotes cooclaim to have been pigeonheim to this homer, Smerrnion, Rhoebok, Kolonskeagh, Seapoint, Quayhowth, Ashtown, Ratheny; independent of the lordship of chamberlain, acknowledging the rule of Rome; we saw thy farm at Useful Prine, Domhnall, Domhnall; reeks like Ilbelpaese and looks like Iceland’s Ear; lodged at quot places, lived through tot reigns; takes a szumbath for his weekend and a wassarnap for his refreskment; after a good bout at stoolball enjoys Giroflee Giroflaa; what Nevermore missed and Colombo found; believes in everyman his own goaldkeeper and in Africa for the fullblacks; the arc of his dryve was forty full and his stumps were pulled at eighty; boasts him to the thick-in-thews the oldest creater in Aryania and looks down on the Suiss family Collesons whom he calls les nouvelles roches; though his heart, soul and spirit turn to pharaoph times, his love, faith and hope stick to futuerism; light leglifters cense him souriantes from afore while boor browbenders curse him grommelants to his hindmost; between youlasses and yeladst glimpse of Evin; the Lug his peak has, the Luk his pile; drinks tharr and wodhar for his asama and eats the unparishable sow to styve off reglar rack; the beggars cloak him reclined about his paddy-stool, the whores winken him as they walk their side; on Christienmas at Advent Lodge, New Yealand, after a lenty illness the roeverand Mr Easterling of pentecostitis, no followers by bequest, fanfare all private; Gone Where Glory Waits Him (Ball, bulletist) but Not Here Yet (Maxwell, clark); comminxed under articles but phoenished a borgiess; from the vat on the bier through the burre in the dark to the buttle of the bawn; is Al an the highest but Roh re his root; filled fanned of hackleberries whenas all was tuck and toss up for him as a yangster to fall fou of hockinbechers wherein he had gauged the use of raisin; ads aliments, das doles, raps rustics, tams turmoil; sas seed enough for a semination but sues skivvies on the sly; learned to speak from hand to mouth till he could talk earish with his eyes shut; hacked his way through hickheckhocks but hanged for hishelp from there hereafters; rialtor, annesleyg, binn and balls, to say nothing atolk of New Comyn; the gleam of the glow of the shine of the sun through the dearth of the dirth on the blush of the brick of the viled ville of Barnehulme has dust turned to brown; these dyed to tartan him, rueroot, dulse, bracken, teasel, fuller’s ash, sundew and cress; long gunn but not for cotton; stood his sharp assault of famine but grew girther, girther and girther; he has twenty four or so cousins germinating in the United States of America and a namesake with an initial difference in the once kingdom of Poland; his first’s a young rose and his second’s French-Egyptian and his whole means a slump at Christie’s; forth of his pierced part came the woman of his dreams, blood thicker, then water, last trade overseas; buyshop of Glinty-look, eorl of Hoed; you and I are in him surrented by brwn bldns; Elin’s flee polt pelhaps but Hwang Chang evelytime; he one was your of high-bigpipey boys but fancy him as smoking fags his at time of life; Mount of Mish, Mell of Moy; had two cardinal ventures and three capitol sinks; has a peep in his pocketbook and a packetboat in his keep; B.V.H., B.L.G., P.P.M., T.D.S., V.B.D., T.C.H., L.O.N.; is Breakfates, Lunger, Diener and Souper; as the streets were paved with cold he felt his topperairy; taught himself skating and learned how to fall; distinctly dirty but rather a dear; hoveth chieftains evrywehr, with morder; Ostman Effendi, Serge Paddi-shaw; baases two mmany and outpriams all his parisites; first of the fenians, roi des fainéants; his Tiara of scones was held unfillable till one Liam Fail felled him in Westmunster; was shuck out of his sittem when he rowed saulely to demask us and to our appauling predicament brought us plagues from Buddapest; put a matchhead on an aspenstalk and set the living a fire; speared the rod and spoiled the lightning; married with cakes and repunked with pleasure; till he was buried howhappy was he and he made the welkins ring with Up Micawber!; god at the top of the staircase, carrion on the mat of straw; the false hood of a spindler web chokes the cavemouth of his unsightliness but the nestlings that liven his leafscreen sing him a lover of arbuties; we strike hands over his bloodied warsheet but we are pledged entirely to his green mantle; our friend vikelegal, our swaran foe; under the four stones by his streams who vanished the wassailbowl at the joy of shells; Mora and Lora had a hill of a high time looking down on his confusion till firm look in readiness, forward spear and the windfoot of curach strewed the lakemist of Lego over the last of his fields; we darkened for you, faulterer, in the year of mourning but we’ll fidhil to the dim twinklers when the streamy morvenlight calls up the sunbeam; his striped pantaloons, his rather strange walk; hereditatis columna erecta, hagion chiton eraphon; nods a nap for the nonce but crows cheerio when they get ecunemical; is a simultaneous equator of elimbinated integras when three upon one is by inspection improper; has the most conical hodpiece of confusianist heronim and that chuchuffuous chinchin of his is like a footsey kungoloo around Taishantyland; he’s as globeful as a gasometer of lithium and luridity and he was thrice ten anular years before he wallowed round Raggiant Circos; the cabalstone at the coping of his cairn is a canine constant but only an amirican could apparoxymete the apeupresiosity of his atlast’s alongement; sticklered rights and lefts at Baddersdown in his hunt for the boar trwth but made his end with the modareds that came at him in Camlenstrete; a hunnibal in exhaustive conflict, an otho to return; burning body to aiger air on melting mountain in wooing wave; we go into him sleepy children, we come out of him strucklers for life; he divested to save from the Mrs Drownings their rival queens while Grogshaw, Bragshaw and Renshaw made off with his storen clothes; taxed and rated, licensed and ranted; his threefaced stonehead was found on a whitehorse hill and the print of his costellous feet is seen in the goat’s grasscircle; pull the blind, toll the deaf and call dumb, lame and halty; Miraculone, Monstrucceleen; led the up-plaws at the Creation and hissed a snake charmer off her stays; hounded become haunter, hunter become fox; harrier, marrier, terrier, tav; Olaph the Oxman, Thorker the Tourable; you feel he is Vespasian yet you think of him as Aurelius; whugamore, tradertory, socianist, commoniser; made a summer assault on our shores and begiddy got his sands full; first he shot down Raglan Road and then he tore up Marlborough Place; Cromlechheight and Crommalhill were his farfamed feetrests when our lurch as lout let free into the Lubar heloved; mareschalled his wardmotes and delimited the main; netted before nibbling, can scarce turn a scale but, grossed after meals, weighs a town in himself; Banba prayed for his conversion, Beurla missed that grand old voice; a Colossus among cabbages, the Melarancitrone of fruits; larger than life, doughtier than death; Gran Turco, orege forment; lachsembulger, leperlean; the sparkle of his genial fancy, the depth of his calm sagacity, the clearness of his spotless honour, the flow of his boundless benevolence; our family furbear, our tribal tarnpike; quary was he invincibled and cur was he burked; partitioned Irskaholm, united Irishmen; he took a svig at his own methyr but she tested a bit gorky and as for the salmon he was coming up in him all life long; comm, eilerdich, hecklebury, and sawyer thee warden; silent as the bee in honey, stark as the breath on hauwck; Costello, Kinsella, Mahony, Moran, though you rope Amrique your home ruler is Dan; figure right, he is hoisted by the scurve of his shaggy neck, figure left, he is rationed in isobaric patties among the crew; one asks was he poisoned, one thinks how much did he leave; ex-gardener (Riesengebirger), fitted up with planturous existencies, would make Roseoogreedy (mite’s) little hose; taut sheets and scuppers awash but the oil silk mack Liebsterpet micks his aquascutum; the enjoyment he took in kay women, the employment he gave to gee men; sponsor to a squad of piercers, ally to a host of rawlies; against lightning, explosion, fire, earthquake, flood, whirlwind, burglary, third party, rot, loss of cash, loss of credit, impact of vehicles; can rant as grave as oxtail soup and chat as gay as a porto flippant; is unhesitent in his unionism and yet a pigotted nationalist; Sylviacola is shy of him, Matrosenhosens nose the joke; shows the sinews of peace in his chest-o-wars; fiefeofhome, ninehundred and thirtynine years of copyhold; is aldays open for polemypolity’s cake when he’s not suntimes closed for the love of Janus; sucks life’s eleaxir from the pettipickles of the Jewess and ruoulls in sulks if any popeling runs down the Huguenots; Boomaport, Walleslee, Ubermeerschall Blowcher and Supercharger, Monsieur Ducrow; Mister Mudson, master gardiner; to one he’s just paunch and judex, to another full of beans and brehons; hallucination, cauchman, ectoplasm; passed for baabaa blacksheep till he grew white woo woo woolly; was drummatoysed by MacMilligan’s daughter and put to music by one shoebard; all fitzpatricks in his emirate remember him, the boys of wetford hail him babu; indanified himself with boro tribute and was schenkt publicly to brigstoll; was given the light in drey orchafts and entumuled in threeplexes; his likeness is in Terrecuite and he giveth rest to the rainbowed; lebriety, frothearnity and quality; his reverse makes a virtue of necessity while his obverse mars a mother by invention; beskild his gunwale and he’s the second imperial, untie points, unhook tenters and he’s lath and plaster; calls upon Allthing when he fails to appeal to Eachovos; basileus, ardree, kongsemma, rexregulorum; stood into Dee mouth, then backed broadside on Baulacleeva; either eldorado or ultimate thole; a kraal of fou feud fires, a crawl of five pubs; laid out lashings of laveries to hunt down his family ancestors and then pled double trouble or quick quits to hush the buckers up; threw pebblets for luck over one sodden shoulder and dragooned peoplades armed to their teeth; pept as Gaudio Gambrinus, grim as Potter the Grave; ace of arts, deuce of damimonds, trouble of clubs, fear of spates; cumbrum, cumbrum, twiniceynurseys fore a drum but tre to uno tips the scale; reeled the titleroll opposite a brace of girdles in Silver on the Screen but was sequenced from the set as Crookback by the even more titulars, Rick, Dave and Barry; he can get on as early as the twentysecond of Mars but occasionally he doesn’t come off before Virgintiquinque Germinal; his Indian name is Hapapoosiesobjibway and his number in arithmosophy is the stars of the plough; took weapon in the province of the pike and let fling his line on Eelwick; moves in vicous cicles yet remews the same; the drain rats bless his offals while the park birds curse his floodlights; Portobello, Equadocta, Therecocta, Percorello; he pours into the softclad shellborn the hard cash earned in Watling Street; his birth proved accidental shows his death its grave mistake; brought us giant ivy from the land of younkers and bewitthered Apostolopolos with the gale of his gall; while satisfied that soft youthful bright matchless girls should bosom into fine silkclad joyous blooming young women, is not so pleased that heavy swearsome strong-smelling irregularshaped men should blottout active handsome wellformed frankeyed boys; herald hairyfair, alloaf the wheat; husband your aunt and endow your nepos; hearken but hush it, screen him and see; time is, an archbishopric, time was, a tradesmen’s entrance; beckburn brooked with wath, scale scarred by scow; his rainfall is a couple of kneehighs while his meanst grass temperature marked three in the shade; is the meltingpoint of snow and the bubblingplace of alcohol; has a tussle with the trulls and then does himself justice; hinted at in the eschatological chapters of Humphrey’s Justesse of the Jaypees and hunted for by Theban recensors who sniff there’s something behind the Bug of the Deaf; the king was in his cornerwall melking mark so murry, the queen was steep in armbour feeling fain and furry, the mayds was midst the hawthorns shoeing up their hose, out pimps the back guards (pomp!) and pump gun they goes; to all his foretellers he reared a stone and for all his comehethers he planted a tree; forty acres, sixty miles, white stripe, red stripe, washes his fleet in annacrwatter; Whoa missed a porter so whot shall he do for he wanted to sit for Pimploco but they’ve caught him to stand for Sue?; Dutchlord, Dutchlord, overawes us; Headmound, king and martyr, dunstung in the yeast, Pitre-le-Pore-in-Petrin, Barth-the-Grete-by-the-Exchange; he hestens towards dames troth and wedding hand like the prince of Orange and Nassau while he has trinity left behind him like Bowlbeggar Bill-the-Bustonly; brow of a hazelwood, pool in the dark; changes blowicks into bullocks and a well of Artesia into a bird of Arabia; the handwriting on his facewall, the cryptoconchoid-siphonostomata in his exprussians; his birthspot lies beyond the herospont and his burialplot in the pleasant little field; is the yldist kiosk on the pleninsula and the unguest hostel in Saint Scholarland; walked many hundreds and many score miles of streets and lit thousands in one nightlights in hectares of windows; his great wide cloak lies on fifteen acres and his little white horse decks by dozens our doors; O sorrow the sail and woe the rudder that were set for Mairie Quai!; his suns the huns, his dartars the tartars, are plenty here today; who repulsed from his burst the bombolts of Ostenton and falchioned each flash downsaduck in the deep; a personal problem, a locative enigma; upright one, vehicule of arcanisation in the field, lying chap, floodsupplier of celiculation through ebblanes; a part of the whole as a port for a whale; Dear Hewitt Castello, Equerry, were daylighted with our outing and are looking backwards to unearly summers, from Rhoda Dundrums; is above the seedfruit level and outside the leguminiferous zone; when older links lock older hearts then he’ll resemble she; can be built with glue and clippings, scrawled or voided on a buttress; the night express sings his story, the song of sparrownotes on his stave of wires; he crawls with lice, he swarms with saggarts; is as quiet as a musque but can be as noisy as a sonogog; was Dilmun when his date was palmy and Mudlin when his nut was cracked; suck up the sease, lep land at ease, one lip on his lap and one cushlin his crease; his porter has a mighty grasp and his baxters the boon of broadwhite; as far as wind dries and rain wets and sun turns and water bounds he is exalted and depressed, assembled and asundered; go away, we are deluded, come back, we are disghosted; bored the Ostrov, leapt the Inferus, swam the Mabbul and flew the Moyle; like fat, like fatlike tallow, of greasefulness, yea of dripping greasefulness; did not say to the old, old, did not say to the scorbutic, scorbutic; he has founded a house, Uru, a house he has founded to which he has assigned its fate; bears a raaven gueulant on a fjeld duiv; ruz the halo off his varlet when he appeared to his shecook as Haycock, Emmet, Boaro, Toaro, Osterich, Mangy and Skunk; pressed the beer of aled age out of the nettles of rashness; put a roof on the lodge for Hymn and a coq in his pot pro homo; was dapifer, then pancircensor, then hortifex magnus; the topes that tippled on him, the types that toppled off him; still starts our hares yet gates our goat; pocketbook packetboat, gapman gunrun; the light of other days, dire dreary darkness; our awful dad, Timour of Tortur; puzzling, startling, shocking, nay, perturbing; went puffing from king’s brugh to new customs, doffing the gibbous off him to every breach of all size; with Pa’s new haft and Papa’s new helve he’s Papapa’s old cutlass Papapapa left us; when youngheaded oldshouldered and middlishneck aged about; caller herring everydaily, turgid tarpon overnight; see Loryon the comaleon that changed endocrine history by loeven his loaf with forty bannocks; she drove him dafe till he driv her blind up; the pigeons doves be perchin all over him one day on Baslesbridge and the ravens duv be pitchin their dark nets after him the next night behind Koenigstein’s Arbour; tronf of the rep, comf of the priv, prosp of the pub; his headwood it’s ideal if his feet are bally clay; he crashed in the hollow of the park, trees down, as he soared in the vaguum of the phoenix, stones up; looks like a moultain boultter and sounds like a rude word; the moontaen view, some lumin pale round a lamp of succar in boinyn water; three shots a paddy at up blup saddle; made up to Miss Mac-Cormack Ni Macarthy who made off with Darly Dermod, swank and swarthy; once diamond cut garnet now dammat cuts groany; you might find him at the Florence but watch out for him in Wynn’s Hotel; theer’s his bow and wheer’s his leaker and heer lays his bequiet hearse, deep; Swed Albiony, likeliest villain of the place; Hennery Canterel-Cockran, eggotisters, limitated; we take our tays and frees our fleas round Sadurn’s mounted foot; built the Lund’s kirk and destroyed the church’s lands; who guesses his tittle grabs his deeds; fletch and prities, fash and chaps; artful Juke of Wilysly; Hugglebelly’s Funniral; Kukkuk Kallikak; heard in camera and excruciated; boon when with benches billeted, bann if buckshotbackshattered; heavengendered, chaosfoedted, earthborn; his father presumptively ploughed it deep on overtime and his mother as all evince must have travailled her fair share; a footprinse on the Megacene, hetman’s unnhorsed by Searingsand; honorary captain of the extemporised fire brigade, reported to be friendly with the police; the door is still open; the old stock collar is coming back; not forgetting the time you laughed at Elder Charterhouse’s duckwhite pants and the way you said the whole township can see his hairy legs; by stealth of a kersse her aulburntress abaft his nape she hung; when his kettle became a hearthsculdus our thorstyites set their lymphyamphyre; his yearletter concocted by masterhands of assays, his hallmark imposed by the standard of wrought plate; a pair of pectorals and a triplescreen to get a wind up; lights his pipe with a rosin tree and hires a towhorse to haul his shoes; cures slavey’s scurvy, breaks barons boils; called to sell polish and was found later in a bedroom; has his seat of justice, his house of mercy, his corn o’copious and his stacks a’rye; prospector, he had a rooksacht, retrospector, he holds the holpenstake; won the freedom of new yoke for the minds of jugoslaves; acts active, peddles in passivism and is a gorgon of selfridgeousness; pours a laughsworth of his illformation over a larmsworth of salt; half heard the single maiden speech La Belle spun to her Grand Mount and wholed a lifetime by his ain fireside, wondering was it hebrew set to himmeltones or the quicksilversong of qwaternions; his troubles may be over but his doubles have still to come; the lobster pot that crabbed our keel, the garden pet that spoiled our squeezed peas; he stands in a lovely park, sea is not far, importunate towns of X, Y and Z are easily overreached; is an excrescence to civilised humanity and but a wart on Europe; wana-made singsigns to soundsense an yit he wanna git all his flesch nuemaid motts truly prural and plusible; has excisively large rings and is uncustomarily perfumed; lusteth ath he listeth the cleah whithpeh of a themise; is a prince of the fingallian in a hiberniad of hoolies; has a hodge to wherry him and a frenchy to curry him and a brabanson for his beeter and a fritz at his switch; was waylaid by a parker and beschotten by a buckeley; kicks lintils when he’s cuppy and casts Jacob’s arroroots, dime after dime, to poor waifstrays on the perish; reads the charms of H. C. Endersen all the weaks of his evenin and the crimes of Ivaun the Taurrible every strongday morn; soaps you soft to your face and slaps himself when he’s badend; owns the bulgiest bungbarrel that ever was tiptapped in the privace of the Mullingar Inn; was born with a nuasilver tongue in his mouth and went round the coast of Iron with his lift hand to the scene; raised but two fingers and yet smelt it would day; for whom it is easier to found a see in Ebblannah than for I or you to find a dubbeltye in Dampsterdamp; to live with whom is a lifemayor and to know whom a liberal education; was dipped in Hoily Olives and chrysmed in Scent Otooles; hears cricket on the earth but annoys the life out of predikants; still turns the dure’s ear of Darius to the now thoroughly infuriated one of God; made Man with juts that jerk and minted money mong maney; likes a six acup pudding when he’s come whome sweet whome; has come through all the eras of livsadventure from noonshine and shampaying down to clouts and pottled porter; woollem the farsed, hahnreich the althe, charge the sackend, writchad the thord; if a mandrake shrieked to convultures at last surviving his birth the weibduck will wail bitternly over the rotter’s resurrection; loses weight in the moon-night but girds girder by the sundawn; with one touch of nature set a veiled world agrin and went within a sheet of tissuepaper of the option of three gaols; who could see at one blick a saumon taken with a lance, hunters pursuing a doe, a swallowship in full sail, a whyterobe lifting a host; faced flappery like old King Cnut and turned his back like Cincinnatus; is a farfar and morefar and a hoar father Nakedbucker in villas old as new; squats aquart and cracks aquaint when it’s flaggin in town and on haven; blows whiskery around his summit but stehts stout upon his footles; stutters fore he falls and goes mad entirely when he’s waked; is Timb to the pearly morn and Tomb to the mourning night; and an he had the best bunbaked bricks in bould Babylon for his pitchingplays he’d be lost for the want of his wan wubblin wall?
ANSWER: Finn MacCool!
2. Does your mutter know your mike?
ANSWER:
When I turn meoptics,
from suchurban prospects,
’tis my filial’s bosom,
doth behold with pride,
that pontificator,
and circumvallator,
with his dam night garrulous,
slipt by his side.
Ann alive, the lisp of her,
’twould grig mountains whisper her,
and the bergs of Iceland,
melt in waves of fire,
and her spoon-me-spondees,
and her drickle-me-ondenees,
make the rageous Ossean,
kneel and quaff a lyre!
If Dann’s dane, Ann’s dirty,
if he’s plane, she’s purty,
if he’s fane, she’s flirty,
with her auburnt streams,
and her coy cajoleries,
and her dabblin drolleries,
for to rouse his rudderup,
or to drench his dreams.
If hot Hammurabi,
or cowld Clesiastes,
could espy her pranklings,
they’d burst bounds agin,
and renounce their ruings,
and denounce their doings,
for river and iver,
and a night. Amin!
Which title is the true-to-type motto-in-lieu for that Tick for Teac thatchment painted witt weth one darkness, where asnake is under clover and birds aprowl are in the rookeries and a magda went to monkishouse and a riverpaard was spotted, which is not Whichcroft Whorort not Ousterholm Dreyschluss not Haraldsby, grocer, not Vatandcan, vintner, not Houseboat and Hive not Knox-atta-Belle not O’Faynix Coalprince not Wohn Squarr Roomyeck not Ebblawn Downes not Le Decer Le Mieux not Benjamin’s Lea not Tholomew’s Whaddingtun gnot Antwarp gnat Musca not Corry’s not Weir’s not The Arch not The Smug not The Dotch House not The Uval nothing Grand nothing Splendid (Grahot or Spletel) nayther Erat Est Erit noor Non michi sed luciphro?
ANSWER: Thine obesity, O civilian, hits the felicitude of our orb!
4. What Irish capitol city (a dea o dea!) of two syllables and six letters, with a deltic origin and a nuinous end (ah dust oh dust!), can boost of having a) the most extensive public park in the world, b) the most expensive brewing industry in the world, c) the most expansive peopling thoroughfare in the world, d) the most phillohippuc theobibbous paupulation in the world: and harmonise your abecedeed responses?
ANSWER: a) Delfas. And when ye’ll hear the gould hommers of my heart, my floxy loss, bingbanging again the ribs of yer resistance and the tenderbolts of my rivets working to your destraction ye’ll be sheverin wi’ all yer dinful sobs when we’ll go riding a cope-a-curly, you with yer orange garland and me with my conny cordial, down the greaseways of rollicking into the waters of wetted life. b) Dorhqk. And sure where can you have such good old chimes anywhere, and leave you, as on the Mash and how ’tis I would be engaging you with my plovery soft accents and descanting upover the scene beunder me of your loose vines in their hairafall with them two loving loofs braceleting the slims of your ankles and your mouth’s flower rose and sinking ofter the soapstone of silvry speech. c) Nublid. Isha, why wouldn’t we be happy, avourneen, on the mills’ money he’ll soon be leaving you as soon as I’ve my own owned brooklined Georgian mansion’s lawn to recruit upon by Doctor Cheek’s special orders and my copper’s panful of soybeans and Irish in my east hand and a James’s Gate in my west, after all the errears and erroriboose of combarative embottled history, and your goodself churning over the newleaved butter (more power to you!), the choicest and the cheapest from Atlanta to Oconee, while I’ll be drowsing in the gaarden. d) Dalway. I hooked my thoroughgoing trotty the first down Spanish Place, Mayo I make, Tuam I take, Sligo’s sleek but Galway’s grace. Holy eel and sainted salmon, chucking chub and ducking dace, Rodiron’s not your aequal! says she, leppin half the lane. abcd) A bell a bell on Shalldoll Steepbell, ond be’ll go massplon pristmoss speople, Shand praise gon ness our fayst moan neople, our prame Shandeepen, pay name muy feepence, moy nay non Aequallllllll!
5. Whad slags of a loughladd would retten smuttyflesks, emptout old mans, melk vitious geit, scareoff jackinjills fra tiddle anding, smoothpick waste papish pastures, insides man outsiders angell, sprink dirted water, bear around village, newses, tobaggon and sweeds, plain general kept, louden on the kirkpeal, foottreats given to malafides, outskriek hyelp hyelp nor his hair efter buggelawrs, might underhold three barnets, putzpolish crotty bottes, nightcoover all fireglims, serve’s time till baass, grindstone his kniveses, fullest boarded, lewd man of the method in godliness, perchance he nieows and thans sits in the spoorwaggen, X.W.C.A. or Z.W.C.U., Doorsteps Limited or Baywindaws Bros swobber preferred, Walther Clausetter’s and Sons with the H. E. Chimneys and Company to not skreve, will, on advices, be bacon or stable hand, must begripe fallstandingly irers’ langurge, jublander or northquain bigger prefurred, all duties, kine rights, family fewd, outings fived, may get earnst, no get combitsch, profusional drinklords to please obstain, he is fatherlow soundigged inmoodmined pershoon but aleconnerman, nay, that must he isn’t?
ANSWER: Pore ole Joe!
6. What means the saloon slogan Summon In The Housesweep Dinah?
ANSWER: Tok. Galory bit of the sales of Cloth nowand I have to beeswax the bringing in all the claub of the porks to us how I thawght I knew his arthurgruff stain on the flowers of the liloleum O if me ash and can could speak like Big Whittington and he called by me midden name. Tik. I am your honey honeysugger phwhtphwht tha Bay and who bruk the dandleass and who seen the blackcullen jam for Tomorrha’s big pickneck I hope it’ll pour prais the Climate of all Ireland I heard the grackles and I skimming the crock on all your sangwidges fippence per leg per drake. Tuk. And who eight the last of the goosebellies that was mowlding from measlest years and who leff that there and who put that here and who let the kilkenny stale the chump. Tek. And whowasit youwasit propped the pot in the yard and whatinthe nameofsen lukeareyou rubbinthe sideofthe flureofthe lobby-with. Shite! Will you have a plateful? Tak.
7. Who are those component partners of our societate, the doorboy, the cleaner, the sojer, the crook, the squeezer, the lounger, the curman, the tourabout, the mussroomsniffer, the bleakablue tramp, the funpowther-plother, the christymansboxer, from their prés salés and Donnybrook prater and Roebuck’s campos and the ager Arountown and Crumglen’s grassy but Kimmage’s champ and Ashtown fields and Cabra fields and Fin-glas fields and Santry fields and the feels of Raheny and their fails and Bal-doygle to them, who are latecomers all the years round by anticipation, are the porters of the passions in virtue of retroratiocination, and, contributting their conflingent controversies of differentiation, unify their voxes in a vote of vaticination, who crunch the crusts of comfort due to depredation, drain the mead for misery to incur intoxication, condone every evil by practical justification and condamn any good to its own gratification, who are ruled, roped, duped and driven by those numen fateful changending constancies, the feedkeepers at our free laws (Fors Forsennat Finds Clusium!), nightly consternation, fortnightly fornication, monthly miserecordation and omniannual recreation, doyles when they deliberate but sullivans when they are swordsed, Matey, Teddy, Simon, Jorn, Pedhar, Andy, Barty, Philly, Jamesy Mor, and Tom, Matt and Jakes MacCorty?
ANSWER: The Morphios!
8. And how war yore maggies?
ANSWER: They war loving, they love laughing, they laugh weeping, they weep smelling, they smell smiling, they smile hating, they hate thinking, they think feeling, they feel tempting, they tempt daring, they dare waiting, they wait taking, they take thanking, they thank seeking, as born for lorn in lore of love to live and wive by wile and rile and rule by rune of ruse ’reathed rose and hose hol’d home, yeth cometh elope year, coach and four, Sweet Peck-at-my-Heart picks one man more.
9. Now, to be on anew and basking again in the panaroma of all flores of speech, if a human being, duly fatigued by his dayety in the sooty, having plenxty off time on his gouty hands and vacants of space at his sleepish feet and as hapless behind the dreams of accuracy as any camelot prince of dinmurk, were, at this auctual futule preteriting unstant, in the states of suspensive exanimation, accorded, through the eye of a noodle, with an earsighted view of old hopeinhaven with all the ingredient and egregiunt whights and ways to which in the curse of his persistence the course of his tory will had been having recourses, the reverberration of knotcracking awes, the reconjungation of nodebinding ayes, the redissolusingness of mindmouldered ease and the thereby hang of the Hoel of it, could such a none, whiles even led comesilencers to comeliewithhers and till intempestuous Nox should catch the gallicry and spot lucan’s dawn, byhold at ones what is main and why ’tis twain, how one once meet melts in tother wants poignings, the sap rising, the foles falling, the nimb now nihilant round the girlyhead so becoming, the wrestless in the womb, all the rivals to allsea, shakeagain, O disaster! shakealose, Ah how starring! but Heng’s got a bit of Horsa’s nose and Jeff’s got the signs of Ham round his mouth and the beau that spun beautiful pales as it palls, what roserude and oragious grows gelb and greem, blue out the ind of it! Violet’s dyed! then what would that fargazer seem to seemself to seem seeming of, dimn it all?
ANSWER: A collideorscape!
10. What bitter’s love but yurning, what’ sour lovemutch but a bref burning, till shee that drawes dothe smoake retourne?
ANSWER: I know, pepette, of course, dear, but listen, precious! Thanks, pette, those are lovely, pitounette, delicious! But mind the wind, sweet! What exquisite hands you have, you angiol, if you didn’t gnaw your nails! Isn’t it a wonder you’re not ashamed of me, you pig, you perfect little pigaleen! I’ll nudge you in a minute. I bet you use her best Perisian smear off her vanity table to make them look so rosetop glowstop nostop. I know her. Slight me, would she? For every jot I care! I can pay my club like she. Three creamings a day, the first during her shower and wipe off with tissue. Then after cleanup and of course before retiring. Beme shawl, when I think of that espos of a Clancarbry, the foodbrawler of the sociationist party with hiss blackleaded chest, hello, Prendregast! that you, Innkipper?, and all his fourteen other fullback maulers or hurling stars, or whatever the dagos they are, baiting at my Lord Ornery’s, just becups they won the egg and spoon there so ovally provencial at Balldole. My Eilish assent he seed makes his admiracion. He is seeking an opening and means to be first with me as his belle alliance. Andoo musnoo play zeloso! Soso do todas. Such is Spanish. Stoop a little closer, fealse! Delightsome simply! Like Jolio and Romeune. I haven’t fell so turkish for ages and ages! Mine’s me of squisious, the chocolate with a soul. Extraordinary! Why, what are they all, the mucky lot of them only? Sht! I wouldn’t pay three hairpins for them. Peppt! That’s right, hold it steady! Leg me pull. Pu! Come big to Iran. Poo! What are you nudging for? No, I just thought you were. Listen, loviest! Of course it was too kind of you, miser, to remember my sighs in shockings, my often expressed wish when you were wandering about my trousseaurs, and before I forget it don’t forget, in your extensions to my personality, when knotting my remembrancetie, shoeweek will be trotting back with red heels at the end of the moon, but look what the fool bought, cabbage head, and, as I shall answer to gracious heaven, I’ll always in always remind of snappy new girters, me being always the one for charms, with my very best in proud and gloving even if he was to be vermillion miles my youth to live on, the rubberend Mr Polkingtone, the quoniam fleshmonger who Mother Brawne solicited me for unlawful converse with, with her mug of October (a pots on it!), creaking around on his old shanksaxle like a crosty old cornquake. Airman, waterwag, terrier, blazer! I’m fine, thanks ever! Ha! O, mind you poo tickly! Sall I puhim in momou? Mummum! Funny spot to have a fingey! I’m terribly sorry, I swear to you I am! May you never see me in my figure how I sleep gracefully in my birthday pelts seenso tutu and that her blanches mainges may rot leprous off her, whatever winking maggis I’ll bet by your cut you go fleurting after, with all the glass on her and the jumps in her stomewhere! Haha! I suspected she was! Sink her! May they fire her for a barren ewe! So she says: Tay for thee? Well, I saith: Angst so mush! and desired she might not take it amiss if I esteemed her but an odd. If I did ate toughturf I’m not a mishymissy. Of course I know, pettest, you’re so learningful and considerate in yourself, so friend of vegetables, you long cold cat you! Please by acquiester too meek my acquointance! Codling, snakelet, iciclist! My diaper has more life to it! Who drowned you, so young in drears, man, or are you pillale with ink? Did a weep get past the gates of your pride? My tread on the clover, sweetness? Yes, the buttercups told me. Hug me, damn it all, and I’ll kiss you back to life, my peachest. I mean to make you suffer, meddlar, and I don’t care this fig for contempt of courting. That I chid you, sweet sir? You know I’m tender by my eye. Can’t you read my dazzling ones through me true? Bite my laughters, drink my tears. Pore into me, volumes, spell me stark and spill me swooning. Transname me loveliness, now me and here me for all times! I just don’t care what my thwarters think! I’d risk a policeman passing by, Magrath or even that beggar of a boots at the Post. The flame? O, pardone! That was what? Ah, did you speak, stuffstuff? More poestries from Chickspeer’s with gleechoreal music or a jaculation from the garden of the soul? Of I be leib in thee immoralities? O, you mean the strangle for love and the sowiveall of the prettiest? Yep, we open hap coseries in the home. And once upon a week I improve on myself I’m so keen on that New Free Woman with novel inside. I’m always as tickled as can be over Man in a Surplus by the Lady who Pays the Rates. But I’m as pie as is possible. Let’s root out Brimstoker and give him the thrall of our lives. It’s Dracula’s nightout. For creepsake don’t make a flush! Draw the shades, curfe you, and I’ll beat any sonna-monk to love. Holy bug, how my highness would jump to make you flame your halve a bannan in two when I’d run my burning torchlight through your hairmejig if you had one! To adore me there and then cease to be? Whatever for, blossoms? If I am laughing with you? No, lovingest, I’m not so dying to take my rise out of you, adored. Not in the very least. True as God made Mamaw hiplength modesty coatmawther! It’s only because the rison is I’m only any girl, you lovely fellow of my dreams, and because old somebooby is not a roundabout, my trysting of the tulipies, like that puff-pape bucking Daveran, assoiling us behinds. What a nerve! He thinks that’s what the vesprey’s for.
How vain’s that hope in cleric’s heart
Who still pursues th’ adult’rous art,
Cocksure that rusty gown of his
Will make fair Sue forget his phiz!
Tame Schwipps. Blessed Marguerite Moses! I hope they threw away the mould, or else we’ll have Ballshossers and Sourdamapplers with their medical assassiations all over the place. But hold hard till I’ve got my latchkey vote and I’ll teach him when to wear what woman callours. On account of the gloss of the gleison. Hasaboobrawbees isabeaubel. And because, you pluckless lankaloot, I hate the very thought of the thought of you and because, dearling, of course, adorest, I was always meant for an engindear from the French college to be musband, nomme d’engien, when we do and contract with encho tencho solver when you are married to reading and writing which please business now won’t be long for he’s so loopy on me and I’m so leapylike since the day he carried me from the boat, my saviored of eroes, to the beach and I left on his shoulder one fair hair to guide hand and mind to its softness. Ever so sorry! I beg your pardon, I was listening to every treasuried word I said fell from my dear mot’s tongue, otherwise how could I see what you were thinking of your granny? Only I wondered if I threw out my shaving water. Anyway, here’s my arm, pulletneck. Gracefully yours. Move your mouth towards minth, more, preciousest, more on more! To please me, treasure. Don’t be a, I’m not going to! Sh! Nothing! A cricri somewhere: Buybuy! I’m fly! Hear, pippy, under the limes. You know bigtree are all against gravstone. They hisshistenency. Garnd ond mand! So chip chirp chirrup, cigolo, for the lug of Migo! The little passdoor, I go you before, so, and you’re at my apron stage. Shy is him, dovey? Musforget there’s an audience. I have been lost, angel. Cuddle, ye divil ye! It’s our toot-a-toot. Hearhere! Sensation! Let them, their whole four courtships! Let them! Bigbawl and his boosers’ eleven makes twelve territorials! The Old Sots’ Hole that wants wide streets to commission their noisense in, at the Mitchells v. Nicholls. Aves Selvae Acquae Valles! And my waiting twenty classbirds, sitting on their stiles! Let me finger their eurhythmytic. And you’ll see if I’m selfthought. They’re all of them out to please. Wait! In the mane of the mistle and if Sent Yves and all the holly. Hoost! Ahem! There’s Ada, Bett, Celia, Delia, Ena, Fretta, Gilda, Hilda, Ita, Jess, Katty, Lou (they make me cough as sure as I read them), Mina, Nippa, Opsy, Poll, Queenie, Ruth, Saucy, Trix, Una, Vela, Wanda, Xenia, Yva, Zulma, Phoebe, Thelma. And Mee! The reformatory boys is goaling in for the church so we’ve all comefeast like the groupsuppers and caught lipsolution from Anty Pravidance under penancies for myrtle sins. When their bride was married all my belles began to ting. A ring a ring a rosaring! Then everyone will hear of it. Whoses wishes is the farther to my thoughts. But I’ll plant them a poser for their nomanclatter. When they’re out with the daynurse doing Chaperon Mall. Bright pigeons all over the whirrld will fly with my mistletoe message round their loveribboned necks and a crumb of my cake for each chasta dieva. We keeps all and sundry papers. In th’ amourlight, O my dawrling! No, I swear to you by Fibs-burrow churchdome and Sainte Andrée’s Undershift, by all I hold secret from my world and in my underworld of nighties and naughties and in all the other wonderwearlds! Close your, notmust look, now open, pet, your lips, pepette, like I used my sweet parted lipsabuss with Don Holohan of facetious memory taught me after the flannel dance, with the proof of love, up Smock Alley, the first night he smelled pouder and I coloured beneath my fan, pipetta mia, when you learned me the linguo to melt. Wholoham would have ears like ours, the blackhaird! Do you adore that, silenzioso? Are you enjoying, this same little me, my life, my love? Why do you like my, whispme? Is it not divinely deluscious? But in’t it baffoyou? Misi, misi! Tell me till my thrillme comes! I will not break the seal. I am enjoying it still, I swear I am! Why do you prefer its in these dark nets, if why may ask, my sweetykins? Shsh! Longears is flying. No, sweetissest, why would that ennoy me? But don’t! You want to be slap well slapped for that. Your delighted lips, love, be careful! Mind my duvetyne dress above all! It’s golded silvy, the newest sextones with princess effect. For Rutland blue’s got out of passion. So, so, my precious! O, I can see the cost, chara! Don’t tell me! Why, the boy in sheeps’ lane knows that. If I sell whose, dears? Was I sold here’s, tears? You mean those conversation lozenges? How awful! The bold shame of me! I wouldn’t, chickens, not for all the juliettes in the twinkly way! I could snap them when I see them winking at me in bed. I didn’t did so, my intended, or was going to or thinking of. Shshsh! Don’t start like that, you wretch! I thought ye knew all and more, ye aucthors, to explique to ones the significat of their exsystems with your nieu nivulon lead. It’s only another queer fish or otther in Brinbrou’s damned old trouchorous river again, Gothewishegoths bless us and spare her! And gibos rest from the bosso! Excuse me for swearing, love, I swear to the sorrasims on their trons of Uian I didn’t mean to, by this alpin armlet! Did you really never in all our cantalang lives speak clothse to a girl’s before? No! Not even to the charmermaid? How mawfellous! Of course I believe you, my own dear doting liest, when you tell me. As I’d live to, O, I’d love to! Liss, liss! I muss whiss! Never that ever or I can remember dearstreaming faces, you may go through me! Never in all my whole white light of my matchless and pair! Or ever for bitter be the frucht of this hour! With my whiteness I thee woo and bind my silk breasths I thee bound! Always, Amory, amor andmore! Till always, thou lovest! Shshshsh! So long as the lucksmith. Laughs!
11. If you met on the binge a poor acheseyeld from Ailing,
when the tune of his tremble shook shimmy on shin,
while his countrary raged in the weak of his wailing,
like a rugilant pugilant Lyon O’Lynn;
if he maundered in misliness, plaining his plight,
or played fox and lice, picking and dropping hips teeth,
or wringing his handcuffs for peace, the blind blighter,
praying Dieuf and Domb Nostrums foh thomethinks to eath;
if he weapt while he leapt and guffalled quith a quhimper,
made cold blood a blue mundy and no bones without flech,
taking kiss, kake or kick with a suck, sigh or simper,
a diffle to larn and a dibble to lech;
if the fain shinner pegged you to shave his immartial,
wee skillmustered shoul with his ooh, hoodoodoo!
broking wind that to wiles woemaid sin he was partial,
we don’t think, Jones, we’d care to this evening, would you?
ANSWER: No, blank ye! So you think I have impulsivism? Did they tell you I am one of the fortysixths? And I suppose you heard I had a wag on my ears? And I suppose they told you too that my roll of life is not natural? But before proceeding to conclusively confute this begging question it would be far fitter for you (if ye dare!) to hasitate to consult with and consequentially attempt at my disposals of the same dime-cash problem elsewhere, naturalistically, of course, from the blinkpoint of so eminent a spatialist. From it you will here notice, Schott, upon my for the first remarking you that the sophology of Bitchson while driven as under by a purely dime-dime urge is not without his cash-cash characktericksticks, borrowed for its nonce ends from the fiery goodmother Miss Fortune (who the lost time we had the pleasure we have had our little recherché brush with, what, Schott?) and as I further could have told you, as brisk as your D.B.C., behaviouristically pailleté with a coat of homoid icing which is in reality only a done by chance ridiculisation of the whoo-whoo and where’s hairs theorics of Winestain. To put it all the more plumbsily, the speechform is a mere sorrogate whilst the quality and tality (I shall explex what you ought to mean by this with its proper when and where and why and how in the subsequent sentence) are alternativomentally harrogate and arrogate, as the gates may be.
Talis is a word often abused by many passims (I am working out a quantum theory about it for it is really a most tantumising state of affairs). A pessim may frequent you to say: Have you been seeing much of Talis and Talis those times?, optimately meaning: Will you put up a three of irish? Or a ladyeater may perhaps have casualised to you as you temptoed her à la sourdine: Of your plates, is Talis de Talis, the swordswallower, who is on at the Craterium the same Talis von Talis, the penscrusher (no funk you!), who runs his duly mile? Or this is a perhaps cleaner example. At a recent postvortex piece infustigation of a determinised case of chronic spinosis an extension lecturer on The Ague who out of matter of form was terging his seesers, Dr ’s Het Ubeleeft, borrowed the question: Why’s which Suchman’s talis qualis? To whom, as a fatter of macht, Dr Gedankje of Stoutgirth, who was wiping his whistle, toarsely retoarted: While thou beast one zoom of a whorl! (Talis and Talis originally mean the same thing, hit it’s: Qualis.)
Professor Loewy-Brueller (though, as I shall promptly prove, his whole account of the Sennacherib as distinct from the Shalmaneser sanitational reforms and of the Mr Shekels and Dr Hydes problem in the same connection differs toto coelo from the fruit of my own investigations—though the reason I went to Jericho must remain for certain reasons a political secret especially as I shall shortly be wanted in Cavantry, I congratulate myself, for the same and other reasons—as being again hopelessly vitiated by what I have now resolved to call the dime and cash diamond fallacy) in his talked off confession which recently met with such a leonine uproar on its escape after its confinement, Why am I not born like a Gentileman and why I am now so speakable about my own eatables (Feigenbaumblatt and Father, Judapest, 5688, A.M.), wholeheartedly takes off his gabbercoat and wig, honest draughty fellow, in his public interest, to make us see how, though, as he says, “by Allswill”, the inception and the descent and the endswell of Man is temporarily wrapped in obscenity. Looking through at these accidents with the faroscope of television (this nightlife instrument needs still some subtractional betterment in the readjustment of the more refrangible angles to the squeals of his hypothesis on the outer tin sides) I can easily believe heartily in my own most spacious immensity as my ownhouse and microbemost cosm when I am reassured by ratio that the cube of my volumes is to the surfaces of their subjects as the sphericity of these globes (I am very pressing for a parliamentary motion this term which, under my guidance, would establish the deleteriousness of decorousness in the morbidisation of the modern mandaboutwoman type) is to the feracity of Fairynelly’s vacuum. I need not anthropologise for any obintentional (I must here correct all that school of neoitalian or paleoparisien schola of tinkers and spanglers who say I’m wrong parceqeue out of revolscian from romanitis I want to be) downtrodding on my foes, Professor Levi-Brullo F.D. of Sexe-Weiman-Eitelnakt finds, from experiments made by hinn with his Nuremberg eggs in the one hands and the watches cauldron apan the oven, though it is astensably a case of Ket’s rebollions cooling the Popes back, because the number of squeer faiths in weakly circulation will not be appreciably augmended by the netherslogging of my cupolar clods. What the romantic in rags pines after like all tomtompions haunting crevices for a deadbeat escapement and what he importunes our Mitleid for in accornish with the Mortadarthella taradition is the poorest commononguardiant waste of time. His everpresent toes are always in retaliessian out through his overpast boots. Hear him squeak! Teek heet to that looswallawer how he bolo the bat! Tyro a toray! When Mullocky won the couple of colds, when we were stripping in number three, I would like the neat drop that would malt in my mouth but I fail to see when. (I am purposely refraining from expounding the obvious fallacy as to the specific gravitates of the two deglutables implied nor to the lapses lequor asousiated with the royal gorge, though students of mixed hydrostatics and pneumodipsics will after some diffculties grapple away with my meinungs.) Myrrdin aloer! as old Marsellas Cambriannus puts his. But, on Professor Llewellys ap Bryllars F.D. Ph.Dr’s showings, the plea, if he pleads, is all posh and rabbage on a melodeontic scale since his man’s when is no otherman’s quandom (mine, dank you!) while (for aught I care for the contrary?) the all is where in love as war and the plane where me arts soar you’d aisy rouse a thunder from and where I cling true ’tis there I climb tree and where Innocent looks best (pick!) there’s holly in his ives.
As my explanations here are probably above your understandings, lattle-brattons, though as augmentatively uncomparisoned as Cadwan, Cad-wallon and Cadwalloner, I shall revert to a more expletive method which I frequently use when I have to sermo with muddlecrass pupils. Imagine for my purpose that you are a squad of urchins, sniffynosed, goslingnecked, clottyheaded, tangled in your lacings, tingled in your pants, etsitaraw etcicero. And you, Bruno Nowlan, take your tongue out of your inkpot! As none of you knows javanese I will give all my easyfree translation of the old fabulist’s parable. Allaboy Minor, take your head out of your satchel! Audi, Joe Peters! Exaudi facts!
THE MOOKSE AND THE GRIPES
Gentes and laitymen, fullstoppers and semicolonials, hybreds and lubberds!
Eins within a space and a weary wide space it wast ere wohned a Mookse. The onesomeness wast alltolonely, archunsitslike, broady oval, and a Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo), so one grandsumer evening, after a great morning and his good supper of gammon and spittish, having flabelled his eyes, pilleoled his nostrils, vacticanated his ears and palliumed his throat, he put on his impermeable, seized his impugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo (socolld becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters and had borgeously letout gardens strown with cascadas, pintacostecas, horthoducts and currycombs) and set off from Ludstown a spasso to see how badness was badness in the weirdest of all pensible ways.
As he so set off with his father’s sword, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarheels, our once in only Bragspear, he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes to threetop every inch of an immortal.
He had not walked over a pentiad of parsecs from his azylium when at the turning of the Shinshone Lanteran near Saint Bowery’s-without-his-Walls he came (secunding to the one one oneth of the propecies, Amnis Limina Permanent) upon the most unconsciously boggylooking stream he ever locked his eyes with. Out of the colliens it took a rise by daubing itself Ninon. It looked little and it smelt of brown and it thought in narrows and it talked showshallow. And as it rinn it dribbled like any lively purl-it-easy: My, my, my! Me and me! Little down dream, don’t I love thee!
And, I declare, what was there on the yonder bank of the stream that would be a river, parched on a limb of the olum, bolt downright, but the Gripes? And no doubt he was fit to be dried for why had he not been having the juice of his times?
His pips had been neatly all drowned on him; his polps were charging odours every older minute; he was quickly for getting the dresser’s desdaign on the flyleaf of his frons; and he was quietly for giving the bailiff’s distrain on to the bulkside of his cul de pompe. In all his specious heavings, as he lived by Optimus Maximus, the Mookse had never seen his Dubville brooder-on-low so nigh to a pickle.
Adrian (that was the Mookse now’s assumptinome) stuccstill phiz-à-phiz to the Gripes in an accessit of aurignacian. But Allmookse must to Moodend much as Allrouts, austereways or wastersways, in roaming run through Room. Hic sor a stone, singularly illud, and on hoc stone Seter satt huc sate which it filled quite poposterously and by acclammitation to its fullest justotoryum and whereopum with his unfallable encyclicling upom his alloilable, diupetriark of the wouest, and the athemystsprinkled pederect he always walked with, Deusdedit, cheek by jowel with his frisherman’s blague, Bellua Triumphans, his everyway addedto wallat’s collectium, for yea longer he lieved yea broader he betaught of it, the fetter, the summe and the haul it cost, he looked the first and last micahlike laicness of Quartus the Fifth and Quintus the Sixth and Sixtus the Seventh giving allnight sitting to Lio the Faultyfindth.
— Good appetite us, Sir Mookse! How do you do it? cheeped the Gripes in a wherry whiggy maudelenian woice and the jackasses all within bawl laughed and brayed for his intentions for they knew their sly toad lowry now. I am rarumominum blessed to see you, my dear mouster. Will you not perhopes tell me everything, if you are pleased, sanity? All about aulne and lithial and allsall allinall about awn and liseias. Ney?
Think of it! O miserendissimest retempter! A Gripes!
— Rats! bullowed the Mookse most telesphorously, the concionator, and the sissymusses and the zozzymusses in their robenhauses quailed to hear his tardeynois at all, for you cannot wake a silken nouse out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your anathomy infairioriboos! No, hang you for an animal rurale! I am superbly in my supremest poncif! Abase you, baldyqueens! Gather behind me, satraps! Rots!
— I am till infinity obliged with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to his palpruy head. I am still always having a wish on all my extremities. By the
watch, what is the time, pace?
Figure it! The pining peever! To a Mookse!
— Ask my index! Mund my achilles! Swell my obolum! Woshup my nase serene! answered the Mookse, rapidly byturning clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the most formose of good grogory humours. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I came on my missions with my paladin’s intentions laudibiliter to settle with you, barbarousse. Let thor be orlog. Let Pauline be Irene. Let you be Beeton. And let me be Los Angeles. Now measure your length! Now estimate my capacity! Well, sour? Is this space of our couple of hours too dimensional for you, temporiser? Will you give you up? Como? Fuert it!
Sancta Patientia! You should have heard the voice that answered him! Culla vosellina.
— I was just thinkling upon that, swees Mooksey, but, for all the rime on my raisins, if I cannow make my submission, I canoss give you up, the Gripes whimpered from the nethermost of his wanhope. Ishallassoboundbewilsothoutoosezit. My tumble, loudy bullocker, is my own. My velicity is too fit in one stockend. And my spetial inexshellsis the belowing things ab ove. But I will never be abler to tell Your Honoriousness (here he near lost his limb), though my corked father was bott a pseudowaiter, whose o’cloak you ware.
Incredible? Well, hear the inevitable!
— Your temple, sus in cribro! Semperexcommunicambiambisumers. Tugurios-in-Newrobe or Tukurias-in-Ashies. Novarome, my creature, blievend bleives. My building space in lyonine city is always to let to leonlike Men, the Mookse with immediate jurisdiction constantinently concluded. (What a crammer for the shapewrucked Gripes!) And I regret to proclaim that it is out of my temporal to help you from being killed by inchies (what a thrust!) as we first met each other newwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!) My side, thank decretals, is as safe as motherour’s houses, he continued, and I can seen from my holeydome what it is to be wholly sane. Union-jok and be joined to yok! Parysis, tu sais, crucycrooks, belongs to him who parises himself. And there I must leave you subject for the pressing. I can prove that against you, weight a momentum, mein goot enemy, or Cospol’s not our star. I bet you this dozen odd. This foluminous dozen odd. Quas primas—but ’tis bitter to compote my knowledge’s fructos of. Tomes.
Elevating, to give peint to his blick, his jewelled pederect to the allmysty cielung, he luckystruck blueild out a few shouldbe santillants, a cloister of starabouts over Maples, a lucciolys in Teresa street and a stopsign before Sophy Barratt’s. He gaddered togodder the odds docence of his vellumes, gresk, letton and russicruxian, onto the lapse of his prolegs, into umfullth onescuppered, and sat about his widerproof.
He proved it pompifically, in a most consistorous allocution, well whoonearth dry and drysick times, and vremiament, tu cesses, to the extinction of Niklaus altogether (Niklaus Alopysius having been the once Gripes’s popwilled nimbum), by Neuclidius and by Inexagoras, by Mumfsen and by Thumpsen, by Orasmus and by Amenius, by Anacletus the Jew and by Malachy the Augurer and by the Cappon’s collection and all the mummyscrips in Sick Bokes’ Juncroom. And after that, with Cheekee’s gelatine and Alldaybrandy’s formolon, he reproved it ehrltogether, when not in that order sundering in some different order, alter three thirty and a hundred times, by the binomial dioram and the penic walls and the ind, the inklespill legends and the rure, the rule of the hoop and the blessons of expedience and the jus, the jugicants of Pontius Pilax and the Chapters for the Cunning of the Chapters of the Conning Fox by Tail.
While that Mooksius with preprocession and with proprecession, duplicitly and diplussedly, was promulgating ipsofacts and sadcontras this raskolly Gripos he had allbust seceded in monophysicking his illsobordunates. But asawfulas he had caught his base semenoyous sarchnaktiers to combuccinate upon the silipses of his aspillouts and the acheporeoozers of his haggyown pneumax to synerethetise with the breadchestviousness of his sweeatovular ducose sofarfully the loggerthuds of his sakellaries were fond at variance with the synodals of his somepooliom and his babskissed nepogreasymost got the hoof from his philioquus.
— Efter thousand yaws, Oh Gropes, con my sheepskins, yow will be belined to the world, enscayed Mookse the pius.
— Ofter thousand yores, amsered Gripes the gregary, be the goat of Mac-Hammud’s, Ah Mookse, yours may be still more botheared.
— Us shall be chosen as the first of the last by the electress of Vale Hallow, obselved the Mookse nobily, for, par the unicum of Elelijiacks, Us am in Our stabulary and that is what Ruby and Roby fall for, blissim.
The Pills, the Nasal Wash (Yardly’s), the Army Man Cut. As british as bond strict and as straightcut as when that brokenarched traveller from Nuzuland…
— Wee, cumfussed the Gripes limply, shall not even be the last of the first, wee hope, when oust are visitated by the veiled horror. And, he added, Mee are relying entirely, see the fortethurd of Elissabed, on the weightiness of mear’s breath. Puffut!
Unsightbared embouscher, relentloose foe to social and business success! (Hourihaleine.) It might have been a happy evening but …
And they viterberated each and other, canis et coluber, with the wildest ever wielded since Tarriestinus lashed Pissasphaltium.
— Unuchorn!
— Ungulant!
— Uvuloid!
— Uskybeak!
And bullfolly answered volleyball.
Nuvoletta in her lightdress, spunn of sisteen shimmers, was looking down on them, leaning over the bannistars and listening all she childishly could. How she was brightened when Shouldrups in his glaubering hochskied his welkinstuck and how she was overclused when Kneesknobs on his zwivvel was makeacting such a paulse of himshelp! She was alone. All her nubied compinions were asleeping with the squirrels. Their mivver, Mrs Moonan, was off in the Fuerst quarter scrubbing the backsteps of Number 28. And as for fuvver, that Skand, he was up in Norwood’s sokaparlour eating oceans of Voking’s Blemish. Nuvoletta listened as she reflected herself, though the heavenly one with his constellatria and his emanations stood between, and she tried all she tried to make the Mookse look up at her (but he was fore too adiaptotously farseeing) and to make the Gripes hear how coy she could be (though he was much too schystimatically auricular about his ens to heed her) but it was all mild’s vapour moist. Not even her feignt reflection, Nuvoluccia, could they take their gnoses off, for their minds with intrepifide fate and bungless curiasity were conclaved with Heliogobbleus and Commodus and Enobarbarus and whatever the coordinal dickens they did as their damprauch of papyrs and buchstubs said. As if that was their spiration! As if theirs could duiparate her queendim! As if she would be third perty to search on search proceedings! She tried all the winsome wonsome ways her four winds had taught her. She tossed her sfumastelliacinous hair like la princesse de la Petite Bretagne and she rounded her mignons arms like Mrs Cornwallis-West and she smiled over herself like the beauty of the image of the pose of the daughter of the queen of the Emperour of Irelande and she sighed after herself as were she born to bride with Tristis Tristior Tristissimus. But, sweet madonine, she might fair as well have carried her daisy’s worth to Florida. For the Mookse, a dogmad Accanite, were not amoosed and the Gripes, a dubliboused Catalick, wis pinefully obliviscent.
— I see, she sighed. There are menner.
The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds: and shades began to glidder along the banks, greepsing, greepsing, duusk unto duusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the waste of all peacable wolds. Metamnisia was allsoonone coloroform brune; citherior spiane an eaulande, innemorous and unnumerose. The Mookse had a sound eyes right but he would not all hear. The Gripes had light ears left yet he could but ill see. So he ceased, and he ceased, tung and trit, and it was never-soever so dusky of both of them. But still Moo thought on the deeps of the undths he would profoundth come the morrokse and still Gri feeled of the scripes he would escipe if by grice he had luck enoupes.
O, how it was duusk! From Vallee Maraia to Grasyaplaina, dormimust echo! Ah dew! Ah dew! It was so duusk that the tears of night began to fall, at first by ones and twos, then by threes and fours, at last by fives and sixes of sevens, for the tired ones were weeping, as we weep now with them. O! O! O! Par la pluie!
Then there came down to the thither bank a woman of no appearance (I believe she was a Black with chills at her feet) and she gathered up his hoariness the Mookse motamourfully where he was spread and caried him away to her invisible dwelling, thats hights, Aquila Rapax, for he was the holy sacred solemn and poshup spit of her boshop’s apron. So you see the Mookse he had reason as I knew and you knew and he knew all along. And there came down to the hither bank a woman to all important (though they say that she was comely, spite the cold in her heed) and, for he was as like it as blow it to a hawker’s hank, she plucked down the Gripes, torn panicky autotone, in angeu from his limb and cariad away its beotitubes with her to her unseen shieling, it is, De Rore Coeli. And so the poor Gripes got wrong, for that is always how a Gripes is, always was and always will be. And it was never so thoughtful of either of them. And there were left now an only elmtree and but a stone. Polled with pietrous, sierre but saule. O, yes! And Nuvoletta, a lass.
Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars. She gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuée! Nuée! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream (for a thousand of tears had gone on her and come on her and she was stout and struck on dancing and her muddied name was Missisliffi) there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those crylove fables fans who are “keen” on the pretty-pretty commonface sort of thing you meet by hopeharrods) for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I’se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!
No applause, please! Bast! The romescot rattleshaker will go round your circulation in diu cursus.
Allaboy Major, I’ll take your reactions in another place after themes. Nolan-Browne, you may now leave the classroom. Joe Peters, Fox.
As I have now successfully explained to you my own naturalborn rations which are even in excise of my vaultybrain insure me that I am a mouth’s more deserving case by genius. I’m Armory, so herald me, but he’s merely the size of his shirt. The Jonases were juanisers in Lyoness before the first Schmied started to forge. For see my stitchwork! A boche beuglant in a field flam. Motto: Twist im ann insulte! Mookse makes for Muth and his Muth makes for Mastery wile Gripes yields to Guile but his Guile’ll yield the faster he is Faced in Front and Forced to acknowledge that the Roarer Rules the Knaves Leonidas!
Mookse, Mookse, Mookse! I could face a phalanx philistine!
And Gripes, Gripes, Gripes! I could chor em wiv zis jor of mine!
For I feel like Samsen, Hamsen and Yan Yammesen. But nevertheleast also I feel in symbathos for my ever devoted friend and halfaloafonwashed brother, Gnaccus Gnoccovitch. Darling germ! Darling smallfox! Horose-shoew! I could love that man like my own ambo for being so baileycliaver though he’s a nawful cyrillass and I must slav to methodiousness. I want him to go and live like a theabild in charge of the night brigade on Tristan da Cunha, isle of manoverboard, where he’ll make Number 106 and be near Inaccessible.
(The meeting of mahoganies, be the waves, rementions me that this exposed sight though it pines for an umbrella of its own and needs a shelter belt of the true service sort to keep its boles clean—the weeping beeches, Picea and Tillia, are in a wild state about it—ought to be classified, as Cricketbutt Willowm and his two nurserymen advisers suggested, under genus Inexhaustible when we refloat upon all the butternut, sweet gum and manna ash redcedera which is so purvulent there as if there was howthorns in Curraghchasa which ought to look as plane as a lodgepole to anybody until we are introduced to that pinetacotta of Verney Rubens where the deodarty is pinctured for us in a pure stand, which we do not doubt he has a habitat of doing, but without those selfsown seedlings which are a species of proof that the largest individual can occur at or in an olivetion such as East Conna Hillock where it mixes with foolth accacians and common sallies and is tender. Vux populus, as we say in hickoryhockery, and I wish we had some more glasses of arbor vitae. Why root by the roadside or awn over alum pot? Alderman Whitebeam is oaky-o.)
He ought to go away for a change of ideas. And he’d have a world of things to look back on. Do, sweet Daniel! If I weren’t a jones in myself I’d elect myself to be his dolphin in the wildsbillow because he is such a bare-footed rubber with my supersocks pulled over his face which I publicked in my bestback garden for the laetification of siderodromites and to the irony of the stars. And he wants my addition of meal, meat, bread, butter, dripping, eggs, tea and cabbage with a doorstep! I ought not to indulge on this stage still I will think he is so very allirish! You will say it is most un-english and I shall hope to hear that you will not be wrong about it. But I further, feeling a bit husky in my truths …
Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly to each’s other down below our vices. i am being underheerd by old billfaust. wilsh is full of curks. the coolskittle is philip deblinite. mr wist is thereover beyeind the wantnot. wilsh and wist are as thick of thins udder as faust on the deblinite. Sgunoshooto estas preter la tapizo malgranda. Li legas al si en sia chambro. Kelkefoje funcktas, kelkefoje srumpas shultroj. Houdiau kiel vi fartas, mia nigra sinjoro? And from the poignt of fun where I am crying to arrive you at they are on all fore as foibleminded as you can feel they are fablebodied.
My heeders will recoil with great leisure how at the outbreak before trespassing on the space question where even michelangelines have fooled to dread I proved to mindself as to your sotisfiction how his abject all through (the quickquid of Professor Ciondoloni’s too frequently hypothecated Bettlermensch) is nothing so much more than a mere cashdime, however genteel he may want ours, if we please (I am speaking to us in the second person), to feel about it, for to this graded intellacktuals dime is cash and the cash system (you must not be allowed to forget that this is all contained, I mean the system, in the dogmarks of origen on spurios) means that I cannot now have or nothave a piece of cheeps in your pocket at the same time and with the same manners as you can now nothalf or half the cheek apiece I’ve in mind unless Burrus and Caseous have not or not have seemaultaneously sysentangled themselves, selldear to soldthere, once in the dairy days of buy and buy.
Burrus, let us like to imagine, is a genuine prime, the real choice, full of natural greace, the mildest of milkstoffs yet unbeaten as a risicide and, of course, obsoletely unadulterous, whereat Caseous is obversely the revise of him and in fact not an ideal choose by any meals, though the betterman of the two is meltingly addicted to the more casual side of the arrivalist’s case and, let me say it at once, as zealous over him as is passably he.
The seemsame home and histry seeks and hidepence which we used to be reading for our prepurgatory (hot, Schott?) till Duddy shut the shopper op and Mutti (poor Mutti!) brought us our poor suppy (ah who! eh how!!) in Acetius and Oleosus and Sellius Volatilis and Petrus Papricus! Our Old Party quite united round the Slatbowel at Commons: Pfarrer Salamoss himself and that sprog of a Pedersill and his Sprig of Thyme and a dozen of the Murphybuds and a score and more of the hot young Capels and Lettucia in her greensleeves and you too and me three, twinsome bibs but hansome ates, like shakespill and eggs! But there’s many a split pretext bowl and jowl; and (snob screwing that cork, Schott!) to understand this as well as you can, feeling how backward you are in your down-to-the-ground benches, I have completed the following arrangement for the coarse use of stools.
Cheese it.
The older sisars (tyrants, regicide is too good for you and if I don’t make away with you I’m beyond Caesar outnullused!), become unbeurrable from age (the compositor of the farce of dustiny however makes a thumpledrum mistake by letting off this pienofarte effect as his furst act as that is where the juke comes in), having been sort-of-nineknived and chewly removed (this soldier-author-batman for all his commontoryism is just another of those souftsiezed bubbles who never quite got the sandhurst out of his eyes so that the champaign he draws for us is as flop as a plankrieg) the twin-freer types are billed to make their reupprearance as the knew kneck and knife knickknots on the deserted champ de bouteilles.
A most cursery reading into the Persic-Uraliens hostery shows us how Fonnumagogula picked up that propper numen out of a colluction of prifixes, though to the permienting cannasure the Coucousien oafsprung of this sun of a kuk is as sattin as there’s a tub in Tobolosk. Ostiak della Vogul Marina! But that I dannoy the fact of wanton to weste point I could paint you to that butter if you had some wash. Mordvealive! On me none onsens! Why the case is as inessive and impossive as kezom hands! Their interlocative is conprovocative just as every hazzy hates to having a hazbane in her hoze.
Caseous may hethink himself a thought of a caviller but Burrus has the reachly roundered head that goes best with thoftthinking defensive fideism. He has the lac of wisdom under every dent in his lofter, while the other follow’s onni vesy milky indeedmum. Laughing over the linnuts and weeping off the uniun. He hisn’t the hey og he lisn’t the lug, poohoo! And each night sim misses mand he winks he had the semagen. It was aptly and corrigidly stated (and it is royally needless for one—ex ungue Leonem—to say by whom) that his seeingscraft was that clarety as were the whole-borough of Saint Poutresbourg to be averlaunched over him pitchbatch he could still make out with his augstritch the green moat in Ireland’s Eye. Let me sell you the fulltroth of Burrus when he wore a younker. Here it is, and churming too, in six by sevens! A cleanly line, by the gods! A king off duty and a jaw for ever! What brunoesque poportiums, me Ercles! And what a cheery ripe outlook, good help me Deus v Deus! If I were to speak my whole mouthful to ariman about it you should call me the ormuzd aliment in your midst of faime. Eat ye up, heat ye up! sings the somun in the salm. Butyrum et mel comedet ut sciat reprobare malum et eligere bonum. This, of course, also explains why we were taught to play in the childhood: Der Haensli ist ein Butterbrot, fein Butterbrot, mein Butterbrot! Und Koebi iss dein Schtinkenkot! Ja! Ja! Ja!
This, in fact, just to show you, is Caseous, the brutherscutch or puir tyron: a hole or two, the highstink aforefelt and anygo prigging wurms. Cheesugh! you complain. And Hi Hi High must say you are not Hoa Hoa Hoally in the wrong!
Thus we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or ambusheers, beggar and neighbour, and so—this is where the dimeshow advertisers advance the temporal relief plea—let us be tolerant of antipathies. Nex quovis burro num fit mercaseus? I am not hereby giving my final endorsement to the learned ignorants of the Cusanus philosophism in which old Nicholas pegs it down that the smarter the spin of the top the sounder the span of the buttom. (What the worthy old auberginiste ought to have meant was: the more stolidly immobile in space appears to me the bottom which is presented to use in time by the top primomobilisk &c.) And I shall be misunderstood if understood to give an unconditional sinequamnunc to the heroicised furibouts of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophile swoors by his Father Familiaritas and his Mother Contumelia and by the soul in his suit and the animus in his soul and the mind in his animus and the good in his mind that on principial he was the pointingstart of his odiose by comparison and that whiles eggs will fall cheapened all over the walled the Bure will be dear on the Brie.
Now, while I am not out now to be taken up as unintentionally recommending the Silkebjorg tyrondynamon machine for the more enocomical helixtrolysis of these amboadipates until I can find space to look into it myself a little more closely first, I shall go on with my decisions after having shown to you in good time how both products of our social stomach (the excellent Dr Burroman, I noticed by the way from his emended food theory, has been carefully digesting the very wholesome criticism I helped him to in my princeps edition which is all so munch to the cud) are mutuearly polarised, the incompletude of any delusional acting as ambivalent to the fixation of his pivotism. Positing, as above, too male pooles, the one the pictor of the other and the omber the ûîôùè of the one, and looking wantingly around our undistributed middle between males, we feel we must waistfully woent a female to focus and on this stage there pleasantly appears the cowrymaid M (whom we shall often meet below) who introduces herself upon us at some precise hour which we shall again agree to call absolute zero or the babbling pumpt of platinism. And so like that former son of a kish who went up and out to found his farmer’s ashes we come down home gently on our own turnedabout asses to meet Margareen.
We now romp through a period of pure lyricism of shamebred music (technologically, let me say, the appetising entry of this subject on a fool chest of vialds is plumply pudding the carp before doevre hors) evidenced by such words in distress as I cream for thee, sweet Margareen! and the more hopeful O Margareena! O Margareena! Still in the bowl is left a lump of gold! (Correspondents, by the way, will keep on asking me what is the correct garnish to serve drisheens with. Tansy sauce. Enough.) The pawnbreaking pathos of the first of these shoddy pieces reveals it as a Caseous effort. Burrus’s bit is often used for a toast. Criniculture can tell us very precisely indeed how and why this particular streak of yellow silver first appeared on (not in) the bowl, that is to see, the human head, bald, black, bronze, brown, brindled, betteraved or blanchemanged, where it might be usefully compared with an earwig on a fullbottom. I am offering this to Signorina Cuticura and I intend to take it up and bring it under the nosetice of Herr Harlene by way of diverting his attentions. Of course, the unskilled singer continues to pervert our wiser ears by subordinating the space-element, that is to sing, the aria, to the time-factor, which ought to be killed, ill tempor. I should advise any unborn singer who may still be among my heeders to forget her temporal diaphragm at home (the best thing that could happen to it!) and attack the roulade with a swift colpo di glottide to the lug (though Maace I will insist was reclined from overdoing this, his recovery often being slow) and then O! on the third dead beat O! to cluse her eyes and awpen her oath and see what spice I may send her.
How? Cease thee, cantatrickee! I fain would be solo. Arouse thee, my valour! And save for e’er my true Bdur!
I shall have a word to say in a few yards about the acoustic and orchidectural management of the tonehall but, as ours is a vivarious where one plant’s breaf is a lunger planner’s byscent and you may not care for the argon, it will be very convenient for me for the emolument to pursue Burrus and Caseous for a rung or two up their isocelating biangle. Every admirer of my “blank manner” has seen with eyes watered my goulache of Marge (she is so like the sister, you don’t know, and they both dress A L I K E!) which I titled The Very Picture of a Needlesswoman and which in the presence ornates our national cruetstand. This genre of portraiture of changes of mind in order to be truly torse should evoke the bush soul of the females so I am leaving it to the experienced victim to complete the general suggestion by the mental addition of a wallopy bound or, should the zulugical zealot prefer it, a congorool teal. The hatboxes which compose Rhomba, Lady Trabezond (Marge in her excelsis), also comprise the climactogram up which B and C may fondly be imagined ascending and are suggestive of gentlemen’s spring modes, these modes carrying us back to the superimposed claylayers of eocene and pleastoseen formation and the gradual morphological changes in our body politic which Professor Ebahi-Ahuri of Philadespoinis (Ill)—whose bluebutterbust I have just given his coupe de grass to—neatly names a boîte à surprises. The boxes, if I may break the subject gently, are worth about fourpence pourbox but I am inventing a more patent process, foolproof and pryperfect (I should like to ask that Shedlock Homes person who is out for removing the roofs of our criminal classics by what deductio ad domunum he hopes de tacto to detect anything unless he happens of himself, movibile tectu, to have a slade off), after which they can be reduced to a fragment of their true crust by even the youngest of Margees, if she will take plase to be seated and smile if I please.
Now there can be no question about it either that I, having done as much, have quite got the size of that demilitery young female (we will continue to call her Marge) whose types may be met with in any public garden, wearing a very “dressy” affair, known as an “ethel”, of instep length and with a real fur, reduced to 3/9, and muffin cap (they are “angelskin” this fall) to tone, ostentatiously hemming apologetically over the shirtness of some “sweet” garment, when she is not sitting on all the free benches avidously reading about “it” but ovidently on the lookout for “him” or so “thrilled” about the best dressed dolly pram and beautiful elbow competition or at the movies swallowing sobs and blowing bixed mixcuits over “Childe” chaplain’s “latest” or on the verge of the gutter with some bobbedhair brieffrocked babyma’s toddler (the Smythe-Smythes now keep TWO domestics and aspire to THREE male ones, a “shover”, a “butlegger” and a “sectary”) held hostage at armslength, teaching His Infant Majesty how to make waters worse.
I am closely watching Master Pules, as I have regions to suspect from my post that her “little man” is a secondary schoolteacher under the boards of education, a voted disciple of Infantulus, who is being utilised thus publicly by the seducente infanta to conceal her own more mascular personality by flaunting frivolish finery over men’s inside clothes. For the femininny of that totamulier will always lack the musculink of a verumvirum. My solotions for the proper parturience of matres and the education of micturious mites must stand over from the moment till I tackle this tickler hussy for occupying my uttentions.
Margareena she’s very fond of Burrus but (alick and alack!) she velly fond of chee. (The important influence exercised on everything by this eastasian import has not been till now fully flavoured, though we can comfortably taste it in this case. I shall come back for a little more say farther on.) A cleopatrician in her own right, she at once complicates the position, while Burrus and Caseous are contending for her misstery, by implicating herself with an elusive Antonius, a wop who would appear to hug a personal interest in refined chees of all chades at the same time as he wags an antomine art of being rude like the boor. This Antonius-Burrus-Caseous grouptriad may be said to equate the qualis equivalent with the older socalled talis on talis one just as quaintly as in the hyperchemical economantarchy the tantum ergons irruminate the quantum urge so that eggs is to whey as whay is to zeed like your golfchild’s abe boob caddy. (And, taking off sourstuffs and alkalike matters, I hope we can kill time to reach the salt because there’s some forceglass neutric assets bittering in the soldpewter for you to plump your pottage in.) And this is why any simple strawbellied philadolphus of a fool you like to dress, an athemisthued lowtownian exleggest phratrisight, may be awfully green to one side of him and fruitfully blue on the other, which will not screen him however from appealing to my gropesarching eyes, through the strongholes of my acropoll, as a boosted blasted bleating blatant bloaten blasphorus blesphorous idiot who kennat tail a bomb from a painapple when he steals one and wonnot psing his psalmon with the cong for gregational purposes with the canting crew!
No! Topsman, to your Tarpeia! This thing, Minster Abby, is nefand. The thundering legion has stormed Olymp that it end. Twelve tabular times till now have I edicted it. Merus Genius to Careous Caseous! Moriture, te salutat! My phemous themis’ race is run, so let Demoncracy take the highmost! (Abraham Tripier. Those old diligences are quite out of date. Read next answer.) I’ll now beat you so lon. (Bigtempered. Why not take direct action? See previous reply.) My unchanging Word is sacred. The Word is my Wife, to exspouse and expound, to vend and to velnerate, and may the curlews crown our nuptias! Till Breath us depart! Wamen. Beware would you change with my years! Be as young as your grandmother! The ring man in the rong shop but the rite words by the rote order! Ubi lingua nuncupassit, ibi fas! Adversus hostem semper sac! She that will not feel my fulmoon let her peel to thee as the hoyden and the impudent! That mon that hoth no moses in his sole nor is not awed by conquists of word’s law, who never with humself was fed and leaves his soil to lave his head, when his hope’s in his highlows from whisking his woe, if he came to my preach, a proud pursebroken ranger, when the heavens were welling the spite of their spout, to beg for a bite in our bark Noisdanger, would meself and Jaffe Jeffet, four-in-hand, foot him out?—ay!—were he my own breastbrother, my doubled width love and my singlebiassed hate, were we bread by the same fire and signed with the same salt, had we tapped from the same master and robbed of the same till, were we tucked in the one bed and bit by the one flea, homogallant and hemycapnoise, bum and dingo, jack by churl, though it broke my heart to pray it, still I’d fear I’d hate to say…!
12. Sacer esto?
ANSWER: Semus sumus!
Shem is as short for Shemus as Jem is joky for Jacob. A few toughnecks are still getatable who pretend that aboriginally he was of respectable stemming (he was an outlex between the lines of Ragonar Blaubarb and Horrild Hairwire, and an inlaw to Capt. the Hon. and Rev. Mr Bbyrdwood de Trop Bloggg was among his most distant connections) but every honest to goodness man in the land of the space of today knows that his back life will not stand being written about in black and white. Putting truth and untruth together a shot may be made at what this hybrid actually was like to look at.
Shem’s bodily getup, it seems, included: an adze of a skull, an eighth of a larkseye, the whole of a nose, one numb arm up a sleeve, fortytwo hairs off his uncrown, eighteen to his mock lip, a trio of barbels from his megageg chin (sowman’s son!), the wrong shoulder higher than the right, all ears, an artificial tongue with a natural curl, not a foot to stand on, a handful of thumbs, a blind stomach, a deaf heart, a loose liver, two fifths of two buttocks, one gleetsteen avoirdupoider for him, a manroot of all evil, a salmonkelt’s thinskin, eelsblood in his cold toes, a bladder tristended—so much so that young Master Shemmy on his very first debouch at the very dawn of protohistory seeing himself such and such, when playing with thistlewords in their nursery garden, Griefotrofio, at Phig Streat 111, Shuvlin, Old Hoeland (would we go back there now for sounds, pillings and sense? would we now for annas and annas? would we for fullscore eight and a liretta? for twelve blocks one bob? for four testers one groat? not for a dinar! not for jo!), dictited to all his little brothron and sweestureens the first riddle of the universe: asking, When is a man not a man? telling them take their time, yungfries, and wait till the tide stops (for from the first his day was a fortnight) and offering the prize of a bittersweet crab, a little present from the past (for their copper age was as yet unminted), to the winner. One said when the heavens are quakers, a second said when Bohemeand lips, a third said when he, no, when, hold hard a jiffy, when he is a gnawstick and detarmined to, the next one said when the angel of death kicks the bucket of life, still another said when the wine’s at witsends, and still another when lovely wooman stoops to conk him, one of the littliest said me, me, Sem, when pappa papared the harbour, one of the wittliest said when he yeat ye abblokooken and he zmear hezelf zo zhooken, still one said when you are old I’m grey fall full wi’ sleep, and still another when wee deader walkner, and another when he is just only after having being semisized, another when yea he hath no mananas, and one when dose pigs they begin now that they will flies up intil the looft. All were wrong, so Shem himself, the doctator, took the cake, the correct solution being—all give it up? —: When he is a—yours till the rending of the rocks—Sham.
Shem was a sham and a low sham and his lowness creeped out first via foodstuffs. So low was he that he preferred Gibsen’s teatime salmon tinned, as inexpensive as pleasing, to the plumpest roeheavy lax or the friskiest parr or smolt troutlet that ever was gaffed between Leixlip and Island Bridge and many was the time he repeated in his botulism that no junglegrown pineapple ever smacked like the whoppers you shook out of Ananias’ cans, Findlater and Gladstone’s, Corner House, Englend. None of your inchthick blueblooded Balaclava fried-at-beliefstakes or juicejelly legs of the Grex’s molten mutton or greasily gristly grunters’ goupons or slice upon slab of luscious goosebosom with lump after load of plumpudding stuffing all aswim in a swamp of bogoak gravy for that greekenhearted yude! Rosbif of Old Zealand? He could not attouch it. See what happens when your somatophage merman takes his fancy to our virgitarian swan? He even ran away with hunself and became a farsoonerite, saying he would far sooner muddle through the hash of lentils in Europe than meddle with Irrland’s split little pea. Once when among those rebels in a state of hopelessly helpless intoxication the piscivore strove to lift a czitround peel to either nostril, hiccupping, apparently impromptued by the hibat he had with his glottal stop, that he kukkakould flowrish for ever by the smell, as the czitr, as the kcedron, like a scedar, of the founts, on mountains, with lemon on, of Lebanon. O, the lowness of him was beneath all up to that sunk to! No likedbylike firewater or firstserved firstshot or gulletburn gin or honest brewbarrett beer either. O dear no! Instead the tragic jester sobbed himself wheywhingingly sick of life on some sort of a rhubarbarous maundarin yellagreen funkleblue windigut diodying applejack squeezed from sour grape-fruice and, to hear him twixt his sedimental cupslips when he had gulfed down mmmmuch too mmmmany gourds of it retching off to his almost as low withswillers, who always knew notwithstanding when they had had enough and were rightly indignant at the wretch’s hospitality when they found to their horror they could not carry another drop, it came straight from the noble white fat, jo, openwide sat, jo jo, her why hide that, jo jo jo, the winevat, of the most serene magyarsty az archdiochesse (if she’s a duck she’s a douches, and when she has a feherbour snot her fault, nowisit?), artstouchups, funny you’re grinning at, fancy you’re in her yet, Fanny Urinia.
Ain’t that swell, hey? Peamengro! Talk about lowness! Any dog’s quantity of it visibly oozed out thickly from this dirty little blacking beetle, for the very fourth snap the Tulloch-Turnbull girl with her coldblood kodak shotted the as yet unremuneranded national apostate, who was cowardly gun and camera shy, taking what he fondly thought was a short cut to Caer Fere, Soak Amerigas, vias the shipsteam Pridewin, after having buried a hatchet not so long before, by the wrong goods exeunt, nummer desh ta tren, into Patatapapaveri’s, fruiterers and musical florists, with his Ciaho, chavi! Sar shin, shillipen?, she knew the vice out of bridewell was a bad fast man by his walk on the spot.
[Johns is a different butcher’s. Next place you are up town pay him a visit. Or better still, come tobuy. You will enjoy cattlemen’s spring meat. Johns is now quite divorced from baking. Fattens, kills, flays, hangs, draws, quarters and pieces. Feel his lambs! Ex! Feel how sheap! Exex! His liver too is great value, a spatiality! Exexex! COMMUNICATED.]
Around that time, moravar, one generally hoped, for luvvomony, or at any rate suspected among morticians that he would early turn out badly, develop hereditary pulmonary T.B. and do for himself one dandy time. Nay, of a pelting night blanketed creditors, hearing a coarse song and splash off Eden Quay, sighed and rolled over, sure all was up, but, though he fell heavily and locally into debit, not even then could such an antinomian be true to type. He would not put fire to his cerebrum; he would not throw himself in Liffey; he would not explaud himself with pneumantics; he refused to saffrocake himself with a sod. With the foreign devil’s leave the fraidborn fraud diddled even death. Anzi, cabled (but shaking the worth out of his maulth: Guardacosta leporello? Szasas Kraicz!) from his Nearapoblican asylum to his jonathan for a brother: Here tokay, gone tomorry, we’re spluched, do something, Fireless. And had answer: Inconvenient, David.
You see, chaps, it will trickle out, freaksily of course, but the tom and the shorty of it is: he was in his bardic memory low. All the time he kept on treasuring with condign satisfaction each and every crumb of trektalk, covetous of his neighbour’s word, and if ever, during a Munda conver-sazione commoted in the nation’s interest, delicate tippits were thrown out to him touching his evil courses by some wellwishers vainly pleading by scriptural arguments with the opprobrious papist about what about trying to brace up for the kidos of the thing, Scally wag, and be a men insteed of a dem scrounger, dish it all, such as: Pray, what is the meaning, sousy, of that continental expression, if you ever came acrux it, we think it is a word transpiciously like canaille? or: Did you anywhere, kennel, on your gullible’s travels or during your rural troubadouring happen to stumble upon a certain gay young nobleman whimpering to the name of Low Swine who always addresses women out of the one corner of his mouth, lives on loans and is furtivefree yours of age? without one sign of haste, like the supreme prig he was, and not a bit sorry, he would pull a vacant landlubber’s face, root with earwaker’s pensile in the outer of his lauscher and then, lisping, the prattlepate parnella, to kill time, and swatting his deadbest to think what under the canopies of Jansens Chrest would any decent son of an Albiogenselman who had bin to an university think, let a lent hit a hint and begin to tell all the intelligentsia admitted to that tamileasy samtalaisy conclamazzione (since, still and before panesthetic physicians, lawyers merchant, belfry pollititians, agricolous manufraudurers, sacrestanes of the Pure River Society, philanthropicks lodging on as many boards round the peninsulounge at the same time as possible) the whole lifelong swrine story of his entire low cornaille existence, abusing his deceased ancestors wherever the sods were and one moment tarabooming great blunderguns (poh!) about his farfamed fine Poppamore, Mr Humhum, whom history, climate and entertainment made the first of his sept and always up to debt, though Eavens ears ow many fines he faces, and another moment visanvierssas cruaching three jeers (pah!) for his rotten little ghost of a Peppybeg, Mr Himmyshimmy, a blighty, a reeky, a lighty, a scrapy, a babbly, a ninny, dirty seventh among thieves and always bottom sawyer, till nowan knowed how howmely howme could be, giving unsolicited testimony on behalf of the absent, as glib as eaveswater, to those present (who meanwhile, with increasing lack of interest in his semantics, allowed various subconscious smickers to drivel slowly across their fichers), unconsciously explaining, for inkstands, with a meticulosity bordering on the insane, the various meanings of all the different foreign parts of speech he misused and cuttlefishing every lie unshrinkable about all the other people in the story, leaving out, of course, foreconsciously, the simple worf and plague and poison they had cornered him about until there was not a snoozer among them but was utterly undeceived in the heel of the reel by the recital of the rigmarole.
He went without saying that the cull disliked anything anyway approaching a plain straightforward standup or knockdown row and, as often as he was called in to umpire any octagonal argument among slangwhangers, the accomplished washout always used to rub shoulders with the last speaker and clasp shakers (the handtouch which is speech without words) and agree to every word as soon as half uttered: command me! your servant, good, I revere you, how, my seer? be drinking that! quite truth, gratias, I’m yoush, see wha’m hearing? also goods, please it, me sure? be filling this! quiso, you said it, apasafello, muchas grassyass, is there firing-on-me? is their girlic-on-you? to your good self, your sulphur: and then at once focuss his whole unbalanced attention upon the next octagonist who managed to catch a listener’s eye, asking and imploring him out of his piteous onewinker (hemoptysia diadumenos) whether there was anything in the world he could do to please him and to overflow his tumbletantaliser for him yet once more.
One hailcannon night (for his departure was attended by a heavy down-pour) as very recently as some thousand rains ago he was therefore treated with what closely resembled parsonal violence, being soggert all unsuspectingly through the deserted village of Tumblin-on-the-Leafy from Mr Vanhomrigh’s house at 81 bis Mabbot’s Mall as far as Green Patch beyond the brickfields of Salmon Pool by rival teams of slowspiers counter quick-limers who finally, as rahilly they had been deteened out rawther laetich, thought, busnis hits busnis, they had better be streaking for home after their Auborne-to-Auborne, with thanks for the pleasant evening, one and all disgustedly, instead of ruggering him back and awake, reconciled (though they were as jealous as could be cullions about all the truffes they had brought on him) to a friendship, fast and furious, which merely arose out of the noxious pervert’s perfect lowness. Again there was a hope that people, looking on him with the contempt of the contemptibles, after first giving him a roll in the dirt might pity and forgive him, if properly deloused, but the pleb was born a Quicklow and sank alowing till he stank out of sight.
All Saints beat Belial! Mickil Goals to Nichil! Notpossible! Already?
In Nowhere has yet the Whole World taken part of himself for his Wife;
By Nowhom have Poorparents been sentenced to Worms, Blood and Thunder for Life;
Not yet has the Emp up from Corpsica forced the Arth out of Engleterre;
Not yet have the Sachsen and Judder on the Mound of a Word made Warre;
Not yet Witchywitchy of Wench has struck Fire of his Heath from on Hoath;
Not yet his Arcobaleine has forespoken Peacepeace upon Oath;
Cleftfoot from Hempal must tumpel, Blamefool Gardener’s bound to fall;
Broken Eggs will poursuive bitten Apples for where theirs is Will there’s his Wall;
But the Mountstill frowns on the Millstream while their Madsons leap o’er his Bier
And her Rillstrill liffs to His Murkesty all her daft Daughters laff in her Ear.
Till the four Shores of deff Tory Island let the douze dumm Eirewhiggs raille!
Hirp! Hirp! for their Missed Understandings! chirps the Ballat of Perce Oreille.
O fortunous casualitas! Lefty takes the cherubcake while Righto cloves his hoof. Darkies never done tug that coon out to play non-excretory, antisexuous, misoxenetic, gaasy pure, flesh and blood games, written and composed and sung and danced by Niscemus Nemon, same as piccaninnies play all day, those old (none of your honeys and rubbers!) games for fun and element we used to play with Dina and old Joe kicking her behind and before and the yallow girl kicking him behind old Joe, games like Thom Thom the thonderman, Put the wind up the peeler, Hat in the ring, Prisson your pritchards and play withers team, Mikel on the luckypig, Nickel in the slot, Sheila Harnett and her cow, Adam and Ell, Humble bumble, Moggies on the wall, Twos and threes, American jump, Fox come out of your den, Broken bottles, Writing a letter to Punch, Tiptop is a sweetstore, Henressy Crump expolled, Postman’s knock, Are we fairlys represented?, Solomon silent reading, Appletree pearstone, I know a washerwoman, Hospitals, As I was walking, There is oneyone’s house in Dreamcolohour, Battle of Waterloo, Colours, Eggs in the bush, Habberdasherisher, Telling your dreams, What’s the time, Nap, Ducking mammy, Last man standing, Heali Baboon and the forky theagues, Fickleyes and futilears, Hand-married but once in my life and I’ll never commit such a sin agin, Zip cooney candy, Turkey in the straw, This is the way we sow the seed of a long and lusty morning, Hops of fun at Miliken’s make, I seen the toothbrush with Pat Farrell, Here’s the fat to graze the priest’s boots, When his steam was like a raimbrandt round MacGarvey.
Now it is notoriously known how on that surprisingly bludgeony Unity Sunday, when the grand germogall allstar bout was harrily the rage between our weltingtoms extraordinary and our pettythicks the marshalaisy and Irish eyes of welcome were smiling daggers down their backs, when the roth vice and blause met the noyr blank and rogues and the grim white and cold bet the black fighting tans, categorically unimperatived by the maxims, rank funk getting the better of him the scut in a bad fit of pyjamas fled like a leveret for his bare lives to Talviland, ahone ahaza, pursued by the scented curses of all the village belles and, without having struck one blow (pig stole on him was lust he lagging it was becaused dust he shook), kushykorked himself up tight in his inkbattle house, badly the worse for boosegas, there to stay in afar for the life, where, as there was not a moment to be lost, after he had boxed a round with his fortepiano till he was whole bamp him bach and bump him blues, he collapsed carefully under a bedtick from Schwitzer’s, his face enveloped into a dead warrior’s telemac, with a lullobaw’s somnbomnet and a whotwaterwottle at his feet, to stoke his energy of waiting, moaning feebly in monkmarian monotheme, but tarnal long and then a nation louder, while engaged in swallowing from a large ampullar, that his pawdry’s purgatory was more than a nigger bloke could bear, hemiparalysed by the tong warfare and all the shemozzle (Daily Maily, fullup lace! Holy Maly, mothelup Joss!), his cheeks and trousers changing colour every time a gat croaked.
How is that for low, laities and gentlenuns? Why, dog of the Crostiguns, whole continents rang with this Kairokoiran lowness! Sheols of houris in chems upon divans (revolted stellas vespertine among them) at a bare (O!) mention of the scaly rybald exclaimed: Poisse!
But would anyone, short of a madhouse, believe it? Neither of those clean little cherubum, Nero or Nobookishonester himself, ever nursed such a spoiled opinion of his monstrous marvellosity as did this mental and moral defective (here perhaps at the vanessance of his lownest) who was known to grognt rather than gunnard upon one occasion, while drinking heavily of spirits, to that interlocutor a latere and private privysuckatary he used to pal around with in the kavehazs, one Davy Browne-Nowlan, his heavenlaid twin (this hambone dogpoet pseudoed himself under the hangname he gave himself of Bethgelert), in the porchway of a gipsy’s bar (Shem always blaspheming, so holy writ, Billy, he would try, old Belly, and pay this one manjack congregant of his four soups every lass of nexmouth, Bolly, so sure as thair’s a tail on a commat, as a taste for a storik’s fortytooth, that is to stay, to listen out, ony twenny minnies moe, Bully, his Ballade Imaginaire, which was to be dubbed Wine, Woman and Waterclocks or How a Guy Finks and Fawkes When He Is Going Batty by Maistre Sheames de la Plume, some most dreadful stuff in a murderous mirrorhand) that he was awoopf (parn me!) aware of no other shaggyspick, other Shakhisbeard, either prexactly unlike his polar andthisishis or procisely the seems as woops (parn!) as what he fancied or guessed the sames as he was himself and that, greet scoot, duckings and thuggery, though he was foxed fux to fux like a bunnyboy rodger with all the teashop lionses of Lumdrum hivanhoesed up gagainst him, being a lapsis linquo with a ruvidubb shortartempa, bad cad dad fad sad mad nad vanhaty fear, the consciquenchers of casuality prepestered crusswords in postposition, scruff, scruffer, scruffrumurraimost andallthatsortofthing, if reams stood to reason and his lankalivline lasted he would wipe alley english spooker, multaphoniaksically spuking, off the face of the erse.
After the thorough fright he got that bloody Swithun’s day, though every doorpost in muchtried Lucalizod was smeared with generous erstborn gore and every free for all cobbleway slippery with the bloods of heroes crying to Welkins for others and noahs and culverts agush with tears of joy, our low waster never had the common baalamb’s pluck to stir out and about the compound while everyone else of the torchlit throng, slashers and sliced alike, mobbu on massa, waaded and baaded around, yampyam pampyam, chanting the Gillooly chorus from the Monster Book of Paltryattic Puetrie, O pura e pia bella!, in junk et sampam or in secular sinkalarum, heads up, on their bonafide avocations (the little folk creeping on all fours to their natural school treat but childishly gleeful when a stray whizzer sang out intermediately) and happy belongers to the fairer sex on their usual quest for higher things, but vying with Lady Smythe to avenge MacJobber, went stonestepping with their bickerstaffs on educated feet, plinkity plonk, across the sevenspan ponte dei colori set up over the slop after the war-to-end war by Messrs a charitable government, for the only once (Dia dose Finnados!) he did take a tompip peepestrella through a threedraw eighteen-hawkspower durdicky telescoop, luminous to larbourd only like the lamps in Nassaustrass, out of his westernmost keyhole, spitting at the impenetrablum wetter (and it was porcoghastly that outumn), with an eachway hope in his shivering soul, as he prayed to the cloud Incertitude, of finding out for himself, on akkount of all the kules in Kroukaparka or oving to all the kodseoggs in Kalatavala, whether true conciliation was forging ahead or falling back after the celestious intemperance and, for Duvvelsache, why, with his see me see and his my see a corves and his fiskerfoskerfusker layen loves in meeingseeing, he got the charm of his optical life when he found himself (hic sunt lennones!) at pointblank range blinking down the barrel of an irregular revolver of the bulldog with a purpose pattern handled by an unknown quarreler who, supposedly, had been told off to shade and shoot shy Shem should the shit show his shiny shnout out awhile to look facts in their face before being holed and creased (uprip and jack him!) by six or a dozen of the gayboys.
What, para Saom Plaom, in the names of Deucalion and Pyrrha and the incensed privy and the licensed pantry gods and Stator and Victor and Kutt and Runn and the whole mesa redonda of Lorencao Otulass in convocacaon, was this disinterestingly low human type, this Calumnious Column of Cloaxity, this Bengalese Beacon of Biloxity, this Annamite Aper of Atroxity, really at, it will be precise to quarify, for he seems in a badbad case?
The answer, to do all the diddies in one dedal, would sound: from pulling himself on his most flavoured canal the huge chesthouse of his elders (the Popapreta, and some navico, navvies!) he had flickered up and flinnered down into a drug and drunkery addict growing megalomane of a loose past. This explains the litany of septuncial lettertrumpets, honorific, highpitched, erudite, neoclassical, which he so loved as patricianly to manuscribe after his name. It would have diverted, if ever seen, the shuddersome spectacle of this semidemented zany amid the inspissated grime of his glaucous den making believe to read his usylessly unreadable Blue Book of Eccles, édition de ténèbres (even yet, sighs the Most Different Dr Pointdejeuk, authorised bowdler and censor, it can’t be repeated!), turning over three sheets at a wind, telling himself delightedly, no espellor mor so, that every splurge on the vellum he blundered over was an aisling vision more gorgeous than the one before, t.i.t.s., a roseschelle cottage by the sea for nothing for ever, a ladies’ tryon hosiery raffe at liberty, a sewerful of guineagold wine with brancomonge padeiropie and sickcylinder oysters worth a billion a bite, an entire operahouse (there was to be stamping room only in the prompter’s loudbox and everthemore his queue kept swelling) of enthusiastic noblewomen flinging every coronetcrimsoned stitch they had off at his probscenium, one after the others, inamagoaded into ajustilloosing themselves, in their gaiety pantheomime, when, egad, sir, acordant to all acountstrick, he squealed the topsquall im Deal Lil Shemlockup Yellin (geewhiz, jew ear that far! soap ewer! loutgout of sabaous! juice like a boyd!) for fully five minutes, infinitely better than Baraton McGluckin, with a scrumptious cocked hat and three green, cheese and tangerine trimmity plumes on the righthandled side of his amarellous head, a coat macfarlane (the kerssest cut, you understand?), a sponiard’s digger at his ribs (Alfaiate punxit), an azulblu blowsheet for his blousebosom blossom and a dean’s crozier that he won from Cardinal Lindundarri and Cardinal Carchingarri and Cardinal Loriotuli and Cardinal Occidentaccia (ah ho!) in the dearby darby doubled for falling first over the hurdles, madam, in the odder hand, a.a.t.s.o.t. But what with the murky light, the botchy print, the tattered cover, the jigjagged page, the fumbling fingers, the foxtrotting fleas, the lieabed lice, the scum on his tongue, the drop in his eye, the lump in his throat, the drink in his pottle, the itch in his palm, the wail of his wind, the grief from his nose, the dig in his ribs, the age of his arteries, the weight of his breath, the fog of his mindfag, the buzz in his braintree, the tic of his conscience, the height up his rage, the gush down his fundament, the fire in his gorge, the tickle of his tail, the bane in his bullugs, the squince in his suil, the rot in his eater, the ycho in his earer, the totters of his toes, the tetters on his tumtytum, the rats in his garret, the bats in his belfry, the budgerigars and bumbosolom beaubirds, the hullabaloo and the dust in his ears, since it took him a month to steal a march he was hardset to mumorise more than a word a week.
Hake’s haulin! Hook’s fisk! Can you beat it? Whawe? I say, can you bait it? Was there ever heard of such lowdown blackguardism? Positively it woollies one to think over it. Yet the bumpersprinkler used to boast aloud alone to himself with a haccent on it when Mynfadher was a boer constructor and Hoy was a lexical student, parole, and corrected with the blackboard (trying to copy the stage Englesemen he broughts their house down on, shouting: Bravure, surr Chorles! Letterpurfect! Culossall, Loose Wallor! Spache!) how he had been toed out of all the schicker families of the Klondykers from Pioupioureich, Swabspays, the land of Nod, Shruggers’ Country, Pension Danubierhome and Barbaropolis, who had settled and stratified in the capital city after its hebdomodary metropoliarchialisation, as sunblistered, moonplastered, gory, wheedling, joviale, litcherous and full, ordered off the gorgeous premises in most cases on account of his smell which all the cookmaids eminently objected to as resembling the bombinubble puzzo that welled out of the pozzo. Instead of chuthoring those model households plain wholesome pothooks (a thing he never possessed of his Nigerian own) what do you think Vulgariano did but study with stolen fruit how cutely to copy all their various styles of signature so as one day to utter an epical forged cheque on the public for his own private profit until, as just related, the Dustbin’s United Scullerymaids’ and Househelps’ Sorority, better known as Sluttery’s Mowlted Futt, turned him down and assisted nature by unitedly shoeing the source of annoyance out of the place altogether and taytotally in the heat of the moment, holding one another’s gonk (for no-one, hound or scrublady, not even the Turk, ungreekable in purscent of the armenable, dared whiff the polecat at close range) and making some pointopointing remarks as they done so at the prefects of the Sniffey, your honour, aboon the lyow why a stunk, mister.
[Jymes wishes to hear from wearers of abandoned female costumes, gratefully received, wadmel jumper, rather full pair of culottes and onthergarmenteries, to start city life together. His jymes is out of job, would sit and write. He has lately committed one of the then commandments but she will now assist. Superior built, domestic, regular layer. Also got the boot. He appreciates it. Copies. ABORTISEMENT.]
One cannot even begin to post figure out a statuesquo ante as to how slow in reality the excommunicated Drumcondriac, nate Hamish, really was. Who can say how many unsigned first copies of original masterworks, how many pseudostylic shamiana, how few or how many of the most venerated public impostures, how very many piously forged palimpsests, slipped in the first place by this morbid process from his pelagiarist pen?
Be that as it may, but for that light phantastic of his gnose’s glow as it slid lucifericiously within an inch of its page (he would touch at its from time to other, the red eye of his fear in saddishness, to ensign the colours by the beerlitz in his mathness and his educandees to outhue to themselves in the cries of girlglee: gember! inkware! chonchambre! cinsero! zinnzabar! tincture and gin!) Nibs never would have quilled a seriph to sheepskin. By that rosy lampoon’s effuvious burning and with help of the simulchronic flash in his pann (a ghinee a ghirk he ghets there!) he scrabbled and scratched and scriobbled and skrevened nameless shamelessness about everybody ever he met, even sharing a precipitation under the idlish tarriers’ umbrella of a showerproof wall, while all over and up and down the four margins of this rancid Shem stuff the evilsmeller (who was devoted to Uldfadar Sardanapalus) used to stipple endlessly inartistic portraits of himself in the act of reciting old Nichiabelli’s monolook interyerear Hanno o Nonanno, acce’l brubblemm’! as, ser Autore, q.e.d., a heartbreakingly handsome young paolo with love lyrics for the goyls in his eyols, a plaintiff’s tanner vuice, a jucal inkome of one hundred and thirtytwo dranchmas per yard derived from Broken Hill stranded estate, Camebreech mannings, cutting a great dash in a brandnew two-guinea dress suit and a burled hogsford hired for a Furskay evenin merry pawty, anna loavely long pair of inky Italian moostarshes glistering with boric vaseline and frangipani. Puh! How unwhisperably so!
The house O’Shea or O’Shame, Quivapieno, known as the Haunted Inkbottle, no number Brimstone Walk, Asia in Ireland, as it was infested with the raps, with his penname SHUT sepiascraped on the doorplate and a blind of black sailcloth over its wan phwinshogue, in which the soulcon-tracted son of the secret cell groped through life at the expense of the taxpayers, dejected into day and night with jesuist bark and bitter bite, calico-hydrants of zolfor and scoppialamina by full and forty queasisanos, every day in everyone’s way more exceeding in violent abuse of self and others, was the worst, it is hoped, even in our western playboyish world for pure mousefarm filth. You brag of your brass castle or your tyled house in bally-fermont? Niggs, niggs and niggs again! For this was a stinksome inkenstink, quite puzzonal to the wrotter. Smatterafact, Angles oftanon browsing there thought not Edam reeked more rare. My wud! The warped flooring of the lair and soundconducting walls thereof, to say nothing of the uprights and imposts, were persianly literatured with burst loveletters, telltale stories, stickyback snaps, doubtful eggshells, bouchers, flints, borers, puffers, amygdaloid almonds, rindless raisins, alphybettyformed verbage, vivlical viasses, ompiter dictas, visus umbique, ahems and ahahs, ineffble tries at speech unasyllabled, you owe mes, eyoldhyms, fluefoul smut, fallen lucifers, vestas which had served, showered ornaments, borrowed brogues, reversible jackets, blackeye lenses, family jars, falsehair shirts, Godforsaken scapulars, neverworn breeches, cutthroat ties, counterfeit franks, best intentions, curried notes, upset latten tintacks, unused mill and stumbling stones, twisted quills, painful digests, magnifying wineglasses, solid objects cast at goblins, once current puns, quashed quotatoes, messes of mottage, unquestionable issue papers, seedy ejaculations, limerick damns, crocodile tears, spilt ink, blasphematory spits, stale chestnuts, schoolgirls’, young ladies’, milkmaids’, washerwomen’s, shopkeepers’ wives’, merry widows’, ex nuns’, vice abbesses’, pro virgins’, super whores’, silent sisters’, Charleys’ aunts’, grandmothers’, mothers-in-laws’, fostermothers’, godmothers’ garters, tress clippings from right, lift and cintrum, worms of snot, toothsome pickings, cans of Swiss condensed bilk, highbrow lotions, kisses from the antipodes, presents from pickpockets, borrowed plumes, relaxable handgrips, princess promises, lees of whine, deoxodised carbons, broken wafers, unloosed shoe latchets, convertible collars, diviliouker doffers, crooked strait waistcoats, fresh horrors from Hades, globules of mercury, undeleted glete, glass eyes for an eye, gloss teeth for a tooth, war moans, special sighs, longsufferings of long-standing, ahs ohs ouis sis jas jos gias neys thaws sos, yeses and yeses and yeses, to which, if one has the stomach to add the breakages, upheavals, distortions, inversions, of all this chambermade music, one stands, given a grain of good-will, a fair chance of actually seeing the whirling dervish, Tumult, son of Thunder, selfexiled in upon his ego, a nightlong a shaking betwixtween white or reddr hawrors, noondayterrorised to skin and bone by an ineluctable phantom (may the Shaper have mersery on him!), writing the mystery of himself in furniture.
Of course our low hero was a selfvaleter by choice of need so up he got up whatever is meant by a Stourbridge clay kitchenette and lithargogalenu fowlhouse for the sake of akes (the umpple does not fall very far from the dumpertree) which the moromelodious jigsmith, in defiance of the Uncontrollable Birth Preservativation (Game and Poultry) Act, playing lallaryrook cookerynook, by the dodginess of his lentern, brooled and cocked and potched in an athanor, whites and yolks and yilks and whotes to the frulling fredonnance of Mas blanca que la blanca hermana and Amarilla, muy bien, with cinnamon and locusts and wild beeswax and liquorice and Carrageen moss and blaster of Barry’s and Asther’s mess and Huster’s micture and Yellownan’s embrocation and Pinkingtone’s patty and stardust and sinner’s tears, acuredent to Sharadan’s Art of Panning, chanting, for all regale to the like of the legs he left behind with Litty fun Letty fan Leven, his cantraps of fermented words, abracadabra calubra culorum (his oewfs à la Madame Gabrielle de l’Eglise, his avgs à la Mistress B. de B. Meinfeldes, his eiers Usquadmala à la pomme de ciel, his uoves, oves and uves à la Sulphate de Soude, his ochiuri sowtay sowmonay à la Monseigneur, his souffosion of oogs with somekat on toyast à la Mère Puard, his Poggadovies alla Fenella, his Frideggs à la Tricarême), in what was meant for a closet. (Ah ho! If only he had listened better to the four masters that infanted him, Father Mathew and Le Père Noble and Pastor Lucas and Padre Aguilar—not forgetting Layteacher Baudwin! Ah ho!) His costive Satan’s antimonian manganese limolitmious nature never needed such an alcove so, when Robber and Mumsell, the pulpic dictators, on the nudgment of their legal advisers, Messrs Codex and Podex, and under his own benefiction of their pastor Father Flammeus Falconer, boycotted him of all muttonsuet candles and romeruled stationery for any purpose, he winged away on a wildgoup’s chase across the kathartic ocean and made synthetic ink and sensitive paper for his own end out of his wits’ waste.
You ask, in Sam Hill, how?
Let manner and matter of this for these our sporting times be cloaked up in the language of blushfed porporates that an Anglican ordinal, not reading his own rude dunsky tunga, may ever behold the brand of scarlet on the brow of her of Babylon and feel not the pink one in his own damned cheek.
Primum opifex, altus prosator, ad terram viviparam et cunctipotentem sine ullo pudore nec venia, suscepto pluviali atque discinctis perizomatis, natibus nudis uti nati fuissent, sese adpropinquans, flens et gemens, in manum suam evacuavit (highly prosy, crap in his hand, sorry!), postea, animale nigro exoneratus, classicum pulsans, stercus proprium, quod appellavit deiectiones suas, in vas olim honorabile tristitiae posuit, eodem sub invocatione fratrorum geminorum Medardi et Godardi lente ac melliflue minxit, psalmum qui incipit: Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis: magna voce cantitans (did a piss, says he was dejected, asks to be exonerated), demum ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis iucunditate mixto, cocto, frigorique exposito, encaustum sibi fecit indelibile (faked O’Ryan’s, the indelible ink).
Then, pious Eneas, conformant to the fulminant firman which enjoins on the tremulose terrian that, when the call comes, he shall produce nichthemerically from his unheavenly body a no uncertain quantity of obscene matter not protected by copriright in the United Stars of Ourania or bedeed and bedood and bedang and bedung to him, with this double dye, brought to blood heat, gallic acid on iron ore, through the bowels of his misery, flashly, faithly, nastily, appropriately, this Esuan Menschavik and the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marryvoising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history (thereby, he said, reflecting from his own individual person life unlivable, transaccidentated through the slow fires of consciousness into a dividual chaos, perilous, potent, common to all flesh, human only, mortal) but with each word that would not pass away the squidself which he had squirtscreened from the crystalline world waned chagreenold and doriangrayer in its dudhud. This exists that isists after having been said we know. And dabal take dabnal! And the dal dabal dab aldanabal! So perhaps, agglaggagglomeratively asaspeaking, after all and arklast fore arklyst on his last public misappearance, on the deathfe^te of Saint Ignaceous Poisonivy of the Fickle Crowd (hopon the sexth day of Hogsober, killim our king, layum low!), circling the square and brandishing his bellbearing stylo, the shining keyman of the wilds of change, if what is sauce for the zassy is souse for the zazimas, the blond cop who thought it was ink was out of his depth but bright in the main.
Petty constable Sistersen of the Kruis-Kroon-Kraal it was, the parochial watch, big the dog the dig the bog the bagger the dugger the begadag degabug, who had been detailed from pollute stoties to save him, this the quemquem, that the quum, from the ligatureliablous effects of foul clay in little clots and mobmauling on looks, that wrongcountered the tenderfoot an eveling near the livingsmeansuniumgetherum, Knockmaree, Comty Mea, reeling more to the right than he lurched to the left, on his way from a protoprostitute (he would always have a (stp!) little pigeoness somewhure with his arch girl, Arcoiris, smockname of Mergyt) just as he was butting in rand the coyner of bad times under a hideful between the rival doors of warm bethels of worship through his boardelhouse fongster, greeting for grazious oras as usual: Where ladies have they that a dog meansort herring? Sergo, search me, the incapable reparteed with a selfevitant subtlety so obviously spurious and, raising his hair after the grace, with the christmas under his clutcharm for Portsymasser and Purtsymessus and Pertsymiss and Partsymasters, like a prance of findingos, with a shillto shallto slipny stripny, in he skittled. Swikey! The allwhite poors guardiant, pulpably of balltossic stummung, was literally astundished over the painful sake, how he burstteself, which he was gone to, where he intent to did he, whether you think will, wherend the whole current of the afternoon whats the sonch of a surch hads of hits of hims urged, and staggered thereto in his countryports at the caledosian capacity for Lieutuvisky of the caftan’s wineskin and even more so during, upon looking his bigmost astonishments, it was said him, aschu, fun the concerned human outgift of the dead med dirt, how that, arrahbejibbers, conspuent to the dominical order and exking noblish permish, he was namely coon at bringher at home two gallonts, as per royal, full poultry till his murder. Nip up and nab it!
Polthergeistkotzdondherhoploits! Kick? What mother? Whose porter? Which pair? Why namely coon? But our undilligence has been plutherotested so enough of such porterblack lowness, too base for printink! Perpending that Putterick O’Purcell pulls the coald stoane out of Winterwater’s and Silder Seas sing for Harreng our Keng, sept okt nov dez John Phibbs march! We cannot, in mercy or justice nor on the lovom for labaryntos, stay here for the residence of our existings discussing Tamstar Ham of Tenman’s thirst.
JUSTIUS (to himother): Brawn is my name and broad is my nature and I’ve breit on my brow and all’s right with every feature and I’ll brune this bird or Brown Bess’s bung’s gone bandy. I’m the boy to bruise and braise. Baus!
Stand forth, Nayman of Noland, come boldly in your true colours (for no longer will I follow you obliquelike through the inspired form of the third person singular and the moods and hesitensies of the deponent but address myself to you, with the empirative of my vendettative, pro vocative and out direct), stand forth, jolly me, move me, zwilling though I am, to laughter ere you be put back for ever till I give you your talkingto! Shem Macadamson, you know me and I know you and all your shemeries! Where have you been in the uterim, enjoying yourself all the morning since your last wetbed confession? I advise you to conceal yourself, my little friend, as I have said a moment ago, and put your hands in my hands and have a nightslong homely little confiteor over it all.
Let us pry. We thought, would and did. Cur, quicquid, ubi, quando, quomodo, quoties, quibus auxiliis? Let me see. It is looking pretty black against you, we suggest, Sheem avick. You will need all the element in the river to clean you after this and a fortefine popespriestpower bull of attender to booth!
You were bred, fed, fostered and fattened from holy childhood up in this two-easter island on the piejaw of hilarious heaven and roaring the other place (plunders to right of you, blunders what’s left of you, flash as flash can!) and now, forsooth, a nogger among the blankards of this dastard century, you have become of twosome twiminds forenenst gods hidden and discovered, nay, condemned fool, anarch, egoarch, hieresiarch, you have reared your disunited kingdom on the vacuum of your own most intensely doubtful soul. Do you hold yourself then for some god in the manger, Shehohem, that you will neither serve nor let serve, pray nor let pray? And here, pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to pray for the loss of selfrespect to equip me for the horrible necessity of scandalising (my dear sisters, are you ready?) by sloughing off my hope and tremors while we all swim together in the pool of Sodom? I shall shiver for my purity while they will weepbig for your sins. Away with covered words. New Solemonnities for old Badsheetbaths! That inharmonious detail, did you name it? Cold caldor! Ice! Victory! Now, opprobro of underslung pipes, johnjacobs, while yet an adolescent (what do I say?), while still puerile in your tubsuit with buttonlegs, you got a handsome present of a selfraising syringe and twin feeders (you know, Monsieur Abgott, in your art of arts, to my cost as well as I do, and don’t try to hide it, the penal lots I am now poking at) and the wheeze sort of was you should (if you were as bould a stroke now as the curate that christened you, sonny douth-the-candle!) repopulate the land of your birth and count up your progeny by the hungered head and the angered thousand but you thwarted the wious pish of your cogodparents, soph, among countless occasions of failing (for, said you, I will elenchate), adding to the malice of your transgressing, yes, and changing its nature (you see I have read your theology for you), alternating the morosity of my delectations—a philtred love, trysting by tantrums, small peace in ppenmark—with my lubbock’s other fear pleasures of a butler’s life, sensibility, sponsability, passibility and prostability, even extruding your strabismal apologia, when legibly depressed, upon defenceless paper and thereby adding to the already unhappiness of this our popeyed world, scribblative!—all that too with cantreds of countless catchaleens, the mannish as many as the minneful, accomplished women, indeed fully educanded, far from being old and not deterred either by bad weather when consumed by amorous passion and rich behind their dream of arrivisme if they have only their honour left, congested around and about you for acres and roods and poles or perches, thick as the fluctuant sands of Chalwador, struggling to possess themselves of your boosh, one son of Sorge for all daughters of Anguish, solus cum sola sive cuncties cum omnibobs (I’d have been the best man for you, myself), mutely aying for that natural knot, debituary vases or vessels preposterous, for what would not have cost you ten bolivars of collarwork or the price of one ping pang, just a lilt, let us trillt, of the oldest song in the wooed wood-world (two-we! to-one!), accompanied by a plain gold band! Hail! Hail! Highbosomheaving Missmisstress Morna of the allsweetheartening bridemuredemeanour! Her eye’s so gladsome we’ll all take shares in the groom!
Sniffer of carrion, premature gravedigger, resurrecter of lazars, seeker of the nest of evil in the bosom of a good word, you, who sleep at our vigil and fast for our feast, you with your dislocated reason have cutely foretold, a jophet in your own absence, by blind poring upon your many scalds and burns and blisters, impetiginous sores and pustules, by the auspice of that raven cloud, your shade, and by the augury of rooks in parlament, death with every disaster, the dynamitisation of colleagues, the reducing of records to ashes, the levelling of all customs by blazes, the return of a lot of sweettempered gunpowdered didst unto dudst, but it never stphruck your mudhead’s obtundity (O hell, here comes our funeral! O pest, I’ll miss the post!) that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you slit, the more murphies you peel, the more onions you cry over, the more bullbeef you butch, the more mutton you crackerhack, the more potherbs you pound, the fiercer the fire and the longer your spoon and the harder you gruel with more grease to your elbow the merrier fumes your new Irish stew.
O, by the way, yes! Another thing recurs to me. You, let me tell you with the utmost politeness, were very ordinarily designed, your birthwrong was, to fall in with Plan, as our nationals should, as all nationists must, and do a certain office (what, I will not tell you) in a certain holy office (nor will I say where) during certain agonising office hours (a clerical party all to yourself) from such a year to such an hour on such and such a date at so and so much a week pro anno (Guinness’s, may I remind, were just agulp for you, failing in which you might have taken the scales off boilers like any boskop of Yorek) and do your little thruppenny bit and thus earn from the nation true thanks, right here in our place of burden, your bourne of travail and ville of tares, where after a divine’s prodigence you drew the first watergasp in your lifeterm, from the crib where you once was bit to the crypt you’ll be twice as shy of, same as we, long of us, alone with the colt in the curner, where you were as popular as an armenial with the faithful, and you set fire to my tailcoat when I held the paraffin smoker under yours (I hope that chimney’s clear) but, slackly shirking both your bullet and your billet, you beat it backwards like Boulanger from Galway (but he combed the grass against his stride) to sing us a song of alibi (the cuthone call over the greybounding slowrolling amplyheaving metamorphoseous that oozy rocks paragargle their preposters with), nomad, homebreaker, hairytyke, mooner by lamplight, antinos, shemming amid everyone’s repressed laughter to conceal your scatchophily by mating, like a thoroughpaste prosodite, masculine monosyllables of the same numerical mus, an Irish emigrant the wrong way out, sitting on your crooked sixpenny stile, an unfrillfrocked quackfriar, you (will you for the laugh of Scheekspair just help mine with the epithet?) semisemitic serendipitist, you (thanks, I think that describes you) Europasianised Afferyank!
Shall we follow each others a steplonger, drowner of daggers, whiles our liege, tilyet a stranger in the frontyard of his happiness, is taking (heal helper! one gob, one gap, one gulp and gorger of all!) his refreshment?
There grew up beside you, amid our orisons of the speediest, in Novena Lodge, Novara Avenue, in Patripodium-am-Bummel, oaf, outofwork, one remove from an unwashed savage, on his keeping and in yours (I pose you know why possum hides is cause he haint the nogumtreeumption), that other, Immaculatus, from head to foot, sir, that pure one, Altrues of other times, he who was well known to celestine circles before he sped aloft, our handsome young spiritual physician that was to be, seducing each sense to selfwilling celebesty, the most winning counterfeuille on our incomeshare lotetree, a chum of the angelets, a youth those reporters so pettitily wanted as gamefellow that they asked his mother for ittle earp brupper to let him tome to Tindertarten, pease, and bing his scooter ’long and ’tend they were all real brothers in the big justright home where Dodd lives, just to teddyfy the life out of him and pat and pass him one with other like musk from hand to hand, that mothersmothered model, that goodlooker with not a flaw whose spiritual toilettes were the talk of half the town, for sunset wear and nightfallen use and daybroken donning and nooncheon showing and the very thing for teasetime, but him you laid low with one hand one fine May morning in the Meddle of your Might, your bosom foe, because he mussed your speller on you or because he cut a pretty figure in the focus of your frontispecs (not one did you slay, no, but a continent!), to find out how his innards worked!
Ever read of that greatgrand landfather of our visionbuilders, Baaboo, the bourgeoismeister, who thought to touch both himmels at the punt of his risen stiffstaff and how wishywashy sank the waters of his thought? Ever thought of that hereticalist Marcon and the two scissymaidies and how bulkily he shat the Ructions gunorrhal? Ever hear of that foxy, that lupo and that monkax and the virgin heir of the Morrisons, eh, blethering ape?
Malingerer in luxury, collector general, what has Your Lowness done in the mealtime with all the hamilkcars of cooked vegetables, the hatfuls of stewed fruit, the suitcases of coddled ales, the Parish funds, me schamer, man, that you kittycoaxed so flexibly out of charitable butteries by yowling heavy with a hollow voice drop of your horrible awful poverty of mind so as you couldn’t even pledge a crown of Thorne’s to pawn a coat off Trevi’s and as how you was bad no end, so you was, so whelp you Sinner Pitre and Sinner Poule, with the chicken’s gape and pas mal de siècle which, by the by, Reynaldo, is the ordinary emetic French for grenadier’s drip. To let you have your plank and your bonewash (O, the hastroubles you lost!), to give you your pound of platinum and a thousand thongs a year (O, you were excruciated, in honour bound to the cross of your own cruelfiction!), to let you have your Sarday spree and holinight sleep (fame would come to you twixt a sleep and a wake) and leave to lie till Paraskivee and the cockcock crows for Danmark (O, Jonathan, your estomach!). The simian has no sentiment secretions but weep cataracts for all me, Pain the Shamman! Oft in the smelly night will they wallow for a clutch of the famished hand, I say, them bearded jezebelles you hired to rob you, while on your sodden straw impolitely you encored (Airish and nawboggaleesh!) those hornmade ivory dreams you reved of the Ruth you called your companionate, a beauty from the bible, the flushpots of Euston and the hanging garments of Marylebone. But the dormer moonshee smiled selene and the lightthrowers knickered: who’s whinging we? Comport yourself, you inconsistency! Where are the little apples we lock up in the little saltbox? Where is that little alimony nestegg against our predictable rainy day? Is it not the fact (gainsay me, cakeeater!) that, while whistlewhirling your crazy elegies around Templetombmount joyntstone (let him pass, pleasegoodjesusalem, in a bundle of straw, he was balbettised after haymaking), you squandered among underlings the overload of your extravagance and made a hottentot of dulpeners crawsick with your crumbs? Am I not right? Yes? Yes? Yes? Holy wax and holifier! Don’t tell me, Leon of the fold, that you are not a loanshark! Look up, old sooty, be advised by mux and take your medicine! The Good Doctor mulled it. Mix it twice before repastures and powder three times a day. It does marvels for your gripings and it’s fine for the solitary worm.
Let me finish! Just a little judas tonic, my ghem of all jokes, to make you go green in the gazer. Do you hear what I’m seeing, hammet? And remember that golden silence gives consent, Mr Anklegazer! Cease to be civil, learn to say nay! Whisht! Come here till I tell you a wig in your ear. Iggri, I say, the booseleers! Look! Do you see your dial in the rockingglass, Herr Studiosus? Look well! Bend down a stigmy till I! It’s secret! We’ll do a whisper drive, for if the barishnyas got a twitter of it they’d tell the housetops and then all Cadbury would go crackers. I had it from Lamppost Shawe. And he had it from the Mullah. And Mull took it from a Bluecoat schooler. And Gay Socks jot it from Potaupheu’s wife. And Rantipoll tipped the wink from old Mrs Tinbullet. And as for her, she was confussed by pro-Brother Thacolicus. And the good brother feels he would need to defecate you. And the Flimsy Follettes are simply beside each other. And Kelly, Kenny and Keogh are up up and in arms. That a cross may crush me if I refuse to believe in it. That I may rock anchor through the ages if I hope it’s not true. That the host may choke me if I beneighbour you without my charity! In your ear. Sh! Shem, you are. Sh! You are mad!
He points the deathbone and the quick are still. Insomnia, somnia somniorum. Awmawm.
MERCIUS (of hisself): Domine, vopiscus! My fault, his fault, a kingship through a fault! Pariah, cannibal Cain, I who oathily forswore the womb that bore you and the paps I sometime sucked, you who ever since have been one black mass of jigs and jimjams, haunted by a convulsionary sense of not having been or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming, bewailing like a man that innocence which I could not defend like a woman, lo, it is to you then, Cathmon-Carbery, and thank Movies from the innermost depths of my still attrite heart wherein the days of youyouth are evermixed mimine, now ere the compline hour of being alone athands itself and a puff or so before we yield our spiritus to the wind, for (though that royal one has not yet drunk a gouttelette from his consummation and the flowerpot on the pole, the spaniel pack and their quarry, the retainers and the public house proprietor have not budged a millimetre and all that has been done has yet to be done and done again, when’s day’s woe, and lo, you’re doomed, joyday dawns and, la, you dominate) it is to you, firstborn and firstfruit of woe, to me, branded sheep, to you, pick of the wastepaperbasket, by the tremours of Thundery and Ulerin’s dogstar, to you alone, windblasted tree of the knowledge of beautiful and evil, ay, clothed upon with the metuor and shimmering like the horescens, astroglodynamonologos, the child of Nilfit’s father, blzb, to me, unseen blusher in an obscene coalhole, the cubilibum of your secret sigh, dweller in the downandoutermost where voice only of the dead may come, because ye left from me, because ye laughed on me, because, O me lonly son, ye are forgetting me! that our turfbrown mummy is acoming, alpilla, beltilla, ciltilla, deltilla, running with her tidings, old the news of the great big world, sonnies had a scrap, woewoewoe! bab’s baby walks at seven months, waywayway! bride leaves her raid at Punchestime, stud stoned before a racecourseful, two belles that make the one appeal, dry yanks will visit old sod, and fourtiered skirts are up, mesdames, while Parimiknie wears popular short legs, and twelve hows to mix a tipsy wake, did ye hear, colt Cooney? did ye ever, filly Fortescue? with a beck, with a spring, all her rillringlets shaking, rocks drops in her tachie, tramtokens in her hair, all waived to a point and then all inuendation, little oldfashioned mummy, little wonderful mummy, ducking under bridges, bellhopping the weirs, dodging by a bit of bog, rapidshooting round the bends, by Tallaght’s green hills and the pool of the phooka and a place they call it Blessington and slipping sly by Sallynoggin, as happy as the day is wet, babbling, bubbling, chattering to herself, deloothering the fields on their elbows leaning with the sloothering slide of her, giddygaddy grannyma, gossipaceous Anna Livia!
He lifts the lifewand and the dumb speak.
— Quoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiq!
O
tell me all about
Anna Livia! I want to hear all
about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me all. Tell me now. You’ll die when you hear. Well, you know, when the old cheb went futt and did what you know. Yes, I know, go on. Wash away and quit dabbling. Tuck up your sleeves and loosen your talk-tapes. And don’t butt me—hike!—when you bend. Or whatever it was they threed to make out he thried to two in the Fiendish Park. He’s an awfulld reppe. Look at the shirt of him! Look at the dirt of it! He has all my water black on me. And it steeping and stuping since this time last wik. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it? I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my hand and starving my famine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well with your battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it! What was it he did a tail at all on Animal Sendai? And how long was he under loch and neagh? It was put in the newses what he did, nicies and priers, the King fierceas Humphrey, with illysus distilling, exploits and all. But toms will till. I know he well. Temp untamed will hist for no man. As you spring so shall you neap. O, the roughty old rappe! Minxing marrage and making loof. Reeve Gootch was right and Reeve Drughad was sinistrous. And the cut of him! And the strut of him! How he used to hold his head as high as a howeth, the famous eld duke alien, with a hump of grandeur on him like a walking wiesel rat! And his derry’s own drawl and his corksown blather and his doubling stutter and his gullaway swank. Ask Lictor Hackett or Lector Reade or Garda Growley or the Boy with the Billyclub. How elster is he a called at all? Qu’appelle? Huges Caput Earlyfouler. Or where was he born or how was he found? Urgothland, Tvistown on the Kattekat? New Hunshire, Concord on the Merrimake? Who blocksmitt her saft anvil or yelled lep to her pail? Was her banns never loosened in Adam and Eve’s or were him and her but captain spliced? For mine etherduck I thee drake. And by my wildgaze I thee gander. Flowey and Mount on the brink of time makes wishes and fears for a happy isthmass. She can show all her lines, with love, licence to play. And if they don’t remarry that hook and eye may! O, passmore that and oxus another! Don Dom Dombdomb and his wee follyo! Was his help inshored in the Stork and Pelican against bungelars, flu and third risk parties? I heard he dug good tin with his doll, delvan first and duvlin after, when he raped her home, Sabrine asthore, in a perokeet’s cage, by dredgerous lands and devious delts, playing catched and mythed with the gleam of her shadda (if a flic had been there to pop up and pepper him!), past auld min’s manse and Maisons Allfou and the rest of incurables and the last of immurables, the quaggy waag for stumbling. Who sold you that jackalantern’s tale? Pemmican’s pasty pie! Not a grasshoop to ring her, not an antsgrain of ore. In a gabbard he barqued it, the boat of life, from the harbourless Ivernikan Okean, till he spied the loom of his landfall and he loosed two croakers from under his tilt, the gran Phenician rover. By the smell of her kelp they made the pigeonhouse. Like fun they did! But where was Himself, the timoneer? That marchantman he suivied their scutties right over the wash, his cameleer’s burnous breezing up on him, till with his runagate bowmpriss he roade and borst her bar. Pilcomayo! Suchcaughtawan! And the whale’s away with the grayling! Tune your pipes and fall ahumming, you born ijypt, and you’re nothing short of one! Well, ptellomy soon and curb your escumo. When they saw him shoot swift up her sheba sheath, like any gay lord salomon, her bulls they were ruhring, surfed with spree. Boyarka buah! Boyana bueh! He erned his lille Bunbath hard, our staly brede, the trader. He did. Look at here. In this wet of his prow. Didn’t you know he was kaldt a bairn of the brine, Wasserbourne the waterbaby? Havemmarea, so he was! H.C.E. has a codfisck ee. Shur, she’s nearly as badher as him herself. Who? Anna Livia? Ay, Anna Livia! Do you know she was calling bakvandets sals from all around, nyumba noo, chamba choo, to go in till him, her erring cheef, and tickle the pontiff aisy-oisy? She was? Gota pot! Yssel that the limmat? As El Negro winced when he wonced in La Plate. O, tell me all I want to hear, how loft she was lift a laddery dextro! A coneywink after the bunting fell. Letting on she didn’t care, sina feza, me absantee, him man in passession, the proxenete! Proxenete and phwhat is phthat? Emme for your reussischer’s Honddu jarkon! Tell us in franca langua. And call a spate a spate. Did they never sharee you ebro at skol, you antiabecedarian? It’s just the same as if I was to go par examplum now in conservancy’s cause out of telekinesis and proxenete you. For Coxyt sake and is that what she is? Botlettle I thought she’d act that loa. Didn’t you spot her in her windaug, wubbling up on an osiery chair, with a meusic before her all cunniform letters, pretending to ribble a reedy derg on a fiddle she bogans without a band on? Sure she can’t fiddan a dee, with bow or abandon! Srue, she can’t! Tista suck. Well, I never now heard the like of that! Tell me moher. Tell me moatst.
Well, old Humber was as glommen as grampus, with the tares at his thor and the buboes for ages and neither bowman nor shot abroad and bales allbrant on the crests of rockies and nera lamp in kitchen or church and giant’s holes in Grafton’s causeway and deathcap mushrooms round Funglus’ grave and the great tribune’s barrow all darnels ocummule, sittang sambre on his sett, drammen and drommen, usking queasy quizzers of his ruful continence, his childlinen scarf to encourage his obsequies, where he’d check their debths in that mormon’s thames, be questing and handsel, hop, step and a deepend, with his berths in their toiling moil, his swallower open from swolf to fore and the snipes of the gutter pecking his crocs, hungerstriking all alone and holding doomsdag over hunselv, dreeing his weird with his dander up and his fringe combed over his eygs and droming on loft till the sight of the sternes after zwarthy kowse and weedy broeks and the tits of buddy and the loits of pest and to peer was Parish worth thette mess. You’d think all was dodo belonging to him, how he durmed adranse in durance vaal. He had been belching for severn years. And there she was, Anna Livia, she darent catch a winkle of sleep, purling around like a chit of a child, Wendawanda, a fingerthick, in a Lapsummer skirt and damazon cheeks for to ishim bonzour to her dear dubber Dan, with neuphraties and sault from his maggias. And an odd time she’d cook him up blooms of fisk and lay to his heartsfoot her meddery eygs, yayis, and staynish beacons on toasc and a cupenhave so weeshwaashy of greenland’s tay or a dzoupgan of mokau kaffue au sable or Sinkiang sukry or his ale of ferns in trueartpewter and a shinkobread (hamjambo, bana?) for to plaise that man hog stay his stomicker till her pyrraknees shrunk to nutmeg graters while her togglejoints shuck with goyt, and as rash as she’d russ with her peakload of vivers up on her sieve (metauwero rage it swales and rieses!) my hardey Hek he’d kast them frome him with a stour of scorn as much as to say you sow and you sozh, and if he didn’t peg the platteau on her tawe, believe you me, she was safe enough. And then she’d esk to vistule a hymn, The Heart Bowed Down or The Rakes of Mallow or Chelli Michele’s La Calumnia è un Vermicelli or a balfy bit or Old Jo Robidson. Sucho fuffing a fifeing ’twould cut you in two! She’d bate the hen that crowed on the turrace of Babbel. What harm if she knew how to cockle her mouth! And not a mag out of Hum no more than out of the mangle weight. Is that a faith? That’s the fact. Then riding the ricka and roya romanche, Annona, gebroren aroostokrat Nivia, dochther of Sense and Art, with Sparks’ pirryphlickathims funkling her fan anner frostivying tresses dasht with virevlies—while the prom beauties sreeked nith their bearers’ skins!—in a period gown of changeable jade that would robe the wood of two cardinals’ chairs and crush poor Cullen and smother MacCabe. O blazerskate! Theirs porpor patches! And brahming to him down the feedchute, with her femtyfyx kinds of fondling endings, the poother rambling off her nose: Vuggybarney, Wickerymandy! Hello, ducky, please don’t die! Do you know what she started cheeping after, with a choicey voicey like waterglucks or Madame Delba to Romeoreszk? You’ll never guess. Tell me. Tell me. Phoebe, dearest, tell, O tell me and I loved you better nor you knew. And letting on hoon var daft about the old warbly sangs from over holmen, High hellskirt saw ladies hensmoker lilyhung pigger, and soay and soan and so firth and so forth in a tone sonora, and Oom Bothar below like Bheri-Bheri in his sandy cloak, so umvolosy, as deaf as a yawn, the stult! Go away! Poor deef old deery! Yare only teesing! Anna Liv? As Chalk is my judge! And didn’t she up in sorgue and go and trot doon and stand in her douro, puffing her old dudheen, and every shirvant siligiril or wensum farmerette walking the pilend roads, Sowy, Fundally, Daery or Maery, Milucre, Awny or Graw, usedn’t she make her a simp or a sign to slip inside by the sullyport? You don’t say, the sillypost? Bedouix but I do! Calling them in one by one (To Blockbeddum here! Here the Shoebenacaddie!) and legging a jig or so on the sihl to show them how to shake their benders and the dainty how to bring to mind the gladdest garments out of sight and all the way of a maid with a man and making a sort of a cackling noise like two and a penny or half a crown and holding up a silliver shiner. Lordy, lordy, did she so? Well, of all the ones ever I heard! Throwing all the neiss little whores in the world at him! To inny captured wench you wish of no matter what sex of pleissful ways two adda tammar a lizzy a lossie to hug and hab haven in Humpy’s apron!
And what was the wyerye rima she made? Odet! Odet! Tell me the trent of it while I’m lathering hail out of Denis Florence MacCarthy’s combies. Rise it, flut ye, pian piena! I’m dying down off my iodine feet until I lerryn Anna Livia’s cushingloo, that was writ by one and rede by two and trouved by a poule in the parco! I can see that. I see you are. How does it tummel? Listen now. Are you listening? Yes, yes! Indeed I am! Tarn your ore ouse! Essonne inne!
By earth and the cloudy but I badly want a brandnew bankside, bedamp and I do, and a plumper at that!
For the putty affair I have is wore out, so it is, sitting, yaping and waiting for my old Dane hodder dodderer, my life in death companion, my frugal key of our larder, my much altered camel’s hump, my jointspoiler, my maymoon’s honey, my fool to the last Decemberer, to wake himself out of his winter’s doze and bore me down like he used to.
Is there irwell a lord of the manor or a knight of the shire at strike, I wonder, that’d dip me a dace or two in cash for washing and darning his worshipful socks for him now we’re run out of horsebrose and milk?
Only for my short Brittas bed I made’s as snug as it smells it’s out I’d lep and off with me to the slobs della Tolka or the plage au Clontarf to feale the gay aire of my salt troublin bay and the race of the saywint up me ambushure.
Onon! Onon! Tel me more. Andelle me every tiny teign. I want to know every single ingul. Down to what made the potters fly into jagsthole. And why were the vesles vet. That homa fever’s winning me wome. If a mahun of the horse but hard me! We’d be bundukiboi meet askarigal. Well, now comes the hazelhatchery part. After Clondalkin the Kings’s Inns. We’ll soon be there with the freshet. How many aleveens had she in toll? I can’t rightly rede you that. Close only knows. Some say she had three figures to fill and confined herself to a hundred eleven, wan by wan by wan, making meanacuminamoyas. Olaph lamm et, all that pack? We won’t have room in the kirkeyaard. She can’t remember half of the cradlenames she smacked on them by the grace of her boxing bishop’s infallible slipper, the cane for Kund and abbles for Eyolf and ayther nayther for Yakov Yea. A hundred and how? They did well to rechristien her Pluhurabelle. O loreley! What a loddon lodes! Heigho! But it’s quite on the cards she’ll shed more and merrier, twills and trills, sparefours and spoilfives, nordsihks and sudsevers and ayes and neins to a litter. Grandfarthing nap and Messamisery and the knave of all knaves and the joker. Heehaw! She must have been a gadabout in her day, so she must, more than most. Shoal she was, gidgad! She had a flewmen of her owen. Then a toss nare scared that lass, so aimai moe, that’s agapo! Tell me, tell me, how cam she camlin through all her fellows, the neckar she was, the diveline? Casting her perils before our swains, from Fonte-in-Monte to Tidingtown and from Tidingtown tilhavet. Linking one and knocking the next, tapting a flank and tipting a jutty and palling in and pietaring out and clyding by on her eastway. Waiwhou was the first thurever burst? Someone he was, whuebra they were, in a tactic attack or in single combat. Tinker, tilar, souldrer, salor, Pieman Peace or Polistaman. That’s the thing I’m elwys on edge to esk. Push var and push vardar and come to uphill headquaters! Was it waterlows year, after Grattan or Flood, or when maids were in Arc or when three stood hosting? Fidaris will find where the Doubt arises like Niemen from Nirgends found the Nihil. Worry you sighin foh, Albern, O Anser? Untie the gemman’s fistiknots, Qvic and Nuancee! She can’t put her hand on him for the moment. Tez thelon langlo, walking weary! Such a loon werrabackwoods to row! She sid herself she hardly knows whuon the annals her graveller was, a dynast of Leinster, a wolf of the sea, or what he did or how blyth she played or how, when, why, where and who offon he jumpnad her and how it was gave her away. She was just a young thin pale soft shy slim slip of a thing then, sauntering by silvamoonlake, and he was a heavy trudging lurching lieabroad of a Curraghman, making his hay for whose sun to shine on, as tough as the oaktrees (peats be with them!) used to rustle that time down by the dykes of killing Kildare, for forstfellfoss with a plash across her. She thought she’d sankh neathe the ground with nymphant shame when he gave her the tigris eye! O happy fault! Me wish it was he! You’re wrong there, corribly wrong! ’Tisn’t only tonight you’re anacheronistic! It was ages behind that when nullahs were nowhere, in county Wickenlow, garden of Erin, before she ever dreamt she’d lave Kilbride and go foaming under Horsepass bridge, with the great southerwestern windstorming her traces and the midland’s grain-waster asarch for her track, to wend her ways byandby, robecca or worse, to spin and to grind, to swab and to thrash, for all her golden lifey in the barleyfields and pennylotts of Humphrey’s fordofhurdlestown and lie with a landleaper, wellingtonorseher. Alesse, the lagos of girly days! For the dove of the dunas! Wasut? Izod? Are you sarthe an suir? Not where the Finn fits into the Mourne, not where the Nore takes lieve of Bloem, not where the Braye divarts the Farer, not where the Moy changez her minds twixt Cullin and Conn and tween Cunn and Collin? Or where Neptune sculled and Tritonville rowed and leandros three bumped heroines two? Neya, narev, nen, nonni, nos! Then whereabouts in Ow and Ovoca? Was it ystwith wyst or Lucan Yokan or where the hand of man has never set foot? Dell me where, the fairy ferse time! I will if you listen. You know the dinkel dale of Luggelaw? Well, there once dwelt a local heremite, Michael Arklow was his riverend name (with many a sigh I aspersed his lavabibs!), and one venersderg in junojuly, oso sweet and so cool and so limber she looked, Nance the Nixie, Nanon L’Escaut, in the silence, of the sycomores, all listening, the kindling curves you simply can’t stop feeling, he plunged both of his newly anointed hands to the core of his cushlas in her singimari saffron strumans of hair, parting them and soothing her and mingling it, that was deep-dark and ample like this red bog at sundown. By that Vale Vowclose’s lucydlac, the reignbeau’s heavenarches arronged orranged her. Afrothdizzying galbs, her enamelled eyes indergoading him on to the vierge violetian. Wish a wish! Why a why? Mavro! Letty Lerck’s lafing light throw those laurals now on her daphdaph teasesong petrock. Maass! But the majik wavus has elfun anon meshes. And Simba the Slayer of his Oga is slewd. He cuddle not help himself, thurso that hot on him, he had to forget the monk in the man, so, rubbing her up and smoothing her down, he baised his lippes in smiling mood, kiss akiss after kisokushk (as he warned her niver to, niver to, nevar), on Anna-na-Poghue’s freckled forehead. While you’d parse secheressa she hielt her souff. But she ruz two feet hire in her aisne aestumation. And steppes on stilts ever since. That was kissuahealing with bantur for balm! O, wasn’t he the bold priest? And wasn’t she the naughty Livvy? Nautic Naama’s now her navn. Two lads in scoutsch breeches went through her before that, Barefoot Byrne and Wallowme Wade, Lugnaquillia’s noblesse pickts, before she had a hint of a hair at her fanny to hide or a bossom to tempt a birch canoedler, not to mention a bulgic porterhorse barge. And ere that again, leada, laida, all unraidy, too faint to buoy the fairiest rider, too frail to flirt with a cygnet’s plume, she was licked by a hound, Chirripa-Churruta, while poing her pee, pure and simple, on the spur of the hill in old Kippure, in birdsong and shearingtime, but first of all, worst of all, the wiggly livvly, she sideslipped out by a gap in the Devil’s Glen while Sally her nurse was sound asleep in a sloot and, feefee fiefie, fell over a spillway before she found her stride and lay and wriggled in all the stagnant black pools of rainy under a fallow coo and she laughed innocefree with her limbs aloft and a whole drove of maiden hawthorns blushing and looking askance upon her.
Drop me the sound of the findhorn’s name. Mtu or mti, sombogger was wisness. And drip me why in the flenders was she frickled. And trickle me through was she marcellewaved or was it weirdly a wig she wore. And whitside did they droop their glows in their florry, aback to wist or affront to sea? In fear to hear the dear so near or longing loth and loathing longing? Are you in the swim or are you out? O go in, go on, go an! I mean about what you know. I know right well what you mean. Rother! You’d like the coifs and guimpes, snouty, and me to do the greasy jub on old Veronica’s wipers. What am I rancing now and I’ll thank you? Is it a pinny or is it a surplice? Arran, where’s your nose? And where’s the starch? That’s not the vesdre benediction smell. I can tell from here by their eau de Colo and the scent of her oder they’re Mrs Magrath’s. And you ought to have aird them. They’ve moist come off her. Creases in silk they are, not crampton lawn. Baptiste me, father, for she has sinned! Through her catchment ring she freed them easy, with her hips’ hurrahs for her knees’ dontelleries. The only parr with frills in old the plain. So they are, I declare! Welland well! If tomorrow keeps fine who’ll come tripping to sightsee? How’ll? Axe me next what I haven’t got! The Belvedarean exhibitioners. In their cruisery caps and oarsclub colours. What hoo, they band! And what hoa, they buck! And there’s her nubilee letters too. Ellis on quay in scarlet thread. Linked for the world on a flushcaloured field. Annan exe after to show they’re not Laura Keown’s. Ormond the diabolo twisk your seifety pin! You child of Mammon, Kinsella’s Lilith! Now, who has been tearing the leg of her drawars on her? Which leg is it? The one with the bells on it. Rinse them out and aston along with you! Where did I stop? Never stop! Continuarration! You’re not there yet. I amstel waiting. Garonne, garonne!
Well, after it was put in the Mericy Cordial Mendicants’ Sitterdag-Zindeh-Munaday Wakeschrift (for once they sullied their white kid gloves, chewing cuds of their dinner of cheekin and beggin, with their show us it here and their mind out of that and their when you’re quite finished with the reading matarial) even the snee that snowdon his hoaring hair had a skunner against him. Thaw, thaw, sava, savuto! Score Her Chuff Exsquire! Everywhere erriff you went and every bung you arver dropped into in cit or suburb or in addled areas, the Rose and Bottle or Phoenix Tavern or Power’s Inn or Jude’s Hotel, or wherever you scoured the countryside from Nannywater to Vartryville or from Porta Lateen to the lootin quarter you found his ikom etsched tipside down or the cornerboys cammocking his guy and Morris the Man, with the role of a royss in his turgos the turrible (Evropeahahn cheic house, unskimmed sooit and yahoort, hamman now cheekmee, Ahdahm this way make, Fatima, half turn!), reeling and railing around the local as the peihos piped and ubanjees twanged, with oddfellow’s triple tiara busby rotundarinking round his scalp. Like Pate-by-the-Neva or Pete-over-Meer. This is the Hausman all paven and stoned, that cribbed the Cabin that never was owned, that cocked his leg and hennad his Egg. And the mauldrin rabble around him in areopage, fracassing a great bingkang cagnan with their timpan crowders. Mind your Grimm-father! Think of your Ma! Hing the Hong is his jove’s hangnomen! Lilt a bolero, bulling a law! She swore on croststyx nyne wyndabouts she’d be level with all the snags of them yet. Par the Vulnerable Virgin’s Mary del Dame! So she said to herself she’d frame a plan to fake a shine, the mischiefmaker, the like of it you niever heard. What plan? Tell me quick and dongu so crould! What the meurther did she mague? Well, she bergened a zak, a shammy mailsack, with the lend of a loan of the light of his lampion, off one of her swapsons, Shaun the Post, and then she went and consulted her chapboucqs, old Mot Moore, Casey’s Euclid and the Fashion Display, and made herself tidal to join in the mascarete. O gig goggle of gigguels, I can’t tell you how! It’s too screaming to rizo, rabbit it all! Minneha, minnehi, minnehe, minneho! O, but you must, you must really! Make my hear it gurgle gurgle, like the farest gargle gargle, in the dusky dirgle dargle! By the twittering well of Mulhuddart I swear I’d pledge my chanza getting to heaven through Tirry and Killy’s mount of impiety to hear it all, aviary word! O, leave me my faculties, woman, a while! If you don’t like my story get out of the punt. Well, have it your own way so. Here, sit down and do as you’re bid. Take my stroke and bend to your bow. Forward in and pull your overthepoise! Lisp it slaney and crisp it quiet. Deel me longsome. Tongue your time now. Breathe thet deep. Thouat’s the fairway. Hurry slow and scheldt you go. Lynd us your blessed ashes here till I scrub the canon’s underpants. Flow now. Ower more. And pooleypooley.
First she let her hair fal and down it flussed to her feet its teviots winding coils. Then, mothernaked, she sampood herself with galawater and fraguant pistania mud, wupper and lauar, from crown to sole. Next she greesed the groove of her keel, warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with antifouling butterscatch and turfentide and serpenthyme, and with leafmould she ushered round prunella isles and eslats dun, quincecunct, allover her little mary. Peeld gold of waxwork her jellybelly and her grains of incense anguille bronze. And after that she wove a garland for her hair. She pleated it. She plaited it. Of meadowgrass and riverflags, the bulrush and waterweed, and of fallen griefs of weeping willow. Then she made her bracelets and her anklets and her armlets and a jetty amulet for necklace of clicking cobbles and pattering pebbles and rumbledown rubble, richmond and rehr, of Irish rhunerhinestones and shellmarble bangles. That done, a dawk of smut to her airy eye, Annushka Lutetiavitch Puffovah, and the lellipos cream to her lippeleens and the pick of the paintbox for her pommettes, from strawbirry reds to extray violates, and she sendred her boudeloire maids to His Affluence, Ciliegia Grande and Kirschie Real, the two chirrines, with respecks from his missus, seepy and sewery, and a request might she passe of him for a minnikin. A call to pay and light a taper, in Brie-on-Arrosa, back in a sprizzling. The cock striking mine, the stalls bridely sign, there’s Zambosy waiting for Me! She orged she wouldn’t be half her length away. Then, then, as soon as the lump his back was turned, with her mealiebag slang over her shulder, Anna Livia, oysterface, forth of her bassein came.
Describe her! Hustle along, why can’t you? Spitz on the iern while it’s hot. I wouldn’t miss her for irthing on nerthe. Not for the lucre of lomba strait! Oceans of Gaud, I mosel hear that! Ogowe presta! Leste, before Julia sees her! Ishekarry and washemeskad, the carishy caratimaney? Whole ladyfair? Duodecimoroon? Bonaventura? Malagassy? What had she on, the liddel oud oddity? How much did she scallop, harness and weights? Here she is, Amnisty Ann! Call her calamity electrifies man.
No electress at all but old Moppa Necessity, angin mother of injons. I’ll tell you a test. But you must sit still. Will you hold your peace and listen well to what I am going to say now? It might have been ten or twenty to one of the night of Allclose or the nexth of April when the flip of her hoogly igloo flappered and out toetippit a bushmam woman, the dearest little moma ever you saw, nodding around her, all smiles, with ems of embarras and aues to awe, between two ages, a judy queen not up to your elb. Quick, look at her cute and saise her quirk for the bicker she lives the slicker she grows. Save us and tagus! No more? Werra, where in ourthe did you ever pick a Lambay chop as big as a battering ram? Ay, you’re right. I’m epte to forgetting, like Liviam Liddle did Loveme Long. The linth of my hough, I say! She wore a ploughboy’s nailstudded clogs, a pair of ploughfields in themselves: a sugarloaf hat with a gaudyquiviry peak and a band of gorse for an arnoment and a hundred streamers dancing off it, all aflume, and a guildered pin to pierce it: owlglassy bicycles boggled her eyes: and a fishnetzeveil for the sun not to spoil the wrinklings of her hydeaspects: potatorings boucled the loose laubes of her laudesnarers: her nude cuba stockings were salmonspotspeckled: she sported a galligo shimmy of hazevaipar tinto that never was fast till it ran in the washing: stout stays, the rivals, lined her length: her bloodorange bockknickers, a two in one garment, showed natural nigger boggers, fancyfastened, free to undo: her blackstripe tan joseph was sequansewn and teddybearlined, with wavy rushgreen epaulettes and a leadown here and there of royal swansruff: a brace of gaspers stuck in her hayrope garters: her civvy codroy coat with alpheubett buttons was boundaried round with a twobar tunnel belt: a fourpenny bit in each pocketside weighed her safe from the blowaway windrush: she had a clothespeg tight astride on her joki’s nose and she kept on grinding a sommething quaint in her fiumy mouth: and the rrreke of the fluve of the tail of the gawan of her snuffdrab siouler’s skirt trailed ffiffity odd Irish miles behind her lungarhodes.
Hellsbells, I’m sorry I missed her! Sweet gumptyum and nobody fainted! But in whelk of her mouths? Was her naze alight? Everyone that saw her said the dowce little delia looked a bit queer. Lotsy trotsy, mind the poddle! Missus, be good and don’t fol in the say! Fenny poor hex she must have charred. Kickhams a frumpier ever you saw! Making mush mullet’s eyes at her boys dobelon. And they crowned her their chariton queen, all the maids. Of the may? You don’t say! Well for her she couldn’t see herself. I recknitz wharfore the darling murrayed her mirror. She did? Mersey me! There was a koros of drouthdropping surfacemen, boomslanging and plugchewing, fruiteyeing and flowerfeeding, in contemplation of the fluctuation and the undification of her filimentation, lolling and leasing on North Lazers’ Waal all eelfare week by the Jukar Yoick’s and as soon as they saw her meander by that marritime way in her grasswinter’s weeds and twigged who was under her archdeaconess’s bonnet, Avondale’s fish and Clarence’s poison, wheezes an to anaber, Wit-upon-Crutches to Master Bates: Between our two southsates and the granite they’re warming, either her face has been lifted or Alp has doped!
But what was the game in her mixed baggyrhatty? Just the tembo in her tumbo or pilipili from her pepperpot? Saas and taas and specis bizaas. And where in thunder did she plunder? Fore the battle or efter the ball? I want to get it frisk from the soorce. I aubette my bearb it’s worth while poaching on! Shake it up, do, do! That’s a good old son of a ditch! Radile-me-rudall the restigouche. I promise I’ll make it wentworth your while. And I don’t mean maybe. Nor yet with a goodfor. Spey me pruth and I’ll tale you true.
Well, arundgirond in a waveney lyne aringarouma she pattered and swung and sidled, dribbling her boulder through narrowa mosses, the diliskydrear on our drier side and the vildevetchvine agin us, curara here, careero there, not knowing which medway or wheser to strike it, edereider, making chattahoochee all to her ain chichui, like Santa Claus at the cree of the pale and puny, nistling to hear for their tiny hearties, her arms encircling Isolabella, then running with reconciled Romas and Reims, then bathing Dirty Hans’ spatters with spittle, on like a lech to be off like a dart, with a Christmas box apiece for aisch and iveryone of her childer, the birthday gifts they dreamt they gave her, the spoiled she fleetly laid at our door. On the matt, by the pourch and inunder the cellar. The rivulets ran aflod to see, the glashaboys, the pollynooties. Out of the paunschaup on to the pyre. And they all about her, juvenile leads and ingenuinas, from the slime of their slums and artesaned wellings, rickets and riots, like the Smyly boys at their vicereine’s levee, chipping her and raising a bit of a chir or a jary, Vivi vienne, little Annchen! Vielo Anno, high life! Sing us a sula, O Susuria! Ausone sidulcis! Hasn’t she tambre!, every dive she’d neb in her culdee sacco of wabbash she raabed and reach out her maundy meerschaundize, poor souvenir as per ricorder and all for sore aringarung, stinkers and heelers, laggards and primelads, her furzeborn sons and dribblederry daughters, a thousand and one of them, and wickerpotluck for each of them. For evil and ever. And kiks the buch. A tinker’s bann and a barrow to boil his billy for Gipsy Lee: a cartridge of cockaleekie soup for Chummy the Guardsman: for sulky Pender’s acid nephew deltoid drops, curiously strong: a cough and a rattle and wildrose cheeks for poor Piccolina Petite Mac-Farlane: a jigsaw puzzle of needles and pins and blankets and shins between them for Isabel, Jezebel and Llewelyn Mmarriage: a brazen nose and pigiron mittens for Johnny Walker Beg: a papar flag of the saints and stripes for Kevineen O’Dea: a puffpuff for Pudge Craig and a nightmarching hare for Techertim Tombigby: waterleg and gumboots each for Bully Hayes and Hurricane Hartigan: a prodigal heart and fatted calves for Buck Jones, the pride of Clonliffe: a loaf of bread and a father’s early aim for Val from Skibereen: a jauntingcar for Larry Doolin, the Ballyclee jackeen: a seasick trip on a government ship for Teague O’Flanagan: a louse and trap for Jerry Coyle: slushmincepies for Andy Mackenzie: a hairclip and clackdish for Penceless Peter: that twelve sounds look for G. V. Brooke: a drowned doll to face downwards for modest Sister Anne Mortimer: altar falls for Blanchisse’s bed: Wildairs’ breechettes for Magpeg Woppington: for Sue Dot a big eye, for Sam Dash a false step: snakes in clover, picked and scotched, and a vaticanned vipercatcher’s visa for Patsy Presbys: a reiz every morning for Standfast Dick and a drop every minute for Stumblestone Davy: scruboak beads for beatified Biddy: two appletweed stools for Eva Mobbely: for Saara Philpot a jordan vale tearorne: a pretty box of Pettyfib’s Powder for Eileen Aruna to whiten her teeth and outflash Helen Arhone: a whipping top for Eddy Lawless: for Kitty Coleraine of Butterman’s Lane a penny wise for her foolish pitcher: a putty shovel for Terry the Puckaun: a potamus mask for Promoter Dunne: a niester egg with a twicedated shell and a dynamight right for Pavl the Curate: a collera morbous for Mann in the Cloack: a starr and girton for Draper and Deane: for Will-of-the-Wisp and Barny-the-Bark two mangolds noble to sweeden their bitters: for Oliver Bound a way in his frey: for Seumas, thought little, a crown he feels big: a tibertine’s pile with a Congoswood cross on the back for Sunny Twimjim: a praises be and spare me days for Brian the Bravo: penteplenty of pity with lubilashings of lust for Olona Lena Magdalena: for Camilla, Dromilla, Ludmilla, Mamilla, a bucket, a packet, a book and a pillow: for Nancy Shannon a Tuami brooch: for Dora Riparia Hopeandwater a cooling douche and a warmingpan: a pair of Blarney braggs for Wally Meagher: a hairpin slatepencil for Elsie Oram to scratch her toby, doing her best with her volgar fractions: an old age pension for Betty Bellezza: a bag of the blues for Funny Fitz: a Missa pro Messa for Taff de Taff: Jill, the spoon of a girl, for Jack, the broth of a boy: a Rogerson Crusoe’s Friday fast for Caducus Angelus Rubiconstein: three hundred and sixtysix poplin tyne for revery warp in the weaver’s woof for Victor Hugoknot: a stiff steaded rake and good varians muck for Kate the Cleaner: a hole in the ballad for Hosty: two dozen of cradles for J. F. X. P. Coppinger: tenpounten on the pop for the daulphins born with five spoiled squibs for Infanta: a letter to last a lifetime for Maggi beyond by the ashpit: the heftiest frozenmeat woman from Lusk to Livienbad for Felim the Ferry: spas and speranza and symposum’s syrup for decayed and blind and gouty Gough: a change of naves and joys of ills for Armoricus Tristram Amoor Saint Lawrence: a guillotine shirt for Reuben Redbreast and hempen suspendeats for Brennan on the Moor: an oakanknee for Conditor Sawyer and musquodoboits for Great Tropical Scott: a C3 peduncle for Karmalite Kane: a sunless map of the month, including the sword and stamps, for Shemus O’Shaun the Post: a jackal with hide for Browne but Nolan: a stonecold shoulder for Donn Joe Vance: all lock and no stable for Honorbright Merreytrickx: a big drum for Billy Dunboyne: a guiltygoldeny bellows, below me blow me, for Ida Ida and a Hushaby rocker, Elletrouvetout, for Who-is-silvier—Where-is-he?: whatever you like to swilly to swash, Yuinness or Yennessy, Laagen or Niger, for Festus King and Roaring Peter and Frisky Shorty and Treacle Tom and O. B. Behan and Sully the Thug and Master Magrath and Peter Cloran and O’Delawarr Rossa and Nerone MacPacem and whoever you chance to meet knocking around: and a pig’s bladder balloon for Selina Susquehanna Stakelum. But what did she give to Pruda Ward and Katty Kanel and Peggy Quilty and Briery Brosna and Teasy Kieran and Ena Lappin and Muriel Maassy and Zusan Camac and Melissa Brandogue and Flora Ferns and Fauna Fox-Goodman and Grettna Greaney and Penelope Inglesante and Lezba Licking like Leytha Liane and Roxana Rohan with Simpatica Sohan and Una Bina Laterza and Trina La Mesme and Philomena O’Farrell and Irmak Elly and Josephine Foyle and Snakeshead Lily and Fountainoy Laura and Marie Xavier Agnes Daisy Frances de Sales Macleay? She gave them ilcka madre’s daughter a moonflower and a bloodvein: but the grapes that ripe before reason to them that divide the vinedress. So on Izzy, her shamemaid, love shone befond her tears as from Shem, her penmight, life past befoul his prime.
My colonial, wardha bagful! A bakereen’s dusind with a tithe of tillies to boot. That’s what you may call a tale of a tub! And Hibernonian market too! All that and more under one crinoline envelope if you dare to break the porkbarrel seal. No wonder they’d run from her pison plague. Throw us your hudson soap for the honour of Clane! The wee taste the water left. I’ll raft it back first thing in the marne. Merced mulde! Ay, and don’t forget the reckitts I lohaned you. You’ve all the swirls your side of the current. Well, am I to blame for that if I have? Who said you’re to blame for that if you have? You’re a bit on the sharp side. I’m on the wide. Only snuffers’ cornets drifts my way that the cracka dvine chucks out of his cassock, with her estheryear’s marsh narcissus to make him recant his vanitty fair. Foul strips of his Chinook’s bible I do be reading, dodwell disgustered but chickled with chuckles at the tittles is drawn on the tattlepage. E Senior ga dito: Faciasi Omo! E Omo fu fò. Ho! Ho! E Senior ga dito: Faciasi Hidamo! E Hidamo se ga facessà. Ha! Ha! And Die Windermere Dichter and Lefanu (Sheridan’s) old House by the Coachyard and Mill (J.) On Woman with Ditto on the Floss. Ja, a swamp for Altmuehler and a stone for his flossies! I know how racy they move his wheel. My hands are blawcauld between isker and suda like that piece of pattern chayney there, lying below. Or where is it? Lying beside the sedge I saw it. Hoangho, my sorrow, I’ve lost it! Aimihi! With that turbary water who could see? So near and yet so far! But O, gihon! I lovat a gabber. I could listen to maure and moravar again. Regn onder river. Flies do your float. Thick is the life for mere.
Well, you know or don’t you kennet or haven’t I told you every telling has a taling and that’s the he and the she of it. Look, look, the dusk is growing! My branches lofty are taking root. And my cold cher’s gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at? It saon is late. ’Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw Waterhouse’s clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh. When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach! I’d want to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There’s the Belle for Sexaloiter! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out the clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And grant Thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay, we will. Flip! Spread on your bank and I’ll spread mine on mine. Flep! It’s what I’m doing. Spread! It’s churning chill. Der went is rising. I’ll lay a few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his bride embraced between them. Else I’d have sprinkled and folded them only. And I’ll tie my butcher’s apron here. It’s suety yet. The strollers will pass it by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to hold to the fire and this for the code, the convent napkins, twelve, one baby’s shawl. Goodmother Jossiph knows, she said. Whose head? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer, say? In kingdome gone or power to come or gloria be to them farther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more again lost alla stranger. I’ve heard tell that same brooch of the Shannons was married into a family in Spain. And all the Dunders de Dunnes in Markland’s Vineland beyond Brendan’s herring pool takes number nine in yangsee’s hats. And one of Biddy’s beads went bobbing lonesome till she rounded up lost histereve with a marigold and a cobbler’s candle in a side strain of a main drain of a manzinahurries off Bachelor’s Walk. But all that’s left to the last of the Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and between is one kneebuckle and two hooks in the front. Do you tell me that now? I do, in troth. Orara por Orbe and poor Las Animas! Ussa, ulla, we’re umbas all! Mezha, didn’t you hear it a deluge of times, ufer and ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you deed! I need, I need! It’s that irrawaddyng I’ve stoke in my aars. It all but husheth the lethest zswound. Oronoko! What’s your trouble? Is that the great Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statue riding the high horse there forehengist? Father of Otters, it is himself! Yonne there? Isset that? On Fallareen Common? You’re thinking of Astley’s Amphitheayter where the bobby restrained you making sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of the Peppers. Throw the cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spread your washing proper! It’s well I know your sort of slop. Flap! Ireland sober is Ireland stiff. Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, the load is with me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut! Were you lifting your elbow, tell us, glazy cheeks, in Conway’s Carrigacurra canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips? Flop! Your rere gait’s creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn’t I up since the damp dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corrigan’s pulse and vericoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice Jane in decline and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me, for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman with the lavandier flannels? You won your limpopo limp from the husky hussars when Collar and Cuffs was heir to the town and your slur gave the stink to Carlow. Holy Scamander! I sar it again! Near the golden falls. Icis on us! Seints of light! Zezere! Subdue your noise, you hamble creature! What is it but a blackburry growth or the dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are you meanam Tarpey and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now, thank all, the four of them, and the roar of them, that draves that stray in the mist and old Johnny MacDougal along with them. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat coasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or my Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die, eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We’ll meet again, we’ll part once more. The spot I’ll seek if the hour you’ll find. My chart shines high where the blue milk’s upset. Forgivemequick, I’m going! Bubye! And you, pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to jurna’s end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the shadows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moyvalley way. Towy I too, rathmine.
Ah, but she was the queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia, trinklytoes! And sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty Dumpling, foosther-father of fingalls and fotthergills! Gammer and gaffer, we’re all their gangsters. Hadn’t he seven dams to wive him? And every dam had her seven crutches. And every crutch had its seven hues. And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for me and supper for you and the doctor’s bill for Joe John. Befor! Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any Etrurian Catholic Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies and their turkiss indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was the spouse? Then all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland! Teems of times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo. Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle’s to be. Northmen’s thing made southfolk’s place but howmulty plurators made eachone in person? Latin me that, my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into oure eryan! Hircus Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord! Twins of his bosom. Lord save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daughters of. Whawk?
Can’t hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome? What Thom Malone? Can’t hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffeying waters of. Ho, talk save us! My foos woon’t moos. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia’s daughtersons. Dark hawks hear us! Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were Shem and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now! Tell me, tell me, tell me, elm! Nighty night! Telmetale of stem or stone. Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters of. Night!
Every evening at lighting up o’clock sharp and until further notice in Feenichts Playhouse. Bar and conveniences always open, Diddlem Club douncestears. Entrancings: gads, a scrab; the quality, one large shilling. Newly billed for each wickeday perfumance. Somndoze massinees. By arraignment, childream’s hours, expercatered. Jampots, rinsed porters, taken in token. With serial redistribution of parts and players by the puppetry producer and daily dubbing of ghosters. With the benediction of the Holy Genesius Archimimus and under the distinguished patronage of Their Elderships the Oldens from the four coroners of Findrias, Murias, Gorias and Falias: Messoirs the Coarbs: Clive Sollis, Galorius Kettle, Pobiedo Lancey and Pierre Dusort. While the Caesar-in-Chief looks. On. Sennet. As played to the Adelphi by the Brothers Bratislavoff (Hyrcan and Haristobulus) after humpteen dumpteen revivals. Before all the Kings Hoarsers with all the Queens Mum. And wordloosed over seven seas crowdblast in Celtelleneteutoslavzendlatinsoundscript. In four tubbloids. While fern may cald us until firn make cold. The Mime of Mick, Nick and the Maggies, adopted from The Ballymooney Bloodriddon Murther by Bluechin Blackdillon (authorwise “Big Storey”), featuring:
GLUGG (Mr Seumas MacQuillad: hear the riddles between the robot in his dress circular and the gagster in the rogues’ gallery), the bold bad bleak boy of the storybooks who, when the tabs go up, as we discover, because he knew to mutch, has been divorced into the disgrace court by
THE FLORAS (Girl Scouts from St Bride’s Finishing Establishment: demand acidulateds), a month’s bunch of pretty maidens who, while they pick on her, their pet peeve, form with valkyrienne licence the guard for
IZOD (Miss Butys Pott: ask the attendantess for a leaflet), a bewitching blonde who dimples delightfully and is approached in loveliness only by her grateful sister reflection in a mirror, the cloud of the opal, who, having jilted Glugg, is being fatally fascinated by
CHUFF (Mr Sean O’Mailey: see the chalk and sanguine pictograph on the safety drop), the fine frank fairhaired fellow of the fairytales who wrestles for tophole with the bold bad bleak boy, Glugg, geminally about caps or puds or tog bags or bog gats or chuting rudskin gunerally or something, until they adumbrace a pattern of somebody else or other, after which they are both carried off the set and brought home to be soundly soaped, sponged and scrubbed again by
ANN (Miss Corrie Corriendo, Grischun scoula: bring the babes, Pieder, Poder and Turtey, she mistributes mandamus monies after perdunamento, hendrud aloven entrees, pulcinellis must not miss our national rooster’s rag), their poor little old mother-in-lieu who is woman of the house, playing opposite to
HUMP (Mr Makeall Gonne: read the sayings from Laxdaelasaga in the programme about King Ericus of Schweden and the spirit’s whispers in his magical helmet), cap-a-pipe with watch, topper, coat, crest and supporters, the cause of all our grievances, the whirl, the flash and the trouble, who, having partially recovered from a recent impeachment, due to egg everlasting, but throughandthoroughly proconverted, is studding sail once more, jibsheets and royals, in the semblance of the substance for the membrance of the umbrance with the remnance of the emblence reveiling a quemdam supercargo, of The Rockery, Poopinheavin, and engaged in entertaining in his pilgrimst customhouse at Caherlehome-upon-Eskur those statutory persons
THE CUSTOMERS (Components of the Afterhours Courses at St Patricius’ Academy for Grownup Gentlemen: consult the annuary, coldporters sibsuction), a bundle of a dozen of representative locomotive civics inn quest of outings, each of whom is a jactitator, who are still more sloppily served after every cup final by
SAUNDERSON (Mr Knut Oelsvinger: Tiffsdays off, Wouldntstays in bad, imitation of flatfish, torchbearing supperaape, dud halfsovereign, no chee daily, rolly pollsies, Glen of the Downs, the Gugnir, his geyswerks, his earsequack, his lokistroki, o.s.v.), a scherinsheiner and spoilcurate, unconcerned in the mystery but under the inflounce of the milldieuw and butt of
KATE (Miss Rachel Lea Varian: she tells forkings for baschfellors, under purdah of card palmer teaput tosspot Madam d’Elta, during the pawses), kook-and-dishdrudge, whitch believes wanthingthats, whouse be the churchyard or whorts up the aasgaard, the show must go on.
Time: the pressant.
With futurist onehorse balletbattle pictures and the Pageant of Past History worked up with animal variations amid everglading mangrovemazes and propounded for cyclological beorbtracktors by Messrs Thud and Blunder. Shadows by the film folk. Masses by the good people. Promptings by Elanio Vitale. Longshots, upcloses, outblacks and stagetolets by Hexenschuss, Coachmaher, Incubone and Rocknarrag. Creations tastefully designed by Madame Berthe Delamode. Dances arranged by Harley Quinn and Coollimbeina. Jests, jokes, jigs and jorums for the Wake lent from the properties of the late cemented Mr T. M. Finnegan R.I.C. Lipmasks and hairwigs by Ouida Nooikke. Limes and Floods by Crooker and Toll. Kopay pibe by Kappa Pedersen. Hoed Pine hat with twentyfour ventholes by Morgen. Bosse and stringbag from Heteroclitheroe’s Endsodds and All Ladies’ Presents. Tree taken for grafted. Rock rent. Phenecian blends and Sourdanian doofpoosts by Shauvesourishe and Wohntbedarft. The oakmulberryeke with silktrick twomesh from Shop-Sowy, Seedsmanchap. Grabstone beg from General Orders Mailed. The crack (That’s Cork!) by a smoker from the gods. The interjection (Buckley!) by the firemen in the pit. Accidental music providentially arranged by L’Archet and Laccorde. Melodiotiosities in purefusion by the score. To start with in the beginning, we need hirtly bemark, a community prayer, everyone for himself, and to conclude with as an exodus, we think it well to add, a chorale in canon, good for us all for us all us all all. Songs betune the acts by the ambiamphions of Annapolis, Joan MockComic, male soprano, and Jean Souslevin, bass noble, respectively: O, Mester Sogermon, ef thes es whot ye deux, then I’m not surpleased ye want that bottle of Sauvequipeu and Oh Off Nunch Der Rasche Ver Lasse Mitsch Nitscht. Till the summit scenes of climbacks castastrophear The Bearded Mountain (Polymop Baretherootsch) and The River Romps to Nursery (Maidykins in Undiform). The whole thugogmagog, including the portions understood to be oddmitted as the results of the respective titulars neglecting to produce themselves, to be wound up for an afterenactment by a Magnificent Transformation Scene showing the Radium Wedding of Neid and Moorning and the Dawn of PEACE, Pure, Perfect and Perpetual, Waking the Weary of the World.
An argument follows.
Chuffy was a nangel then and his soard fleshed light like likening. Fools top! Singty sangty meekly loose, defendy nous from prowlabouts. Make a shine on the curst. Emem.
But the duvlin sulph was in Glugger, that lost-to-lurning. Punct. He was sbuffing and sputing, tussing like anisine, whipping his eysoult and gnatsching his teats over the brividies from existers and the outher liubbocks of life. He halth kelchychosen a clayblade and makes prayses to his three of clubs. To part from thees, my corsets, is into overlusting fear. Acts of feet, hoof and jarrety: athletes longfoot. Djowl, uphere!
Aminxt that nombre of evelings, but how pierceful in their sojestiveness, were those first girly stirs, with zitterings of flight releashed and twinglings of twitchbells in rondel after, with waverings that made shimmershake rather nightily all the duskscended airs and shylit beaconings from shehind hims back. Sammy, call on! Mirrylamb, she was shuffering all the diseasinesses of the unherd of. Mary Louisan Shousapinas! If Arck could no more salve his agnols from the wiles of willy woolly woolf! If all the airish signics of her dipandump helpabit from an Father Hogam till the Mutther Masons could not that Glugg to catch her by the calour of her brideness! Not Rose, Sevilla nor Citronelle; not Esmeralde, Pervinca nor Indra; not Viola even nor all of them four themes over. But, the mouthage stick in the melmelode jawr, I am (twintomine) all thees thing. Up tighty in the front, down again on the loose, drim and drumming on her back and a pop from her whistle. What is that, O holytroopers? Isot givin yoe?
Up he stulpled, glee you gees, with search a mug did die near sea, beamy owen and calmy hugh, and if you what you my call for me I will wishyoumaycull for you.
And they are met, face a facing. They are set, force to force. And no such Copenhague-Marengo was less so fated for a fall since in Glenasmole of Smiling Thrushes Patch Whyte passed O’Sheen ascowl.
Arrest thee, scaldbrother! came the evangelion, sabre accusant, from all Saint Joan’s Wood to kill or maim him, and be dumm but ill s’arrested. Et would proffer to his delected one the his trifle from the grass.
A space. Who are you? The cat’s mother. A time. What do you lack? The look of a queen.
But what is that which one is going to prehend? seeks, buzzling is brains, the feinder.
The howtosayto itiswhatis hemustwhomust worden schall. A darktongues kunning. O theoperil! Ethiop lore, the poor lie!
He askit of the hoothed fireshield but it was untergone into the matthued heaven. He soughed it from the luft but that bore ne mark ne message. He luked upon the bloomingrund where ongly his corns were growning. At last he listed back to beckline how she pranked alone so johntily. The skand for schooling.
With nought a wired from the wordless either.
Item. He was hardset then. He wented to go (somewhere) while he was weeting. Utem. He wished to grieve on the good persons, that is the four gentlemen. Otem. And it was not a long time till he was feeling true forim he was godda purssia and it was short after that he was fooling mehaunt to mehynte he was an injine ruber. Etem. He was at his thinker’s aunts to give (the four gentlemen) the presence (of a curpse). And this is what he would be willing. He fould the fourd; they found the hurtled stones; they fell ill with the gravy duck: and he sod town with the roast of the meast. Atem.
Towhere byhangs ourtales.
Ah ho! This poor Glugg! It was so said of him about of his old fontmouther. Truly deplurabel! A dire, O dire! And all the freightfulness whom he inhebited after his colline born janitor. Sometime towerable! With that hehry antlets on him and the baublelight bulching out of his sockets whiling away she sprankled his allover with her noces of interregnation: How do you do that lack a lock and pass the poker, please? And bids him tend her, lute and airly. Sing, sweetharp, thing to me anone! So that Glugg, the poor one, in that limbopool which was his subnesciousness he could scares of all knotknow whither his morrder had bourst a blabber or if the vogalstones that hit his tynpan was that mearly his skoll missed her. Misty’s trompe or midst his flooting? Ah, ho! Cicely, awe!
The youngly delightsome frilles-in-pleyurs are now showen drawen, if bud one, or, if in florileague, drawens up consociately at the hinder sight of their commoner guardian. Her boy fiend, or theirs, if they are so plurielled, cometh up as a trapadour, sinking how he must fend for himself by gaze-work what their colours wear as they are all showen drawens up. Tireton, cacheton, tireton, bas! Doth that not satisfy youth, sir? O quanty purty bellas here, Madama Lifay! And what are you going to charm them to, Madama, do say? Cinderynelly angled her slipper; it was cho chiny yet braught her a groom. At next lineup he will angskt of them from their commoner guardian (who is really the rapier of the two, though thother brother can hold his own, espacially for he bandishes it with his hand the hold time, mamain) a simply gratious: Mi, O la! and reloose that thong off his art: Hast thou feel liked carbunckley ones? Apun which his poohoor pricoxity theirs is a little tittertit of hilarity (Lad-o’-me-soul! Lad-o’-me-soul, see!) and the wordchary is atvoiced ringsoundingly by their toots enssembled, though not meaning to be clever but just with a shrug of their hips, to go to troy and harff a freak at himself by all that’s tory to the ulstramarines. Otherwised, holding their noises, they insinuate quiet private, Ni, he make peace in his preaches and play with esteem.
Warewolff! Olff! Toboo!
So olff for his topheetuck the ruck made raid, aslick aslegs would run, and he ankered on his hunkers with the belly belly prest. Asking: What’s my muffinstuffinaches for thease times? To weat: Breath and bother and whatarcurss. Then breath more bother and more whatarcurss. Then no breath no bother but worrawarrawurms. And Shim shallave shome.
As Rigagnolina to Mountagnone, what she meaned he could not can. All she meaned was golten sylvup, all she meaned was some knight’s ploung jamn. It’s driving her dafft like he’s so dumnb. If he’d lonely talk instead of only gawk as thought Yateman hat stuck hits stick athrought his spoke and if he woold nut wolly so! Hee. Speak, sweety bird! Mitzymitzy! Though I did ate tough turf I’m not the bogdoxy.
— Have you monbreamstone?
— No.
— Or Hellfeuersteyn?
— No.
— Or Van Diemen’s coral pearl?
— No.
He has lost.
Off to clutch, Glugg! Forewheel! Shape your reres, Glugg! Forweal! Ring we round, Chuff! Fairwell! Chuffchuff’s inner seven: all’s rice with their whorl!
Yet, ah tears, who can her mater be? She’d promised he’d eye her. To try up her pretti. But now it’s so longed and so fared and so forth. Jerry for jauntings. Alabye! Fled.
The flossies all and mossies all, they drooped upon her draped brimfall. The bowknots, the showlots, they wilted into woeblots. The pearlagraph, the pearlagraph, knew whitchly whether to weep or laugh. For always down in Carolinas lovely Dinahs vaunt their view.
Poor Isa sids a glooming, so gleaming in the gloaming; the tincelles a touch tarnished wind no lovelinoise awound her swan’s. Hey, lass! Woefear gleams she so glooming, this pooripathete Isolde? Her beauman’s gone of a cool. Be good enough to symperise. If he’s at anywhere she’s therefor to join him. If it’s to nowhere she’s going to too. But if he’ll go to be a son to France’s she’ll stay daughter of Clare. Bring tansy, throw myrtle, strew rue, rue, rue. She is fading out like Journee’s clothes so you can’t see her now. Still we know how Day the Dyer works, in dims and deeps and dusks and darks. And among the shades that Eve’s now wearing she’ll meet anew fiancy, tryst and trow. Mammy was, Mimmy is, Minuscoline’s to be. In the Dee dips a dame and the dame desires a demselle but the demselle dresses dolly and the dolly does a dulcydamble. The same renew. For though she’s unmerried she’ll after truss up and help that hussyband how to hop. Hip it and trip it and chirrub and sing. Lord Chuffy’s sky sheraph and Glugg’s got to swing.
So and so, toe by toe, to and fro they go round, for they are the ingelles, scattering nods as girls who may, for they are an angel’s garland.
Catchmire stockings, libertyed garters, shoddyshoes quicked out with selver. Pennyfeir caps on pinnyfore frocks and a ring on her fomefing finger. And they leap so looply, looply, as they link to light. And they look so loovely, loovelit, noosed in a nuptious night. Withasly glints in. Andecoy glants out. They ramp it a little, a lessle, a lissle. Then rompride round in rout.
Say them all but tell them apart, cadenzando coloratura! R is Rubretta and A is Arancia, Y is for Yilla and N for greeneriN. B is Boyblue with odalisque O while W waters the fleurettes of novembrance. Though they’re all but merely a schoolgirl yet these way went they. I’ th’ view o’ th’ avignue dancing goes entrancing roundly. Miss Oodles of Anems before the Luvium doeslike. So. And then again doeslike. So. And Miss Endles of Eons efter Dies of Eirae doeslike. So. And then again doeslike. So. The many wiles of Winsure.
The grocer’s bawd she slips her hand in the haricot bag, the lady in waiting sips her sup from the paraffin can, Mrs Wildhare Quickdoctor helts her skelts up the casuaway the flasht instinct she herds if a tinkle of tunder, the widow Megrievy she knits cats’ cradles, this bountiful actress leashes a harrier under her tongue, and here’s the girl who she’s kneeled in coldfeshion and she’s toold her priest (spt!) she’s pot on a chap (chp!), and this lass not least, this rickissime woman, who she writes foot fortunes money times over in the nursery dust with her capital thumb. Buzz. All runaway sheep bound back bopeep, trailing their teens behind them. And these ways wend they. And those ways wend they. Winnie, Olive and Beatrice, Nelly and Ida, Amy and Rue. Here they come back, all the gay pack, for they are the florals, from foncey and pansey to papavere’s blush, forsake-me-nought, while there’s leaf there’s hope, with primtim’s ruse and marrymay’s blossom, all the flowers of the ancelles’ garden.
But vicereversing thereout from those palms of perfection to anger arbour, treerack monatan, scourcely out of scout of ocean, virid with woad, what tornaments of complementary rages rocked the divlun from his punchpoll to his tummy’s shentre as he displaid all the oathword science of his visible disgrace! He was feeling so funny and floored for the cue, all over which girls as he don’t know whose hue. If goosseys gazious would but fain smile him a smile he would be fondling a praise he ate some nice bit of fluff. But no geste reveals the unconnouth. And they’re all odds against him, the beasties. Scratch. Start.
He dove his head into Wat Murrey, gave Stewart Ryall a puck on the plexus, wrestled a hurry-come-union with the Gillie Beg, wiped all his sinses, martial and menial, out of Shrove Sundy MacFearsome, excremuncted as freely as any frothblower into MacIsaac, had a belting bout, chaste to chaste, with McAdoo abutt nothing and, childhood’s age being aye the shameleast, tel a Tartaran tastarin toothsome tarrascone tourtoun, vestimentivorous chlamydophagian, imbretellated himself for any time untellable with what hung over to the Machonochie Middle from the Mac-Siccaries of the Breeks. Home!
Allwhile, moush misquies from mungy mousie, preying in his mind, son of Everallin, within himself he swure. Macnoon maggoty mag! Cross of a coppersmith bishop! He would split. He do big squeal like holy Trichepatte. Seek hellswhere from yank islanders the petriote’s absolation. Mocknitza! Genik! He take skiff come first dagrene day overwide tumbler, rough and dark, till when bow of the shower show of the bower, with three shirts and a wind, pagoda permettant, crookolevante, the bruce, the coriolano and the ignacio. From prudals to the secular but from the cumman to the nowter. Byebye, Brassolis, I’m breaving! Our war, Dully Gray! A conans-dream of lodascircles, he here schlucefinis. Gelchasser no more! Mischnary for the minestrary to all the sems of Aram, Shimach, son of Ere. Mum’s for’s maxim, ban’s for’s book and Dodgesome Dora for hedgehung sheol-mastress. And Unkel Silanse coach in diligence. Disconnection of the succeeding. He wholehog himself for carberry banishment care of Pencylmania, Bretish Armerica, to melt Mrs Gloria of the Bunkers’ Trust, recorporated (prunty!), by meteoromancy and linguified heissrohgin, quit to hail a hurry laracor and catch the Paname-Turricum and regain that absendee tarry easty, his città immediata, by an alley and detour, with farecard awailable getrennty years. Right for Rovy the Roder. From the safe side of distance! Libera nostalgia! Beate Laurentie O’Tuli! Euro pra nobis! Every monk his own cashel where every little ligger is his own liogotenente with inclined jambs in full purview to his pronaose and to the deretane at his reredoss. Fuisfinister, fuyerescaper! He would, with the greatest of ease, before of weighting midhook, by dear home trashold on the raging canal, for other-sites of Jorden (heave a hevy, waterboy!), make one of hissens with a knocknacow and a chow collegions and fire off, gheol ghiornal, foull subustioned mullmud, his farced epistol to the hibruws. From Cernilius, slomtime prepositus of Toumaria, to the clutch in Anteach. Salvo! Ledigs and jointuremen! No more turdenskaulds! Free leaves for ebribadies! All tinsammon in the yord! With harm and aches till farther alters! Wild primates not stop him frem at rearing a writing in handy antics. Nom de plume! Gout strap Fenlanns! And send Jarge for Mary Inklenders! And daunt you logh if his vineshanky’s schwemmy! For he is the general, make no mistake in he. He is General Jinglesome.
Go in for scribenery with the satiety of arthurs in S.P.Q.R.ish and inform to the old sniggering publicking press and its nation of sheepcopers about the whole plighty troth between them, malady of milady made melodi of malodi, she, the lalage of lyonesses, and him, her knave arrant. To Wildrose La Gilligan from Croppy Crowhore. For all within crystal range.
Ukalepe. Loathers’ Lave. Had Days. Nemo in Patria. The Luncher Out. Skilly and Carubdish. A Wondering Wreck. From the Mermaids’ Tavern. Bullyfamous. Naughseecalves. Mother of Misery. Walpurgas Nackt.
Maleesh! He would bare to untired world of Leimunconnulstria (and what a strip poker globbtrottel they pairs would looks!) how Wholephallows, his guffer, the sabbatarian (might faction split his beard!), he too had a greak big oh in the megafundum of his tomashunders and how Her Lettyshape, his gummer, that congealieel sponsar, she had never cessed at waking malters among the jemassons since the cluft that meataxe delt her made her microchasm as gap as down low. So they fished in the kettle and fought free and if she bit his tallibont all had tiffin for tea. He would jused sit it all write down just as he would jused set it up all writhefully rate in blotch and voide, yielding to no man in hymns ignorance, seeing how heartsilly sorey he was, owning to the condrition of his bikestool. And, reading off his flesh-skin and writing with his quillbone, fillfull nine quires with it for his auditers, Caxton and Pollock, a most moraculous jeerymyhead, sindbook for all the peoples, under the presidency of the suchess of sceauonsceau, a had-tobe heldin, thoroughly enjoyed by many so meny on block at Boyrut season and for their account ottorly admired by her husband in sole intimacy, about whose told his innersense and the grusomehed’s yoeureeke of his spectrescope and why he was off colour and how he was ambothed upon by the very spit of himself, first on the cheakside by Michelangelo and then, besouns thats, on the owld jowly side by Bill C. Babby, and the suburb’s formule why they provencials drollo eggspilled him out of his homety domety narrowedknee domum (osco de basco de pesco de bisco!) because all his creature comfort was an omulette finas erbas in anark finis orbe and, no master how mustered, mind never mend, he would neither swink in nonneither swimp in the flood of cecialism and the best and schortest way of blacking out a caughtalook of all the sorrors of Sexton until he would accoster her coume il fou in teto-dous as a wagoner would his mudheeldy wheesindonk at their trist in Parisise after tourments of tosend years, breads cast out on waters, making goods at mutuurity, Mondamoiseau of Casanuova and Mademoiselle from Armentières. Neblonovi’s Nivonovio! Nobbio and Nuby in ennoviacion! Occitantitempoli! He would sit through severalls of sanctuaries maywhatmay mightwhomight so as to meet somewhere, if produced, on a demipanssion for his whole lofetime, payment in gootoslee Music and poisonal comfany, following which, like Ipsey Secumbe, when he fing an to foil the fluter, she could have all the g. s. M. she moohooed after fore and rickwards to herslF, including science of sonorous silence, while he, being brung up on soul butter, have recourse of course to poetry. With, for his coronachion, tears such as engines weep. Was liffe worth leaving? Nej!
Tholedoth, treetrene! Zokrahsing, stone!
Arty, reminiscensitive, at bandstand finale on grand carriero, dreaming largesse of lifesighs over early lived offs—all old Sator of the Sowsceptre’s highly nutritius family histrionic, genitricksling with Avus and Avia, that simple pair, and descendant down on veloutypads by a vuncular process to Nurus and Noverca, those notorious nepotists, circumpictified in their sobrine census, patriss all of them by the glos on their germane faces and their socerine eyes like transparents of vitricus, patruuts to a man, the archimade levirs of his ekonome world. Remember thee, castle throwen? Ones propsperups treed, now stohony baroque. And oil paint use a pumme if yell trace me there title to where was a hovel not a havel (the first rattle of his juniverse) with a tingtumtingaling and a next, next and next (gin a paddy? got a petty? gussies, gif it ope?), while itch ish shome.
— My Cod, alas, that dear old tumtum home
Whereof in youthfood’s port I preyed
Amonk thy verdigrassy convinct wallsall dazed
And cloitered for amourmeant in thy boosome shede!
His mouthfull of ecstasy (for Shing-Yung-Thing in Shina from Yoruyume across the Timor Sea), hereapong (maladventure!) shot pinging upthrough the errorooth of his wisdom (who thought him a Fonar all, feastking of shellies by googling Lovvey, regally feythered, eagelly plumed, and wasbut gumboil owrithy prods wretched some horsey megee plods coffin acid odarkery pluds dense floppens mugurdy) as thought it had been zawhen intwo. Wholly’s anguish blooded up disconvulsing the fixtures of his fizz. Apang which his temporychewer med him a crazy chump of a Haveajube Sillsyass. Joshua Croesus, son of Nunn! Though he shall live for millions of years a life of billions of years, from their roseaced glows to their violast lustres, he shall not forget that pucking Pugases. Holihowlsballs and bloody acres! Like gnawthing unheardth!
But, by Jobe, Chronides, Seed of Summ, after at he had bate his breast-plates for, forfor, forforget, forforgetting his birdsplace, it was soon that, that he, that he rehad himself. By a prayer? No, that comes later. By contrite attrition? Nay, that we passed. Mid esercizism? So is richt.
And it was so. And Malthos Moramor resumed his soul. With: Go Ferchios off to Allad out of this! An oldsteinsong. He threwed his fit up to his aers, rolled his poligone eyes, snivelled from his snose and blew the guff out of his hornypipe. The hopjoint jerk of a ladle broom jig that he learned in locofoco when a redhot turnspite he. Under reign of old Roastin the Bowl. Ratskillers, readyos! Why was that man for he’s doin her wrong? Lookery looks, how he’s knots in his entrails! Mookery mooks, it’s a grippe of his gripes. Seekeryseeks, why his biting he’s head off? Cokerycokes, it’s his spurt of coal. And may his tarpitch dilute not give him chromitis! For the mauwe that blinks you blank is mostly Carbo. Where the inflammabilis might pursuive his comburenda with a pure flame and a true flame and a flame all-toogasser. Soot. The worst is over. Wait! And the Dubuny Mag may gang to preesses. With Dinny Finneen, me canty ho! In the lost of the gleamens. Sousymoust. For he would himself deal a treatment as might be trusted in anticipation of his inculmination unto fructification for the major operation.
When (pip!) a message interfering intermitting interskips from them (pet!) on herzian waves (call her venicey names! call her a stell!), a butterfly from her zipclasped handbag, a wounded dove astarted from, escaping out her forecotes. Isle wail for yews, O doherlynt! The poetesser. And around its scorched cap she has twilled a twine of flame to let the laitiest know how she’s marrid. And pim it goes backballed. Tod burns it so leste. A claribel cumbeck to errind. Hers before his even, posted ere penned. He’s your change, thinkyou methim! Go daft noon, madden, mind the step. Please stoop O to please. Stop. What saying? I have soreunder from to him now, dearmate ashore, so, O so comepleasely, though I’d much rather not, Pepette, till I can get redressed. Like things are, m.ds. is all in vincibles, which means the end of my stays in the languish of Tingtangle. Is you zealous of mes, brother? Did you boo moiety lowd? You suppoted to be the on conditionally reejected? Satanly, lade! Can that sobstuff, Whingeywilly! Stop up, mavrose, and sit in my lap. Decoded.
Now a run for his money! Now a dash to her dot! Old cocker, young crowy, sifadda, sosson. A bran, new speedhound, outstripperous on the wind. Like a waft to wingweary one or a sos to a coastguard. For directly with his whoop, stoop and an upalepsy didando a tishy, in appreciably less time than it takes a glaciator to submerger an Atlangthis, was he again, agob, before the trembly ones, a spark’s gap off, doubledasguesched, gotten orlop in a simplasailormade and shaking the storm out of his hiccups. The smartest vessel you could find would elazilee him on her knee as her lucky for the Rio Grande. He’s a pigtail tarr and if he hadn’t got it toothick he’d a telltale tall of his pitcher on a wall with his photure in the papers for cutting moutonlegs and capers, letting on he’d jest be japers and his tail cooked up.
Goal! It’s one by its length.
Angelinas, hide from light those hues that your ain beau may bring to night! Though down to your dowerstrip he’s bent to knee he maun’t know ledgings here.
For a haunting way will go and you need not make your mow. Find the frenge for frocks and translace it into shocks of such as touch with show and show.
He is guessing at hers for all he is worse, the seagoer. Hark to his wily geeses goosling by, and playfair, lady! And note that they who will for exile say can for dog while them that won’t leave ingle end says now for know.
For he faulters how hehates to trouble them withbut.
But leaving codhead’s mitre and the heron’s plumes sinistrant to the server of servants and rex of regums and making a balderdash for lubberty of speech, he asks not have you seen a match being struck nor is this powder mine but, letting punplay pass to ernest:
— Haps thee jaoneofergs?
— Nao.
— Haps thee mayjaunties?
— Naohao.
— Haps thee per causes nunsibellies?
— Naohaohao.
— Asky, asky! Gau on! Micaco! Get!
Ping an ping nwan ping pwan pong.
And he did a get, their anayance, and slink his hook away, aleguere come alaguerre, like a chimista in chamisas, whom the harricana hurries and hotz foots, zingo zango, segur! To hoots of utskut, urqurd, jamal, qum, yallah, yawash, yak! For he could ciappacioppachew upon a skarp snakk of pure undefallen engelsk, melanmoon or tartatortoise, tsukisaki or soppisuppon, as raskly and as baskly as your cheesechalk cow cudd spanich. Makoto! Whagta kriowday! Gelagala nausy is. Yet right divining do not was. Hovobovo hafogate hokidimatzi ni kamicha! He had his sperrits all foulen on him; to vet, most griposly, he was bedizzled and debuzzled; he had his tristiest cabaleer on; and he looked like bruddy Hal. A shelling a cockshy and be donkey shot at? Or a peso besant to join the armada?
But, Sin Showpanza, could annybroddy which walked this world with eyes whiteopen have looked twinsomer than the kerl he left behind him? Candidatus, viridosus, aurilucens, sinelab! Of all the green heroes everwore cotan breiches, the whitemost, the goldenest! How he stud theirs with himselfs mookst kevinly, and that anterevolitionary, the churchman childfather from tonsor’s tuft to almonder’s toes, a hajjiography in duotrijesumy, son soptimost of sire sixtusks, of Mayaqueenies signosure, hevnly buddhy time, inwreathed of his nearcissies, a mickly dazzley eely oily with looiscurrals, a soulnetzer by zvesdals priestessd, their trail the tractive (and dem dandy-panies knows de play of de eyelids), with his gamecox spurts and his smile likuid glue (the suessiest sourir ever weanling wore), whiles his host of faceful spritties, lusspillerindernees, they went peahenning a ripidarapidarpad around him, pilgrim prinkips, kerilour kevinour, in neuchoristic congressulations, quite purringly excited, rpdrpd, allauding to him by all the licknames in the litany with the terms in which no little dulsy nayer ever thinks about implying except to her future’s yea and sending him perfume-most praypuffs to setisfire more then to teasim (shllwe help, now you’ve massmuled, you t’rigolect a bit? yismik? yimissy?) that he, the finehued, the fairhailed, the farahead, might bouchesave unto each but everyone, asfar as safras durst assune, the havemercyonhurs of his kissier licence. Meanings: Andure the enjurious till imbettrer. We know you like Latin with essies impures (and your liber as they sea), we certney like gurgles love the nargleygargley so, arrahbeejee, tell that old frankay boyuk to bellows up the tombucky in his tumtum argan and give us a gust of his gushy old. Goof!
Hymnumber twentynine. O, the singing! Happy little girlycums to have adolphted such an Adelphus! O, the swingswung hopops so goholden! They’ve come to chant en chor. They say their salat, the mahdiens’ prayer to the messiager of His Nabis, prostitating their selfs eachwise and combinedly. Fateha, fold the hands. Be it honoured, bow the head. May thine evings e’en be blossful! Even of bliss! As we sohope for ablution. For the sake of the farbung and of the scent and of the holiodrops. Amemus.
A long pause. Their orison arises misquewhite as Osman glory, ebbing wasteward, leaves to the soul of light its fading silence (allahlah lahlah lah!), a turquewashed sky. Then:
— Xanthos! Xanthos! Xanthos! We think to thine, mighty innocent, that diddest bring it off fuitefuite. Should in ofter years it became about you will after desk jobduty becoming a bank midland mansioner we and I shall reside with our obeisant servants among Burke’s mobility at La Roserie, Ailesbury Road. Red bricks are all hellishly good values if you trust to the roster of ads but we’ll save up ourselves and nab what’s nicest and boskiest of timber trees in the nebohood. Oncaill’s plot. Luccombe oaks, Turkish hazels, Greek firs, incense palms, edcedras. The hypsometers of Mount Anville is held to be dying out of arthataxis but, praise send Larix U’Thule, the wych elm of Manelagh is still flourishing in the open because it’s native of our nature and the seeds was sent by Fortune. We’ll have our private palypeachum pillarposterns for lovesick letterines fondly affianxed to our front railings and swings, hammocks, tighttaught balletlines, accomodationnooks and prismic bathboites to make Envyeyes mouth water and wonder when they binocular us from their embrassured windows in our garden rare. Fyat-Fyat shall be our number on the autokinaton and Chubby in his Chuffs oursforownly chuffreur. T will be waiting for uns as I sold U at the first antries. Our cousin gourmand, Percy, the pup, will denounce the sniffnomers of all callers whereamong our Seemyease Sister, Tabitha, the ninelived, will extend to the full her hearthy welcome. While the turf and twigs they tattle. Tintin tintin. Lady Marmela Shortbred will walk in for supper with her marchpane switch on and her necklace of almonds and her poirette Sundae dress with bracelets of honey and her cochineal hose with the caramel dancings, the briskly best from Booteestown, and her sucking-staπ of ivory mint. You mustn’t miss it or you’ll be sorry. Charmeuses chloes, glycering juwells, lydialight fans and puπumed cynarettes. And the Prince Le Monade has been graciously pleased. His six chocolate pages will run bugling before him and Cococream toddle after with his sticksword in a pink cushion. We think His Sparkling Headiness ought to know Lady Marmela. Luisome his for lissome hers. He’s not going to Cork till Cantalamesse or mayhope till Rose Easter or Saint Tibble’s Day. So Niomon knows. The Fomor’s in his Fin, the Momor’s her and hin. A paaralone! A paaralone! And Dublin’s all adin. We’ll sing a song of Singlemonth and you’ll too and you’ll. Here are notes. There’s the key. One two three. Chours! So come on, ye wealthy gentrymen wib frufrocksfull of fun! Thin thin! Thin thin! Thej olly and thel ively, thou billy with thee coo, for to jog a jig of a crispness nice and sing a missal too. Hip champouree! Hiphip champouree! O you longtailed blackman, polk it up behind me! Hip champouree! Hiphip champouree! And, jessies, push the pumkik round. Anneliuia!
Since the days of Roamaloose and Rehmoose the pavanos have been strident through their struts of Chapelldiseut, the vaulsies have meed and youdled through the purly ooze of Ballybough, many a mismy cloudy has tripped taintily along that hercourt strayed reelwey and the rigadoons have held ragtimed revels on the plateauplain of Grangegorman; and, though since then sterlings and guineas have been replaced by brooks and lions and some progress has been made on stilths and the races have come and gone and Thyme, that chef of seasoners, has made his usual astewte use of endadjustables and whatnot willbe isnor was, those danceadeils and cancanzanies have come stimmering down for our begayment through the bedeafdom of po’s taeorns, the obcecity of pa’s teapucs, as lithe and limbfree limber as when momie mummed at ma.
Just so stylled with the nattes are their flowerheads now and each of all has a lovestalk ownto herself and the tot of all of the tits of their understamens is as open as he can posably she and is tournesoled straightcut or sidewaist, accordant to the coursets of things feminite, towooerds him in heliolatry, that they may catchcup in their calyzettes, alls they go troping, those parryshoots from his muscalone pistil, for he can eyespy through them to their selfcolours, nevertheleast their tissue peepers (meaning Mullabury mesh, the time of appling flowers, a guarded figure of speech, a variety of perfume, a bridawl, seamist inso one), as leichtly as see saw (O my goodmiss! O my greatmess! O my prizelestly preshoes!), while, dewyfally as dimb dumbelles, all alisten to his elixir. Lovelyt!
And they said to him:
— Enchainted, dear sweet Stainusless, young confessor, dearer dearest, we herehear, aboutobloss, O coelicola, thee salutamt. Pattren of our unschoold, pageant master, deliverer of softmissives, round the world in forty mails, bag, belt and balmybeam, our barnaboy, our chepachap, with that pampipe in your putaway, gab borab, when you will be after doing all your sightseeing and soundhearing and smellsniffing and tastytasting and tenderumstouchings in all Daneygaul, send us, your adorables, thou overblaseed, a wise and letters play of all you can ceive of, chief celtech chappy, from your holy post now that you hast ascertained ceremonially our names. Unclean you art not. Outcaste thou are not. Leperstower, the karman’s loki, has not blanched at your pollution and your intercourse at ninety legsplits does not defile. Untouchable is not the scarecrown is on you. You are pure. You are pure. You are in your puerity. You have not brought stinking members into the house of Amanti. Elleb Inam, Titep Notep, we name them to the Hall of Honour. Your head has been touched by the god Enel-Rah and your face has been brightened by the goddess Aruc-Ituc. Return, sainted youngling, and walk once more among us! The rains of Demani are masikal as of yere. And Baraza is all aflower. Siku of calmy days. As shiver as shower can be. Our breed and better class is in brood and bitter pass. Labbeycliath longs. But we’re counting on the cluck. The Great Cackler comes again. Sweetstaker, Abel lord of all our haloease, wee toutes (to be slightly more femmiliar perhips than is slickly more then nacessory), philomelas as well as magdalenes, were drawpairs with two pinmarks, BVD and BVD dot, so want lotteries of ticklets posthastem (you appreciate that?) so as to be very dainty, if an isaspell, and so as to be verily dandydainty, if an ishibilley, of and on, to and for, by and with, from you. Let the hitback hurry his wayward ere the missive has time to take herself off, ’twill be o’erthemore wilfully intomeet if the coming offence caused our shudders before. We ſeem to have being elſewhere as tho’ th’ had paſs’d in our ſuſpenſe. Next to our shrinking selves we love sensitivas best. For they are the Angèles. Brick, fauve, jonquil, sprig, fleet, nocturne, smiling bruise. For they are an Angèle’s garment. We will be constant (what a word!) and bless the day, for whole hours too, yes, for sold long syne as we shall be being in our created being of ours elvishness, the day you befell, you dreadful temptation! Now promisus as at our requisted you will remain ignorant of all what you hear and, though if whilst disrobing to the edge of risk (the bisifings in idolhours that satinfines tootoo!), draw a veil till we next time! You don’t want to peach but bejimboed if ye do! Perhelps. We ernst too may. How many months or how many years till the myriadth and first become! Bashfulness be tupped! May he colp, may he colp her, may he mixandmass colp her! Talk with a hare and you wake of a tartars. That’s mus. Says the Law. List! Kicky Lacey, the pervergined, and Bianca Mutantini, her conversa, drew their fools longth finnishfurst, Herzog van Vellentam, but me and meother ravin, my coosine of mine, have mour good three chancers, weothers, after Bohnaparts. The mything smile of me, my wholesole assumption, shes nowt mewithout as weam twin herwithin, that I love like myselfish, like smithereen’s robinsongs, like juneses’ nutslost, like the blue of the sky if I stoops fore to spy between my whiteyoumightcallimbs. How their duel makes their triel! Eer’s wax for Sur Soord, dongdong bollets for the iris riflers, queemswellth of coocome in their combs for the jennyjos. Caro caressimus! Honey swarms where mellisponds. Will bee all buzzy one another minnies for the mere effect that you are so fulled of pollen yourself. Teomeo! Daurdour! We feel unspeechably thoughtless over it all here in Gizzygazelle Park’s bimboowood so pleasekindly communicake with the original sinse we are only yearning as yet how to burgeon. It’s meant milliems of centiments dead, lost or mislaid on them but, master of snakes, we can sloughchange in the nip of a napple solongas we can allsee for deedsetton your quick. By the hook in your look we’re eyed for aye were you begging the questuan with your lutean bowl round Monkmesserag. And whenever you’re tingling in your trout we’re sure to be tangled in our ticements. It’s game, it’s game, ma chère, be off with your shepherdress on! Upsome cauda! Behose our handmades for the lured! To these nunce we are but yours in ammatures yet well come that day we shall ope to be ores. Then shalt thou see, seeing, the sight. No more hoaxites! Nay more gifting in mennage! A her’s fancy for a his friend and then that fellow yours after this follow ours. Vania, Vania Vaniorum, Domne Vanias!
Hightime is up: be it down into outs according! When there shall be foods for vermin as full as feeds for the fett, eat on hearth as there’s hot in oven. When every Klitty of a scolderymeid shall hold every yardscullion’s right to stimm her uprecht for whimsoever, whetther on privates, whatther in publics. And when all us romance catholeens shall have ones for all amanseprated. And the world is maidfree. Methanks. So much for His Meignysthy Man! And all his bigattens. So till Coquette to tell Cockotte to teach Connie Curley to touch Cattie Hayre and tip Carminia to tap La Chérie though where the diggings he’s dweellst amongst us here’s nobody knows save Mary. Whyfor we go ringing hands in hands in gyrogyrorondo.
These bright elects, consentconsorted, they were waltzing up their will-side with their princesome handsome angeline chiuff while in those wherebus there wont bears way (mearing unknown, a place where pigeons carry fire to seethe viands, a miry hill, belge end sore footh) oaths and screams and bawley groans with a belchybubhub and a hellabelow bedemmed and bediabbled the arimaining lucisphere. Helldsdend, whelldselse! Lonedom’s breach lay foulend up uncouth not be brooched by punns and reedles. Yet the ring gayed rund rorosily with a drat you for a brat you. Yasha Yash ate sassage and mash, and so foor shay bash, poor Yasha Yash. And you wonna make one of our micknick party. No honaryhuest on our sposhialiste. For poor Glugger was dazed and late in his crave, ay he, laid in his grave.
But low, boys, low he rises, shrivering, with his spittyful eyes and his whoozebecome woice. Ephthah! Cisamis! Examen of conscience scruples now he to the best of his memory schemado. Nu mere for ever siden on the stolen. With his tumescinquinance in the thight of his tumstull. No more singing all the dags in his seng ageng. Experssly at hand counterhand. Trinitatis kink had mudded his dome, peccat and pent fore pree. Hymserf, munchaowl, maden, born of thug tribe into brood blackmail, dooly redecant all-bigenesis’ henesies. He, by bletchendmacht of the golls, proforhim penance and come off enternatural. He, selfsufficiencer, eggscumuddher-in-chaff sporticolorissimo, what though the duthsthrows in his lavabad eyes, make-tomake polentay rossum, after Aasdocktor Talop’s onamuttony legture, out of bianconies, hiking ahake like any nudgemenoughgorude all over Terra-cuta. No more throw acids, face all lovabilities, appeal for the union and play for tirnitys. He, praise Saint Calembaurnus, make clean breastsack of goody girl now as ever drank milksoep from a spoen, weedhearted boy of potter and mudder, chip off old Flinn the Flinter, twig of the hider that tanned him. He go calaboosh all same he tell him out. Teufteuf man he strip him all mussymussy calico blong him all same he tell him all out how he make what name. He, through wolkenic connection, relation belong this remarkable moliman, Anaks Andrum, parleyglutton, pure blood Jebusite, centy procent Erserum spoking. Drugmallt storehuse. Intrance on back. Most open on the laydays. He, A. A., in peachskin shantungs, possible, sooth to say, notwithstanding far former guiles and he gaining fish considerable, by saving grace after avalunch, even while lossassinated by summan, to look most prophitable with glazzy okodoko allserene out of smily skibluh eyes. He repeat of him as pious alios cos he ast for shave and haircut people said he’d shape of hegoat where he just was sheep of herrgott with his tile togged. Top. Not true what chronicles is bringing his portemanteau priamed full potatowards. Big dumm crumm digaditchies say short again akter he coaxyorum pennysilvers offarings bloadonages with candid zuckers on Spinstresses’ Walk in presents to lilithe maidinettes for at bloo his noose for him with pruriest pollygameous inatentions, he having that pecuniarity ailmint spectacularly in heather cliff emurgency on gale days because souffrant chronic from a plentitude of house torts. Colossul rhodomantic not wert one bronze lie Scholarina say when he, greyed vike cuddlepuller, walk in her sleep his pig indicks weg more als femtifem funts. Of so little is her timentiousnest great for greeting his immensesness. Satt soonas sett they were, her uyes as his auriholes. Kaledvalch! How coold one classically? One could naught clitically. Ininest lightingshaft only for lovalit smugpipe, his Mistress Mereshame, of cupric tresses, the formwhite foaminine, the ambersandalled. Good savours queen with the stem of Swuith Aftreck! Fit for king of Zundas! A mish he is as good as a mountain and, holy balm of seinsed myrries, everybody what is found of his gients he know Meistral Wickingson, furframed Noordwogen’s kampften, with complexion of blushing dolomite fanned by ozeon brisees, what naver saw his bedshead farrer and nuver met his swigamore, have his ignomen from prima signation of being Master Milchku, queerest man in the benighted queendom, and, adcraft aidant, how he found the kids. Other accuse about him as lochkneeghed forsunkener, dope in stockknob, all a meltingmoult after rhomatism, purely simply tammy ratkins. The kurds of Copt on the berberutters and their bedaweens! Even was shes whole begeds off before all his nahars in the koldbethizzdryel. No gudth! Not one zouz! They white-liveried ragsups, two Whales of the Sea of Deceit, they bloodiblabstard shooters, three Dromedaries of the Sands of Calumdonia. As is note worthies to shock his hind! Ur greeft on them! Such askors and their ruperts they are putting in for more osghirs is alse false liarnels. The froekenhalted victims! Whore affirm is agains sempry Lotta Karssens. They would lick their lenses before they would negatise a jompetter from his sodalites. In his contrary and on reality, which Bishop Bubwith bares to his whitness in his Just a Fication of Villumses, this Heer Assassor Neelsoen of sorestate hearing, diseased, formerly with Adenoiks, den feed all lighty, laxtleap great change of retiring family buckler, highly accurrect in his everythinks, from tencents coupoll to bargain basement, live with howthhold of nummer seven, wideawake, woundabout, wokinbetts, weeklings, in black velvet on geolgian mission senest mangy yaars, his rear in the lane pictures blanking same with autonaut and annexes, and got a daarlingt babyboy bucktooth, the thick of a gobstick, coming on ever so nerses nursely, gracies to goodess, at 81. That why all parks up excited about his gunnfodder. That why ecrazyaztecs and the crime ministers preaching him mornings and makes a power of spoon vittles out of his praverbs. That why he, persona erecta, glycorawman, arsenicful femorniser, for a trial by julias, in celestial sunhat, with two purses, agitating his theopot with wokkleabout shake, rather uncoherend, from one 18 to one 18 bis, young shy gay youngs. Sympoly for infusing up pritty lipidities to lock up their rhainodaisies and be nice and twainty in the shade. Old grand tut tut toucher up of young poetographies and he turn aroundabrupt red altfrumpishly like hear samhar tionnor falls some make one noise. It’s his last lap, Gigantic, fare him weal! Revelation! A fact. True bill. By a jury of matrons. Hump for humbleness, dump for dirts. And, to make a long stoney badder and a whorly show a parfact sight, his Thing went the wholyway rutup Suffrogate Strate.
Helpmeat too, contrasta toga, his fiery goosemother, laotsey taotsey, woman who did, he tell princes of the age about. You sound on me, judges! Suppose we brisken up, kings! Meet the Mem, Avenlith, all viviparous out of couple of lizards. She just as fenny as he is fulgar. How laat soever her latest still her sawlogs come up all standing. Psing a psalm of psexpeans, apocryphul of rhyme! His cheekmole of Allaph foriverever her allinall and his Kuaran never teachit her the be thee owner of thyself. So she not swop her eckcot heim for Howarden’s Castle, Englandwales. But be the alleance of iern on his flamen vestacoat, the fibule of broochbronze to his winter-mantle of pointefox. Who not knows she, the Madame Coolley-Couley, spawife to laird of manna, when first come into the pictures more as hundreads elskerelks’ yahrds of annams callaway, factory fresh and fiuming at the mouth, wronged by Hwemwednoget (magrathmagreeth, he takable a rap for that early party) and whenceforward, Ani Mama and her fiertey bustles, terrified of gmere gnomes of gmountains and furibound to be back in her mytinbeddy? Schi schi, she feightened allsouls at pignpugn and gats a pann in her stummi from the pialabellars in their pur war. Yet jackdicktating all around her about his poorliness due to panellism and grime for that he harboured her when feme sole, her zoravarn lhorde and givnergenral, and led her in antient consort ruhm and bound her durant coverture so as she cowed not steal from him, oz her or damman, so as if ever she’s beleaved by checkenbrooth death since both was parties to the feed it’s Hetman MacCumhal foots the funeral. Mealwhile she nutre him jacent from her elmer’s almsdish, giantar and tschaina as sieme as bibrondas with Foli Signur’s tinner roumanschy to fishle the ladwigs out of his lugwags, like a skittering kitty skattering hayels, when his favourites were all beruffled on him and her own undesirables justickulating, it was such a blowick day. Winden wanden wild like wenchen wenden wanton. The why if he but would bite and plug his baccypipes and renownse the devlins in all their pumbs and kip the streelwarkers out of the plague and nettleses milk from sickling the honeycoombe and kop Ulo Bubo selling foulty treepes, she would make massa dinars with her savuneen dealinsh and delicate her nut-brown glory cloack to Mayde Berenice and hang herself in Ostmannstown Saint Megan’s and make no more mulierage before mahatmas or mosle-mans, but would ondulate her shookerloft hat from Alpoleary with a viv baselgia and a clamast apotria like any purple cardinal’s princess or woman of the grave word to the papal’s legate from the Vactucum, Monsaigneur Rabbinsohn Crucis, with an ass of milg to his cowmate and chilterlings, on account of all he quaqueduxed for the hnor of Hrom and the nations abhord him and wop mezzo scudo to Sant Pursy Orelli that gave Luiz-Marios Josefs their loyal devouces to be offered up missas for vowts for widders.
Hear, O worldwithout! Tiny tattling! Backwoods, be wary! Daintytrees, go dutch! Bring lolave branches to mud cabins and peace to the tents of Ceder, Neomenie! The feast of Tubbournigglers is at hand. Shopshup, Inisfail! Timple temple tells the bells. In syngagyng a sangasongue. For all in Ondslosby.
But who comes yond with pire on poletop? He who relights our spearing torch, the moon. Evering height in chrystaldome, pritheeso, ana liev! And the hag they damename Coverfew hists from her lane. And, haste, ’tis time for bairns ta hame. Chickchilds, comeho to roo. Comehome to roo, wee chickchilds doo, when the wildwerewolf’s abroad. Ah, let’s away and let’s gay and let’s stay chez where the log foyer’s burning!
It darkles (tinct, tint), all this our funnaminal world. Yon marshpond by ruodmark verge is visited by the tide. Alvemmarea! We are circumveiloped by obscuritas. Man and belves frieren. There is a wish on them to be not doing or anything. Or just for rugs. Zoo koud! Drr, deff, coal lay on and, pzz, call us pyrress. Ha! Where is our highly honourworthy salutable spousefounderess? The foolish one of the family is within. Haha! Huzoor, where’s he? At house, to’s pitty. With Nancy Hands. Tsheetshee! Hound through the maize has fled. What hou! Isegrim under lolling ears. Far wol! And wheaten bells bide breathless. All. The trail of Gill not yet is to be seen, rocksdrops, up benn, down dell, a craggy road for rambling. Nor yet through starland that silver sash. What era’s o’ering? Lang gong late. Say long, scielo! Sillume, see lo! Selene, sail O! Amune! Ark!? Noh?! Nought stirs in spinney. The swayful pathways of the dragonfly spider stay still in reedery. Quiet takes back her folded fields. Tranquillest thanks. Adew. In deerhaven, imbraced, alleged, injoynted and unlatched, the birds, tommelise too, quail silens. ii. Luathan? Nuathan! Was avond ere awhile. Now conticinium. As Lord the Laohun is sheutseuyes. The time of lying together will come and the wildering of the night till cockeedoodle aubens Aurore. Panther monster. Send leabarrow loads amorrow. While loevdom shleeps. Elenfant has siang his triump, Great is Eliphas Magistrodontos, and after kneeprayer pious for behemuth and mahamoth will rest him from tusker toils. Salamsalaim! Rhinohorn isnoutso pigfellow but him ist gonz wurst. Kikikuki. Hopopodorme. Sobeast! No chare of beagles, frantling of peacocks, no muzzing of the camel, smuttering of apes. Lights, pageboy, lights! Brights we’ll be brights. With help of Hanoukan’s lamp. When otter leaps in outer parts then Yul remembers Mei. Her hung maid mohns are bluming, look, to greet those loes on coast of amethyst: arcglow’s seafire siemens lure and wextward warnerforth’s hookercrookers. And now, with robby brerfox’s fishy fable lissaned out, the threads simwhat toran and knots in its antargumends, the pesciolines in Liffeyetta’s bowl have stopped squiggling about Junoh and the whalk and feriaquintaism and pebble infinibility and the poissission of the hoghly course, and if Lubbernabohore laid his wizard’s horker to the ribber, save the qireqareqol and dabardin going on in his mount of knowledge (munt), he would not hear a flip flap in all Finnyland. Witchmam, watch of your night? Es voes, ez noes, nott voes, ges, noun. Darkpark’s acoo with sucking loves. Rosimund’s by her wishing well. Soon tempt-in-twos will stroll at venture and hunt-by-threes strut musketeering. Brace of girdles, brasse of beauys. With the width of the way for jogjoy. Hulker’s cieclest elbownunsense. Hold hard! And his dithering dathering waltzers of. Shtright! But meetings mate not as forsehn. Hesperons! And if you wand to Livmouth, wenderer, while Jempson’s weed decks Jacqueson’s Island, here lurks, bar hellpellhullpullthebell, none iron welcome. Bing. Bong. Bangbong. Thunderation! You took with the mulligrubs and we lack mulsum? No sirreebob! Great goodness, no! Were you Marely quean of Scuts or but Chrestien the Last (our duty to you, Chris! royalty, squat!), how matt your mark, though luked your johl, here’s dapplebellied mugs and troublebedded rooms and sawdust strown in expectoration. And, for ratification by specification of your information, Mr Knight, tuntapster, buttles; his alefru’s up to his hip. And Watsy Lyke sees after all rinsings and don’t omiss Kate, homeswab homely, put in with the bricks. A’s the sign and one’s the number. Where Chavvyout Chacer calls the cup and Pouropourim stands a stirrup. De oud huis bij de kerkegaard. So who over comes ever for Whoopee Weeks must put up with the Jug and Chambers.
But heed! Our thirty minutes war’s alull. All’s quiet on the felled of Gorey. Between the starfort and the thornwood brass castle flambs with mutton candles. Hushkah, a horn! Gadolmagtog! Qod es El? Housefather calls enthreateningly. From Brandenborgerthor. At Asa’s arthre. In thundercloud periwig. With lightning bug aflash from afinger. My souls and by jings, should he work his jaw to give down the banks and hark from the tomb! Ansighosa pokes in her potstill to souse at the sop be sodden enow and to hear to all the bubbles besaying: the coming man, the future woman, the food that is to build, what he with fifteen years will do, the ring in her mouth of joyous guard, stars astir and stirabout. A palashe for hirs, a saucy for hers and ladlelike spoons for the wonner. But ein and twee were never worth three. So they must have their final since he’s on parole. Et la pau’ Leonie has the choice of her lives between Josephinus and Mario-Louis for who is to wear the lily of Bohemey: Florestan, Thaddeus, Hardress or Myles? And lead raptivity captive. Like a Finn at a fair. Ready! Now for la bella! Icy-la-Belle!
The campus calls them. Ninan ninan, the gattling gan! Childs will be wilds. ’Twastold. And vamp, vamp, vamp, the girls are merchand. The horseshow magnete draws his field and don’t the fillyings fly? Educande of Sorrento, they newknow knowwell their Vico’s road. Arranked in their array and flocking for the fray on that old orangeray, Dolly Brae. For these are not on terms, they twain, bartrossers, since their baffle of Whatalose when Adam Leftos and the devil took our hindmost, gegifting her with his painapple, nor will not be atoned at all in fight to no finish, that dark deed doer, this wellwilled wooer, Jerkoff and Eatsoup, Yem or Yan, while felixed is who culpas does and harm’s worth healing and Brune is bad friendsch for Jour d’Anno. Tiggers and tuggers, they’re all for tenzones. Bettlimbraves. For she must walk out. And it must be with who? Teaseforhim. Toesforhim. Tossforhim. Two. Else there is danger of. Solitude.
Postreintroducing Jeremy, the chastenot coulter, the flowing taal that brooks no brooking runs on to say how, as it was mutualiter foretold of him by a timekiller to his spacemaker, velos ambos and arubyat knychts, with their tales within wheels and stucks between spokes, on the hike from Elms-tree to Stene and back, running awage with the use of reason (sics) and ramming amok at the brake of his voice (secs), his lasterhalft was set for getting the besterwhole of his yougendtougend, for control number thrice was operating the subliminal of his invaded personality. He nobit smorfi endgo poltri and let all the tondo gang bola del ruffo. Baito no know him mor. Eat larto altruis with most perfect stranger.
Boo, you’re through!
Hoo, I’m true?
Men, teacan a tea simmering, homo mavrone kerry O?
Teapotty, teapotty.
Kod knows. Anything ruind. Meetingless.
He wept indeiterum. With such a tooth he seemed to love his wee tart when a buy. Highly momourning, he see thee before him. Melained from nape to kneecap though vied from her girders up. Holy Santalto, cursing saint, sight most deletious to ross up the spyballs like exude of margary! And how him it heaviered that eyerim rust! An they bare falls witless against thee, how slight becomes a hidden wound! Soldwoter he wash him all time bigfeller bruisy place blong him. He no want missies blong all boy other look bruisy place blong him. Hence. It will paineth the chastenot in that where of him whence he had loseth his once for every, ever though mode grow moramor maenneritsch and the Tarara boom decay. Immaculacy, give but to drink to his shirt and all frohlined skirtaskortas must to change her tunics. So warred he from first to last forebanned and, betweenly, a smuggler for lifer. Lift the blank, ve veared as hell! Split the hvide and aye seize heaven! He knows for he’s seen it in black and white through his eyetrompit, trained upon jenny’s and all that sort of thing, which is dandymount to a clearobscure. Prettimaid tints may try their taunts: apple, bacchante, custard, dove, eskimo, feldgrau, ginger, hematite, isinglass, jet, kipper, lucile, mimosa, nut, oysterette, prune, quasimodo, royal, sago, tango, umber, vanilla, wisteria, xray, yesplease, zaza, philomel, theerose. What are they all by? Shee.
If you nude her in her prime, make sure you find her complementary or, by Angus Dagdasson and all his picciapiccions, on your very first occasion she’ll prick you where you’re proudest with her unsatt speagle eye. Look sharp, she’s signalling again from among the asters. Turn again, wistfultone, lode mere of Doubtlynn! Arise, Land-under-Wave! Clap your lingua to your pallet, drop your jowl with a jolt, tambourine until your breath slides, pet a pout and it’s out. Have you got me, Allysloper?
My top it was brought Achill’s low, my middle I ope before you, my bottom’s a valser if ever there valsed and my whole the flower that stars the day and is solly well worth your pilger’s fahrt. Where there’s a hitch, a head of things, let henker’s halter hang the halunkenend. For I see through your weapon. That cry’s not Cucullus. And his eyelids are painted. If my tutor here is cut out for an oldeborre I’m Flo, shy of peeps, you know. But when he beetles backwards, ain’t I fly? Pull the bough, peep, to see how we sleep. Bee Peep! Peepette! Would you like that lump of a tongue for lungeon or this Turkey’s delighter, hys hyphen mys? My bellyswain’s a twalf whule-hrusspower though he knows as much how to man a wife as Dunckle Dalton of matching wools. Shake hands through the thicketloch! O sweet swan water, my other is mouthfilled. This kissing wold’s full of killing fellows kneeling voyantly to the cope of heaven. And somebody’s coming, I feel for a fect. I’ve a seeklet to sell thee if old Deanus won’t be threaspanning. When you’ll next have the mind to retire to be wicked this is as dainty a fine way as any. Underwoods spells bushment’s business. So if you sprig poplar you’re bound to twig this. ’Twas my lord of Glendalough benedixed the gape for me that day at Long Entry, commanding the approaches to my intimest innermosts. Look how they’re browthered! Six thirteens at Blanche de Blanche’s of 3 Behind Street and 2 Turnagain Lane. Awabeg is my callby, Magnus here’s my max, Wonder One’s my cipher and Seven Sisters is my nighbrood. Radouga, Rab, will ye na pick them in their pinks of panties. You can colour up till you’re prawn while I go squirt with any cockle. When here who adolls me infuxes sleep. But if this could see with its backsight he’d be the grand old greeneyed lobster. He’s my first viewmarc since Valentine. Wink’s the winning word.
Luck!
In the house of breathings lies that word, all fairness. The walls are of rubinen and the glittergates of elfinbone. The roof herof is of massicious jasper and a canopy of Tyrian awning rises and still descends to it. A grapecluster of lights hangs therebeneath and all the house is filled with the breathings of her fairness, the fairness of fondance and the fairness of milk and rhubarb and the fairness of roasted meats and uniomargrits and the fairness of promise with consonantia and avowals. Their lies her word, you reder! The height herup exalts it and the lowness herdown abaseth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from the pomoeria. A window, a hedge, a prong, a hand, an eye, a sign, a head and keep your other augur on her paypaypay. And you have it, old Sem, pat as ah be seated! And Sunny, my gander, he’s coming to land her. The boy which she now adores. She dores. Oh backed von dem zug! Make weg for their tug!
With a ring ding dong they raise clasped hands and advance more steps to retire to the saum. Curtsey one, curtsey two, with arms akimbo, devotees.
Irrelevance.
All sing:
— I rose up one maypole morning and saw in my glass how nobody loves me but you. Ugh! Ugh!
All point in the shem direction as if to shun.
— My name is Mishamisha but call me Toffeytough. I mean Mutton-chough. It was her, boy the boy, that was loft in the larch. Ogh! Ogh!
Her reverence.
All laugh.
They pretend to helf while they simply schutet at him sauce to make hims prich. And ith ith noth cricquette, Sally Lums. Not by ever such a lot. Twentynines of bloomers gegging een man arose. Avis was there and trilled her about it. She’s her sex, for certain. So to celebrate the occasion:
— Willst thou rossy banders havind?
He simules to be tight in ribbings round his rumpffkorpff.
— Are you Swarthants that’s hits on a shorn stile?
He makes semblant to be swiping their chimbleys.
— Can you ajew, ajew, fro’ Scheidan?
He finges to be cuttling up with a pair of sissers and to be buythings off their maidens ends pitting their heads into their facepails.
Spickspuck! Spoken.
So now be hushy, little pukers! Side here roohish, cleany fuglers! Grandicellies, all stay zitty! Adultereux, rest as befour! For you’ve jollywelly dawdled all the day. When ye coif tantoncle’s hat then’ll be largely tempts for that. Yet’s the time for being now, now, now.
For a burning would is come to dance inane. Glamours hath moidered’s lieb and herfore Coldours must leap no more. Lackbreath must leap no more.
Lel lols for libelman libling his lore. Lolo Lolo, liebermann, you loved to be leaving Libnius. Lift your right to your Liber Lord. Link your left to your lass of liberty. Lala Lala, Leapermann, your lep’s but a loop to lee.
A fork of hazel o’er the field invokes the verveine virgins’ ode. If you cross this rood as you roamed the rand I’m blessed but you’d feel him a blasting rod. Behind me, free from evil smells! Perdition stinks before us.
Agatharept they fleurely to Nebnos will and Rofocale. Twice is he gone to quest of her, thrice is she now to him. So see we so as seed we sow. And their prunkqueen kilt her kirtles up. And set out. And her troupe came heeling, O. And what do you think that pride was drest in? Voollykins’ diamondinah’s vestin. For ever they scent where air she went. While all the fauns’ flares widens wild to see a florals’ school.
Led by Lignifer, in four hops of the happiest, ac beth cac duff, a marrer of the sward incoronate, the few fly the farbetween! We haul minymony on that piebold nig. Will any dubble dabble on the bay? Noc for jocubus? Nic for jay? Attilad! Attattilad! Get up, Goth’s scourge on you! There’s a visitation in your impluvium. Hun! Hun!
He standth theirs mum in his natural, oblious autamnesically of his very proprium (such is stockpot leaden, so did sousepun crake), the wont to be wanton maid a will to be wise. Thrust from the light, apophotorejected, he spoors loves from her heats. He blinkth. But his wrath’s the higher where those wreathe charity. For all of these have been thisworlders. Time liquescing into state, pitiless age grows angelhood. Though, as he stehs, most anysing may befallhim, from a song of a witch to the totter of Blackarts, given a fammished devil, a young sourceress and (eternal conjunction) the permission of overalls with the cuperation of nightshirt. If he spice east he seethes in sooth and if he pierce north he wilts in the waist. And what wonder with the murkery viceheid in the shade? The specks on his lapspan are his foul deed thoughts, wishmarks of mad imogenation. Take they off, sah! Make thee off, soh! But Funnylegs are leanly. A bimbamb bum! They vain would convert him to be hers in the word. Gush, they wooed! Gash, they’re fair ripecherry!
As for she could shake him. An oaf, no more. Still, he’d be good tutor two in his big armschair lerningstoel and she be waxen in his hands. Turning up and fingering over the most dantellising peaches in the lingerous longerous book of the dark. Look at this passage about Galileotto! I know it is difficult but when your goche I go dead. Turn now to this patch upon Smacchiavelluti! Soot allours, he’s sure to spot it! ’Twas ever so in monitorology since Headmaster Adam became Eva Harte’s toucher, in omnibus moribus et temporibus, with man’s mischief in his mind whilst her pupils swimmed too heavenlies. Let his be exaspirated, letters be blowed! I is a femaline person. O, of provocative gender. U unisingular case.
Which is why trumpers are mixed up in duels and here’s B. Rohan meets N. Ohlan for the prize of a thou.
But listen to the mocking birde to micking barde making bared! We’ve heard it aye since songdom was gemurrmal.
As he was queering his shoolthers. So was I. And as I was cleansing my fausties. So was he. And as way ware puffin our blowbags. Sou wous you.
Come, thrust! Go, parry! Dvoinabrathran, dare! The mad long ramp of manchind’s parlements, the learned lacklearning, merciless as wonderful.
— Now may Saint Mowy of the Pleasant Grin be your everglass and even-prospect!
— Feeling dank.
Exchange, reverse.
— And may Saint Jerome of the Harlot’s Curse make family three of you which is much abedder!
— Grassy ass ago.
And each was wrought with his other. And his continence full.
The bivetellines, Metellus and Ametallikos, her crown pretenders, obscindgemeinded bickerers, varying directly, uruseye each oxesother, super-fetated (never cleaner of lamps frowned fiercelier on anointer of hinges), while their treegrown girls, king’s game, if he deign so, are in such transfusion just to know twigst timidy twomeys, for gracious sake, who is artthoudux from whose heterotropic, the sleepy or the glouch, for, shyly bawn and showly nursured, exceedingly nice girls can strike exceedingly hard times unless so richtly chosen’s by (what though of riches he have none and hope dashes hope on his heart’s horizon) to gar their great moments greater. The thing is he must be put strait on the spot, no mere waterstichystuff in a selfmade world that you can’t believe a word he’s written in, not for pie, but one’s only owned by natural rejection. Charley, you’re my darwing! So sing they sequent the assent of man. Till they go round if they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed. They keep. Step keep. Step. Stop.
Who is Fleur? Where is Ange? Or Gardoun?
Creedless, croonless hangs his haughty. There end no moe red devil in the white of his eye. Braglodyte him do a katadupe! A condamn quondam jontom sick of a suckbut! He does not know how his grandson’s grandson’s grandson’s grandson will stammer up in Peruvian for in the ersebest idiom I have done it equals I so shall do. He dares not think why the grandmother of the grandmother of his grandmother’s grandmother coughed Russky with suchky husky accent since in the mouthart of the slove look at me now means I once was otherwise. Nor that the mappamund has been changing pattern as youth play moves from street to street since time was and races were and wise ants hoarded and sauterelles were spendthrifts, no thing making newthing wealthshowever for a silly old Sol, healthytobedder and latewiser. Nor that the turtling of a London’s alderman is ladled out by the waggerful to the regionals of pigmyland. His part should say in honour bound: So help me symethew, sammarc, selluc and singin, I will stick to you, by gum, no matter what, bite simbum, and in case of the event coming off beforehand, even so you was to release me for the sake of the other cheap girl’s baby’s name, plaster me but I will pluckily well pull on the buckskin gloves because it is the month of brumes. But Noodynaady’s actual ingrate tootle is of come into the garner, mauve, and thy nice are stores of morning and buy me a bunch of iodines.
Evidentament he has failed as tiercely as the deuce before. For she is wearing none of the three. And quite as patently there is a sort of a hole in the ballet through which the rest fell out. For to explain why the residue is, was, or will not be, according to the eighth axiom, proceeded with, namely, since ever apart that gossan duad, so sure as their’s a patch on a pomelo, this yam ham in never live could, the shifting about of the lasses and the tug-of-love of the lads ending with a great deal of rough merriment, hoots, screams, scarf drill, cap fecking, ejaculations of aurinos, reechoable mirthpeals and general thumb-to-nosery (Myama’s a yaung yaung country), one must reckon with the sudden and gigantesquesque appearance unwithstandable as a general election in Barnado’s bearskin amongst the brawlmiddle of this village childergarten of the largely longsuffering laird of Lucanhof.
But, Vrayedevraye Blankdeblank, god of all machineries and tomestone of Barnstaple, by mortisection or vivisuture, splitten up or recompounded, an isaac jacquemin mauromormo milesian, how accountibus for him, moreblue?
Was he pitssched for an ensemple, as certain have dognosed of him, against our seawall by Rurie, Thoath and Cleaver, those three stout sweyn-hearts, Orion of the Orgiasts, Meereschal MacMuhun, Ipsedadden, the product of the extremes giving quotidients to our means, your brutest layaman with the princest champion in our archdeaconry, or so yclept, as might occur to anyone, from Clio’s clippings, which the chronicler of chivalries is sulpicious save he scan, for ancients link with presents as the human chain extends, have done, do and will again, as John, Polycarp and Ireneus eye-to-eye ayewitnessed unto Paddy Palmer, while monks sell yew to archers or the water of the livvying goes the way of all fish from Sara’s drawhead, the corralsome, to Isaac’s, the lauphed butt one, with her minnelisp ex-torreor to his moanolothe inturned? So Perrichon with Bastienne or heavy Humph with airy Nan. Ricqueracqbrimbillyjicqueyjocqjolicass? How sowesthow, dulcisamica? A and aa ab ad abu abiad. A babbel men dub gulch of tears.
And he! Who? Old Joe, the Java Jane, older even than Adam Costollo. The mar of murmury mermers to the mind’s ear, uncharted rock, evasive weed. Only the caul knows his thousandfirst name, Hocus Crocus, Esquilocus, Finnfinn the Faineant. Doth all this two way teleopic come aft to you, puritysnooper, as eft it were longtimes ofter when Potollomuck Sotyr or Sourdanapplous the Lollapaloosa put back Omega with the beths of alpability? The charges are, you will remember; the chances are, you won’t. We are recurrently meeting em, par Mahun Mesme, in cycloannalism, from space to space, time after time, in various phases of scripture as in various poses of sepulture. Greets Godd, Groceries! How feel full foes in furrinarr? Merodach! Defend the King! Hoet of the rough throat attack but whose say is soft and whose ee has a cute angle, he whose hut is a hissarlik even as her hennin’s aspire. And insodaintily she’s a quine of selmashaker while as a murder of corpse when his magot’s up he’s the best berrathon sanger in all the aisles of Skaldignavia. As who shall hear. For now at last is Longabed going to be gone to, that more than man, prince of Bunnicombe of wide roadsterds, the herblord the gillyflowrets so fain fan to flatter about. Artho is the name is on the hero, Capellissato, shoehanded slaughterer of the shader of our leaves.
Attach him! Hold!
Yet stir thee, to clay, Tamor!
Why wilt thou erewaken him from his earth, O summonorother? He is weatherbitten from the dusts of ages. The hour of his closing hies to hand; the tocsin that shall claxonise his wareabouts. If one who remembered his webgoods and tealofts were to ask of any hooper for whose it was the storks were quitting Aquileyria, this trundler would not wot; if other who found faith when his depth charge bombed our barrel slipway were to—!
Jehosophat, what doom is here! Rain ruth on them, sire! The wing of Moykill cover him! The Bulljon Bossbrute quarantee him! Calavera, caution! Slaves to Virtue, save his Veritotem! Bearara Polearis, procul abeat! The Ivorbonegorer of Danamaraca, be his Hector Protector! Woldomar with Vasa, peel your peeps! And try to saviourise the nights of labour to the order of our blooding worold! While Pliny the Younger writes to Pliny the Elder his calamolumen of contumellas, what Aulus Gellius picked on Micmacrobius and what Vitruvius pocketed from Cassiodorus. Like we larnt from that Buke of Lukan in Dublin’s capital, Kongdam Coombe. Even if you are the kooper of the winkel itself, over measure never lost a licence. Nor a duckindouche divulse from bath and breakfast. And for the honour of Alcohol drop that you-know-what-I’ve-come-about-I-saw-your-act air! Punch may be pottleproud but his Judy’s a wife’s wit better.
For the producer (Mr John Baptister Vickar) caused a deep abuliousness to descend upon the Father of Truants and, at a side issue, pluterpromptly brought on the scene the cutletsized consort, foundling filly of fortyshilling fostertailor and shipman’s shopahoyden, weighing ten pebble ten, scaling five footsy five, and spanning thirtyseven inchettes round the good companions, twentynine ditties round the wishful waistress, thirtyseven alsos round the answer to everything, twentythree of the same round each of the quis separabits, fourteen round the beginning of happiness and nicely nine round her shoed for slender.
And eher you could pray mercy to goodness or help with your hokey or mehokeypoo, Gallus’s hen has collared her pullets. That’s where they have owreglias for. Their bone of contention, flesh to their thorns, prest as Prestissima, makes off in a thinkling (and not one hen only nor two hens nayther but every blessed brigid came aclucking and aclacking), while, a rum a rum, the ram of all harns, Bier, Wijn and Spirituosen for consumption on the premises, advokaat withouten pleaders, Mas marrit, Pas poulit, Ras ruddist of all, though flamifestouned from galantifloures, is hued and cried of each’s colour.
Home all go. Halome. Blare no more ramsblares, oddmund barkes! And cease your fumings, kindalled bushies! And sherrygoldies, yeassyngnays; your wildeshaweshowe moves swiftly sterneward! For here the holy language. Soons to come. To pausse.
’Tis goed. Het best.
For they are now tearing, that is, teartoretorning. Too soon are coming taskbooks and goody, hominy bread and bible bee with jaggery-yo and juju-jaw, Fine’s French phrases from the Grandmère des Grammaires and bothered parsenaps from the Four Massores, Mattatias, Marusias, Lucanias, Jokinias, and what happened to our eleven in thirtytwo antepostdating the Valgur Eire and why is limbo where is he and what are the sound waves saying that ceased ere they all wayed wrong and Amnist anguished axes Collis and where fishngaman fetched the mongafesh from and whatfor paddy-bird notplease rancoon and why was Sindat sitthing on his sitbom like a saildior, with what the doc did in the doil, not to mention define the hydraulics of common salt and, its denier crid of old provaunce, where G.P.O. is zentrum and D.U.T.C. are radients write down by the frequency of the scores and crores of your refractions the valuations in the pice of dinggyings on N.C.R. and S.C.R.
That little cloud, a nibulissa, still hangs isky. Singabed sulks before slumber. Light at night has an alps on his druckhouse. Thick bread and thin butter or after you with me. Caspi, but gueroligue stings the air. Gaylegs to riot of us! Gallooks to lafft! What is amaid today todo? So angelland all weeping bin that Izzy most unhappy is. Fain Essie, fie onhapje? laughs her stella’s vispirine.
While, running about their ways, going and coming, now at rhimba rhomba, now in trippiza trappaza, pleating a pattern Gran Geamatron showed them of gracehoppers, auntskippers and coneyfarm leppers, they jeerilied along, durian gay and marian maidcap, lou Dariou beside la Marieto, all boy more all girl singoutfeller longa house blong store Huddy, whilest nin nin nin nin that Boorman’s clock, a winny on the tinny side, ninned nin nin nin nin, about old Father Barley, of how he got up of a morning arley and he met with a plattonem blondes named Hips and Haws and fell in with a foxy fellows of Trinity some headder Skowood Shaws like (You’ll catch it, don’t fret, Mrs Tummy Laptin! Come indoor, Scoffynosey, and shed your swank!) auld Daddy Deacon who could stow well his place of beacon but he never could hold his kerosene’s candle to (The nurse’ll give it to you, stickypots! And you wait, my lasso, fecking the twine!) bold Farmer Burleigh who wuck up in a hurly wurly where he huddly could wuddle to wallow his weg tilbag of the baker’s booth to beg of (You’re well held now, Missy Cheekspeer, and your panto’s off! Fie, for shame, Ruth Wheatacre, after all the booz said!) illed Diddiddy Achin for the prize of a pease of bakin with a pinch of the panch of the ponch in jurys for (Ah, crabeyes, I have you, showing off to the world with that gape in your stocking!) wold Forrester Farley who, in deesperation of deispiration at the diasporation of his diesparation, was found of the round of the sound of the lound of the…
Lukkedoerendunandurraskewdylooshoofermoyportertooryzooysphalna-bortansporthaokansakroidverjkapakkapuk.
Byfall.
Upploud!
The play thou schouwburgst, Game, here endeth. The curtain drops by deep request.
Uplouderamain!
Gonn the gawds, Gunnar’s gustspells. When the h, who the hu, how the hue, where the huer? Orbiter onswers: lots lives lost. Fionia is fed up with Fidge Fudgesons. Sealand snorres. Rendningrocks roguesreckning reigns. Gwds with gnrs are gttrdmmrng. Hlls vlls. The timid hearts of words all exeomnosunt. Mannagad, lammalelouh, how do that come? By Dad, youd nat heed thet fert? Fulgituder ejist rowdownan tonuout. Qorq! And buncskleydoodle! Kidoosh! Of their fear they broke, they ate wind, they fled; where they ate there they fled; of their fear they fled, they broke away. Go to, let us extol Azrael with our harks, by our brews, on our jambses, in his gaits. To Mezouzalem with the Dephilim, didits dinkun’s dud? Yip! Yup! Yarrah! And let Nek Nekulon extol Mak Makal and let him say unto him: Immi ammi Semmi. And shall not Babel be with Lebab? And he war. And he shall open his mouth and answer: I hear, O Ismael, how thy laud is only as my loud is one. If Nekulon shall be havonfalled surely Makal haven hevens. Go to, let us extell Makal, yea, let us exceedingly extell. Though you have lien amung your posspots my excellency is over Ismael. Great is him whom is over Ismael and he shall mekanek of Mak Nakulon. And he deed.
Uplouderamainagain!
For the Clearer of the Air from on high has spoken in tumbuldum tambaldam to his tembledim tombaldoom worrild and, moguphonoised by that phonemanon, the unhappitents of the earth have terrerumbled from firmament unto fundament and from tweedledeedumms down to twiddle-deedees.
Loud, hear us!
Loud, graciously hear us!
Now have thy children entered into their habitations. And nationglad, camp meeting over, to shin it, Gov be thanked! Thou hast closed the portals of the habitations of thy children and thou hast set thy guards thereby, even Garda Didymus and Garda Domas, that thy children may read in the book of the opening of the mind to thy light and err not in the darkness which is the afterthought of thy nomatter by the guardiance of those guards which are thy bodemen, the cheeryboyum chirryboth with the kerrybommers in their krubeems, Pray-your-Prayers Timothy and Back-to-Bunk Tom.
Till tree from tree, tree among trees, tree over tree become stone to stone, stone between stones, stone under stone for ever.
O Loud, hear the wee beseech of thees, of each of these thy unlitten ones! Grant sleep in hour’s time, O Loud!
That they take no chill. That they do ming no merder. That they shall not gomeet madhowlattrees.
Loud, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low!
Ha he hi ho hu.
Mummum.
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As we there are where are we are we here haltagain. By recourse, of course, recoursing from Tomtittot to Teetootomtotalitarian. Tea tea too oo. |
Under et ubi. |
| With his broad and hairy face, to Ireland a disgrace. |
Whomtil comes over. Who to caps ever. And howelse do we hook our hike to find that pint of porter place? Am shot, says the bigguard.1 |
Sic. |
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Whence. Quick lunch, buy our lefts, wheel, to where. Long Livius Lane, |
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| Menly about peebles. |
mid Mezzofanti Mall, diagonising Lavatery Square, up Tycho Brahe Crescent,2 shouldering Berkeley’s Alley, querfixing Gainsborough Carfax, under |
Imaginable itinerary through the particular universal. |
| Dont retch meat fat salt lard sinks down (and out). |
Guido d’Arezzo’s Gadeway, by New Livius Lane till where we whiled while we whithered. Old Vico Roundpoint. But fahr, be fear! And natural, simple, slavish, filial. The marriage of Montan wetting his moll, we know, like any enthewsyass cuckling a hoyden,3 in her rougey gipsylike chinkaminx’ pulsh-andjupeyjade and her petsybluse indecked o’ voylets.4 When who was wist was wan. En elv, et fjaell. And the whirr of the whins humming us howe. His hume. Hencetaking tides we haply return, trumpeted by prawns and ensigned with seakale, to befinding ourself when old is said in one and maker mates with made (O my!), having conned the cones and meditated the mured and pondered the pensils and ogled the olymp and delighted in her |
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| Swiney Tod, ye Daimon Barbar! |
dianaphous and cacchinated behind his culosses, afore a mosoleum, Length Withought Breath, of him, a chump of the evums, upshoot of picnic or stupor out of sopor, Cave of Kids or Hymanian Glattstonebury, denary, danery, |
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| Dig him in the rubsh! |
donnery, domm,5 who, entiringly as he continues highlyfictional, tumulous |
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| Ungodly old Ardrey Cronwall beeswaxing the convulsion box. |
under his chthonic exterior but plain Mr Tumulty in muftilife, in his antesipiences as in his recognisances, is (Dominic Directus) a manyfeast munificent more mob than man. |
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Ain soph,1 this upright one, with that noughty besighedhim zeroine? To see in his horrorscup he is mehrkurios than saltz of sulphur. Terror of the noonstruck by day, cryptogam of each nightly bridable. But, to speak broken heaventalk, is he? Who is he? Whose is he? Why is he? Howmuch is he? Which is he? When is he? Where is he?2 How is he? And what the decans is there about him anyway, the decemt man? Easy, calm your haste! Approach to lead our passage! |
Constitution of the consstitutionable as constitutional. |
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This bridge is upper.
Cross.
Thus come to castle.
Knock.3
A password, thanks.
Yes, pearse.
Well, all be dumbed!
O really?4 |
Probapossible prolegomena to ideoreal history. |
| Swing the banjo, bantams, bounce-the-baller’s blown to fook. |
Hoo cavedin earthwight
At furscht krach of thunder.5
When Shoo, his flutterby,
Was netted and named.6 |
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| Thsight near left me eyes when I seen her put thounce otay ithpot. |
Erdnacrusha, requiestress, wake em!
And let luck’s puresplutterall lucy at ease!7
To house as wise fool ages builded.
Sow byg eat.8 |
|
Quartandwds. |
Staplering to tether to, steppingstone to mount by; and coach house entrance as the Boote’s at Pickardstown. And that skimmelk steed still in the groundloftfan. As over all. Or be these wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies, of booth of Baws the balsamboards?9 Burials be bally-houraised! So let Bacchus e’en call! Inn inn! Inn inn! Where. The babbers |
Gnosis of precreate determination. Agnosis of postcreate determinism. |
| Tickets for the Tailwaggers Terrierpuppy Raffle. |
ply the pen. The bibbers drang the den. The papplicom, the pubblicam, he’s turning tin for ten. From seldomers that most frequent him. That same erst crafty hakemouth which of foggy old, under the assumed name of Ignotus Loquor, harangued bellyhooting fishdrunks on their favourite |
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| Smith, no home. |
stamping ground from a fathertheobalder brake.1 Rolf the Ganger, Rough the Gangster, not a feature alike and the face the same.2 And Egyptus, the |
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| Mars speaking. |
incenstrobed, as Cyrus heard of him? And Major A. Shaw after he got the miner smellpex? And old Whiteman self, the blighty blotchy, beyond the bays, hope of Ostrogothic and Ottomanic father converters, despair of Pan-demia’s postwartem plastic surgeons, Hispano-Cathayan-Euxine, Castilian-Emeratic-Hebridian, Espanol-Cymric-Helleniky? But it was all so long ago. Pastimes are past times. Now let bygones be bei Gunne’s. Saa, leddies, er it in this warken werden, minne boerne, and it vild need olderwise3 since primal made alter in garden of Idem. The tasks above are as the flasks |
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| Non quod sed quiat. |
below, saith the Emerald Canticle of Hermes. And all’s loth and pleasestir, are we told, on excellent inkbottle authority, solarsystemised, seriolcosmically, in a more and more almightily expanding universe under one, there is rhymeless reason to believe, original sun. Securely judges orb |
|
| Hearasay in paradox lust. |
terrestrial.4 Haud certo ergo. But O felicitous culpability, sweet bad cess to you for an archetypt! |
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Honour commercio’s energy yet aid the linkless proud, the plurable with everybody and ech with pal, this ernst of Allsap’s ale hailaday of roaring month with its two lunar eclipses and its three saturnine settings! Horn of Heatthen, highbrowed! Brook of Life, bachfrish! Amnios amnium, fluminiculum flaminulinorum! We seek the Blessed One, the Harbourer-cum-Enheritance. Even Canaan the Hateful. Ever a-going, ever a-coming. Between a stare and a sough. Fossilisation, all branches.5 |
Archaic zelotypia and the odium teleologicum. |
| Bags. |
Wherefore Petra sware unto Ulma: By the mortals’ frost! But Ulma sware |
|
| Balls. |
unto Petra: On my veiny life! |
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In theses places sojournemus, where Eblinn water, leased of carr and fen, leaving amont her shoals and salmonbrowses, whom inshore breezes woo with freshets, windeth to her broads. A phantom city, phaked of philim pholk, bowed and sould for a four of hundreds of manhood in their three |
The localisation of legend leading to the legalisation of latifudism. |
| Move up, Mackinerny! Make room for Muckinurney! |
and threescore fylkers for a price partitional of twenty six and six. By this riverside of our sunnybank,1 how buona the vista, by Santa Rosa! A field of May, the very vale of Spring. Orchards here are lodged: sainted lawrels evremberried: you have a hoig view ashwald: a glen of marrons and of thorns: Gleannaulinn, Ardeevin: purty glint of plaising height. This Norman court at boundary of the ville, yon creepered tower of a church of Ereland, meet for true saints in worshipful assemblage,2 with our king’s house of stone, belgroved of mulbrey, the still that was mill and Kloster that was Yeomansland, the ghastcold tombshape of the quick foregone on, the loftleaved elm Lefanunian abovemansioned, each, every, all is for the retro-spectioner. Skole! Agus skole igen!3 Sweetsome as auburn cometh up as a selfreizing flower that fragolance of the fraisey beds: the phoenix, his pyre, is still flaming away with trueprattight spirit: the wren his nest is niedelig as the turrises of the Sabines are televisible. Here are the cottage and the bungalow for the cobbeler and the brandnewburgher:4 but Izolde, her |
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| In snowdrop, trou-de-dentelle, flesh and heliotrope. |
chaplet gardens, an litlee plads af liefest pose arride the wimmerful wonders off, the winnerful wonnerful wanders off,5 with hedges of ivy and hollywood and bower of mistletoe, are, tho if it theem tho and yeth if you pleathe, for the blithehaired daughter of Angoisse.6 All out of two barreny old perishers, Tytonyhands and Vlossyhair, a kilolitre in metromyriams. Presepeprosapia, the parent bole. Wone tabard, wine tap and warm tavern7 and, by ribbon development, from contact bridge to lease lapse, only two millium two humbered and eighty thausig nine humbered and sixty radiolumin |
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| Here’s our dozen cousins from the starves on tripes. |
lines to the wustworts of Finntown’s generous poet’s office. Distorted mirrage, aloofliest of the plain, wherein the boxomness of the bedelias8 makes hobbyhodge happy in his hole.9 The store and charter, Treetown Castle under Lynne. Rivapool? Hod a brieck on it! But its piers eerie, its span spooky, its toll but a till, its parapets all peripateting, D’Oblong’s by his by. Which we all pass. Pons. In our snoo. Znore. While we hitherward the thither. Schein. Shore. Which assoars us from the murk of the mythelated in the barrabelowther, bedevere butlered table round, past Morningtop’s necessity and Harington’s invention, to the clarience of the childlight in the studiorium upsturts. Here we’ll dwell on homiest powers, love at the latch with novices nig and nag. The chorus: the principals. For the rifocillation of their inclination to the manifestation of irritation: doldorboys and doll.1 After sound, light and heat, memory, will and understanding. |
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Here (the memories framed from walls are minding) till wranglers for wringwrowdy wready are, F ,at gaze, respecting, fourteenth baronet, |
Preausteric man and his pursuit of panhysteric woman. |
| Bet you fippence, anythesious, there’s no puggatory, are yous game? |
meet, altrettanth bancorot, chaff, and ere commence commencement catalaunic when Aetius’s check chokewill Attil’s gambit (that buxon breezeup, give it a burl!), lead us seek, O june of eves the jenniest, thou who fleest ficklesome the fond fervid frondeur to thickly thyself attach with thine self-teased ensuer,2 ondrawer of our unconscionable, flickerflapper fore our unterdrugged,3 lead us seek, lote us see, light us find, let us miss not Maida-date, Mimosa Multimimetica, the maymeaminning of maimoomeining! Elpis, thou fountain of the greeces, all shall speer theeward,4 from kongen in his canteenhus to knivers hind the knoll. Ausonius Audacior and gael, |
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| There was a sweet hopeful culled Cis. |
gillie, gall.5 Singalingalying. Storiella as she is syung. Whence, plutonically pursuant on briefest glimpse from gladrags, followeup with endspeaking nots for yestures pretty Proserpronette whose slit satchel spilleth peas. |
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Belisha beacon, beckon bright! Usherette, unmesh us! That grene ray of earong it waves us to yonder as the red, blue and yellow flogs time on the domisole,6 with a blewy blow and a windigo. Where flash becomes word and silents selfloud. To trace congeners, trebly bounden and asservaged twainly. Adamman,7 Emhe, Issossianusheen and sometypes Yggely ogs Weib. Uwayoei!8 So mag this sybilette be our shibboleth that we may |
Urges and widerurges in a primitive sept. |
| The Big Bear bit the Sailor’s Only. Trouble, trouble, trouble. |
syllable her well! Vetus may be occluded behind the mou in Veto but Nova will be nearing as their radient among the Nereids. A one of charmers, ay, Una Unica. Charmers who, under the branches of the elms, in shoes as yet |
|
| Forening Unge Kristlike Kvinne. |
unshent by stoniness, wend, went, will wend a way of honey myrrhs and rambler roses, mistymusky, while still the Maybe mantles the meiblumes fore ever her If has faded from the fleur,1 their arms enlocked |
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| Telltale me all of annaryllies. |
(ringrang, the chimes of sexappealing as Conchitas with Sentas stray,2 rung!), all thinking all of it, the It with an itch in it, the All every inch of it, the pleasure each will preen her for, the business each was bred to breed by.3 |
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| |
Soon jeminijohns will cudgel about some a rhythmatick or other over Browne and Nolan’s divisional tables whereas she, of nimious novence charily |
Early notions of acquired rights and the in fluence of collective tradition upon the individual. |
| Will you carry my can and fight the fairies? |
being cupid for mug’s wumping, grooser’s grubbiness, andt’s avarice and grossopper’s grandegaffe with her tootpettypout of jemenfichue will sit and knit on solfa sofa.4 Stew of the evening, booksyful stew. And a bodikin a |
|
| Allma Mathers, Auctioneer. |
boss in the Thimble Theatre. But all is her inbourne. Intend. From gramma’s grammar she has it that if there is a third person, mascarine, phelinine or nuder, being spoken abad it moods prosode from a first person speaking to her second which is the direct object that has been spoken to, with and at. Take the dative with his oblative5 for, even if obsolete, it is always of interest, so spake gramma on the impetus of her imperative, only mind you’re |
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| Old Gavelkind the Gamper and he’s as daff as you’re erse. |
genderous towards his reflexives such that I was to your grappa (Bott’s trousend, hore a mann uff!) when him was me hedon6 and mine, what the lewdy saying, his analectual pygmyhop.7 It’s a wild’s kitten, my dear, who can tell a wilkling from a warthog. For you may be as practical as is predicable but you must have the proper sort of accident to meet that kind of a being with a difference.8 There is comfortism in the knowledge that often hate on first hearing comes of love by second sight. Have your little sintalks in the dunk of subjunctions, dual in duel and prude with pruriel, but even the aoriest chaparound whatever plaudered perfect anent prettydotes and haec genua omnia may perhaps chance to be about to be in the case to be becoming a pale peterwright in spite of all your tense accusatives whilstly you’re wallfioored9 like your gerandiums for the better half of a yearn or sob. Flame at his fumbles but freeze on his fist.10 Every letter is a godsend: ardent Ares, brusque Boreas and glib Ganymede like zealous Zeus, |
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| Undante umoroso, M. 50·50. |
the O’Megisthest of all. To me or not to me, satis thy quest on. Werbungsap! Jeg suis, vos wore a gentleman, thou arr, I am a quean. Is a game |
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 |
over? The game goes on. Cookcook! Search me. The beggar the maid the bigger the mauler. And the grosser the patrarc the griefer the pinch. And that’s what your doctor knows. O love it is the commonknounest thing how it pashes the plutous and the paupe.1 Pop! And, egg she active or spoon she passive, all them fine clauses in Lindley and Murrey’s never braught the participle of a present to a desponent hortatrixy, vindicatively I say it, from her postconditional future. Lumpsome is who lumpsum pays. Quantity counts though accents falter. Yoking apart and oblique orations parsed to |
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| I’ll go for that small polly if you’ll suck to your lebbensquatsch. |
one side, a brat,2 alanna, can choose from so many, be he a solicitor’s appendix, a pipe clerk or free functionist flyswatter, that perfect little cad, from the languors and weakness of limberlimbed lassihood till the head, back and heartaches of waxed-up womanage, and heaps on heaps of other things too. Note the Respectable Irish Distressed Ladies and the Merry Mustard Frothblowers of Humphreystown Associations. Atac first, queckqueck quicks after. Beware how in that hist subtaile of schlangder3 lies liaison—to tease oreilles! To vert embowed set proper penchant. But learn from that ancient tongue to be middle old modern to the minute. A spitter that can be depended on. Though Wonderlawn’s lost us for ever. Alis, alas, she broke the glass! Liddell looker through the leafery, ours is mistery of pain.4 You may spin on Youthlit’s bike and multiplease your Mike and |
|
| O’Mara Farrell. |
Nike with your kickshoes on the algebrars but, volve the virgil page and view, the O of woman is long when burly those two muters sequent her so |
|
| Verschwindibus. |
from Nebob5 see you never stray who’ll nimm you nice and nehm the day. |
|
Ulstria Monastir Leninstar and Connecticut. |
One hath just been areading, hath not one, ya, ya, in their memoiries of Hireling’s puny wars, end so, und all, ga, ga, of The O’Brien, The O’Connor, The MacLoughlin and The MacNamara, with summed their appendage, da, da, of Sire Jeallyous Seizer, that gamely torskmester,6 with his duo |
Concomitance of courage, counsel and constancy. Ordination of omen, onus and obit. Distribution of danger, duty and destiny. Polar principles. |
| Cliopatria, thy hosies history. |
of druidesses in readymoney rompers7 and the tryonforit of Oxthievious,Lapidous and Malthouse Anthemy. You may fail to see the lie of that layout, Suetonia,1 but the reflections which recur to me are that so long as beauty life is body love and so bright as Mutua of your mirror2 holds her candle to your caudle (lone lefthand likeless, sombring Autum of your Spring) reck you not one spirt of anyseed whether trigemellmen cuddle his coddle or nope. She’ll confess it by her figure though she deny it to your face. If you’re not ruined by that one she won’t do you any whim. And then? What afters it? Gruff Gunne may blow, Gam Gonna flow, the gossans eye |
|
| The Eroico Furioso makes the valet like smiling. |
the jennings aye. From the butts of Heber and Heremon, nolens volens, brood our pansies brune in brume. There’s a split in the infinitive from to have been to will be. As they warred in their big innings ease now we never shall know. Eat early earthapples. Coax Cobra to chatters. Hail, Heva, we the jennings aye. From the butts of Heber and Heremon, nolens volens, brood our pansies brune in brume. There’s a split in the infinitive from to have been to will be. As they warred in their big innings ease now we never shall know. Eat early earthapples. Coax Cobra to chatters. Hail, Heva, we |
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| The hyperape the mink he groves the mole you see now for crush sake, chawley! |
hear! This is the glider that gladdened the girl3 that list to the wind that lifted the leaves that folded the fruit that hung on the tree that grew in the garden Gough gave. Wide hiss, we’re wizening. Hoots fromm, we’re globing. Why hidest thou hinder thy husband his name? Leda, Lada, aflutter afraida, so does your girdle grow! Willed without witting, whorled without aimed. Pappapassos, Mammamanet, warwhetswut and whowitswhy.4 But |
|
| Pige pas. |
it’s tails for toughs and titties for totties and come buckets come bats till deeleet. |
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 |
Dark ages clasp the daisy roots.5 Stop, if you are a sally of the allies, hot off minowaurs and naval actiums, picked engagements and banks of rowers. Please stop if you are a B.C. minding missy, please do. But should you |
Panoptical purview of political progress and the future presentation of the past. |
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prefer A.D. stepplease, O do. And if you miss with a venture it serves you girly well glad. But, holy Janus, I was forgetting the Blitzenkopfs! Here, Hengeggst and Horsesauce, take your heads6 out of your taletub! And leave your hinnyhennyhindyou! It’s haunted. The chamber. Of erring. Whoan, |
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| Seidlitz powther for slogan plumpers. |
tug, trace, starrup! It is distinctly understouttered that, sense the tide you threehandshigh put your twofootlarge timepates in that dead wash of Lough Murph it is and until such time pace one and the same, Messherrn the grinning statesmen, Brock and Leon, have shunted the grumbling |
|
| Hoploits and atthems! |
coundedtouts, Starlin and Ser Artur Ghinis. Foamous homely brew. Bebattled by bottle, gageure de gueguerre.1 Bull igien bear and then bearagain bulligan. |
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| Curragh machree, me bosthoon fiend. |
Gringrin gringrin. Staffs varsus herds and bucks vursus barks. By old Grumbledum’s walls. Bumps, bellows and bawls.2 Opprimor’s down, up up Opima! Rents and rates and tithes and taxes, wages, saves and spends. |
|
| Femilies, hug bank! |
Heil, heptarched span of peace!3 Live, league of lex, nex and the mores! Fas est dass and foe err you. Impoverment of the booble by the bauble for |
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| All we suffered under them Cowdung Forks and how we enjoyed over our pick of the basketfild. |
the bubble. So wrap up your worries in your woe (wumpumtum!) and shake down the shuffle for the throw. For there’s one mere ope4 for downfall ned. As Hanah Levy, shrewd shroplifter, and nievre anore, skidoos with her spoileds.5 To add gay touches. For hugh and guy and goy and jew. To dimpled and pimpled and simpled and wimpled. A peak in a poke and a |
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| Old Kine’s Meat Meal. |
pig in a pew.6 She wins them by wons, a haul hectoendecate, for mangay mumbo jumbjubes tak mutts and jeffs muchas bracelonettes gracies |
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| Flieflie for the jillies and a bimbambum for the nappotondus. |
barcelonas.7 O whataloovely freespeech ’twas (tep)8 to gar howalively hintergrunting! Tip. Like lilt of larks to burdened crocodile9 or Hazel and Sally skittering and laubhing at the wheeze of that old windbag, Blusterboss, blowharding about all he didn’t do. Hell o’ your troop! With is the winker for the muckwits of willesly and nith is the nod for the umproar napollyon and hither is poorblond piebold hoerse. Huirse. With its tricuspidal |
|
| Murdoch. |
hauberkhelm coverchaf emblem on. For the man that broke the ranks on Monte Sinjon. The allriddle of it? That that is allruddy with us, ahead of |
|
| Pas d’action, peu de sauce. |
schedule, which already is, amphiaccomplished, from and syne. Daft Dathy of the Five Positions (the deathray stop him!) is still, as reproaches Paulus, on the Madderhorn and, entre chats and hobnobs, daring Dunderhead to shiver his timbers.10 Hannibal mac Hamiltan is chasing Kate O’Carthydge around the Capuawalls. Hibrahim the Hegirite11 (more livepower elbow him!) is minsterbuilding, so repreaches Timothy, up in Saint Barmabrac’s.12 Number thirtytwo west eleventh streak looks on to that datetree doloriferous selfregnant (may all in the tocoming of the sempereternal speel spry with it!) |
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| From the seven tents of Joseph till the calends of Mary Marian, olivehunkered and thorny too. |
which more and ever leafeth earlier than every growth and, elfshot, wondering headawag, with frayed nerves till they feeled sore, like any woman that has been born at all events to the purdah, for the howmanyeth and howmovingth time at what the demons in that jackhouse that jerry built for Massa and Missus and hijo de puta, the sparksown fermament of |
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| As Shakefork might pitch it. |
the starryk fieldgosongingon where blows a nemone at each blink of windstill,1 they were sliding along and sleeting aloof and scouting around and shooting about. Allwhichwhile or whereaballoons for good vaunty years Dagobert is in Clane’s clean hometown prepping up his prepueratory and |
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| Puzzly, puzzly, I smell a cat. |
learning how to put a broad face bronzily out through a broken breached meataerial from Bryan Awlining, Erin’s hircohaired culoteer.2 |
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| Two makes a wing at the macroscope telluspeep. |
And as, these things being so or ere those things having been done, way back home in Pacata Auburnia3 (untillably holy gammel Eire), one world burrowing on another (if you’ve got me, neighbour, in any large lumps, geek?, and got the strong of it), Standfest, our topiocal sagoa hero, or any atther macotther, signs is on the bellygud’s bastille back, bucked up with fullness, and his whitehatched patch, the towelturbaned, and Flower, a silvering to her jubilee,4 birchleaves her jointure, our lavy in waving, visage |
From cenogenetic dichotomy through diagonistic conciliance to dynastic continuity. |
| From the Buffalo Times of bysone days. |
full of flesh and fat as a hen’s i’ forehead, Airyanna and Blowybart, topsir and turvy, that royal pair, in their palace of quicken boughs hight The Goat and Compasses (’phone number 17·69, if you want to know),5 his seaarm strongsround her, her velivole eyne ashipwracked, have discusst their things of the past, crime and fable with shame, home and profit,6 why lui lied to lei and hun tried to kill ham, scribbledehobbles, in whose veins runs a |
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| Quick quake quokes the parrotbook of dates. |
mixture of, are head bent and hard upon. Spell me the chimes. They are tales all tolled.7 Today is well thine but whose may tomorrow be? But, bless his cowly head and press his crankly hat, what a world’s woe is each’s other’s |
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| Some is out for twoheaded dulcarnons but more pulfers turnips. |
weariness waiting to beadroll his own properer mistakes, the backslapping gladhander8 free of his florid future and the other singing likeness dirging |
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| Omnitudes in a knutshedell. |
a past of bloody altars, gale with a blost to him, dove without gall. And she of the jilldaw’s nest1 who tears up lettereens she never apposed a pen upon2 yet sung of love and the monster man. What’s Hiccupper to hem or her to Hagaba? Ough, ough, brieve kindli!3 |
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Dogs’ vespers are anending. Vespertiliabitur. Goteshoppard quits his gabhard cloke to sate with Becchus. Zumbok! Achevre! Yet wind will be ere fadervor4 and the hour of fruminy and bergoo bell if Nippon have pearls |
The mongrel under the dungmound. Significance of the infraliminal intelligence. Offrandes. |
| For all us kids under his aegis. |
or opals Eldorado, the daindy dish, the lecking out! Gipoo, good oil! For (hushmagandy!) long ’tis till gets bright that all cocks waken and birds Diana5 with dawnsong hail. Aught darks flou a duskness. Bats that? There |
|
| Saving the public his health. |
peepeestrilling. At Brannan’s on the moor. At Tam Fanagan’s weak yat his still’s going strang. And still here is noctules and can tell things acommon on by that fluffy feeling. Larges loomy wheelhouses lumber up to lodgebox6 |
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| Superlative absolute of Porterstown. |
with hoodie hearsemen carrawain we keep his peace who follow his law, Sunday King.7 His sevencoloured’s soot (Ochone! Ochonal!)8 and his imponence one heap lumpblock (Mogoul!). And rivers burst out like |
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| Why so mucky spick bridges span our Fluminian road. |
weeming racesround joydrinks for the fewnrally.9 Where every feaster’s a foster’s other, fiannians all.10 The welling breast, her willing giant, the mountain mourning, his duggedy dew. To obedient of civicity in urbanious |
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| P.C. Helmut’s in the cottonwood, listnin. |
at felicity what’ll yet meek Mike11 our diputy mimber when he’s head on poll and Peter’s burgess and Miss Mishy Mushy is tiptupt by Toft Taft. Goblesse gobleege. For as Anna was at the beginning, lives yet and will return |
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| The throne is an umbrella strande and a sceptre’s a stick. |
after great deap sleap rerising and a white night high with the cows of Drommhiem as shower as there’s a wet enclouded in Westwicklow or a little black rose a truant in a thorntree. We drames our dreams till Bappy |
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| Jadg jewel, our daktar deer. |
returns. And Sein annews. We will not say it shall not be, this passing of |
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| Gautamed budders deossiphysing our Theas. |
order and order’s coming, but in the herbest country and in the country around Blath as in that cityself of legionds they look for its being ever yet. So shuttle on the sacred magirattler, Simmy. And Sam, son, the pipers done.1 Eric aboy!2 And it’s time that all paid tribute to this massive mortiality, |
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| By lineal in pondus overthepoise. |
the pink of punk perfection as photography in mud. Some may seek to dodge the gobbet for its quantity of quality but who wants to cheat the choker’s got to learn to chew the cud. Allwhichhole scribes on scroll |
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| Pitchcap and triangle, noose and tinctunc. |
circuminiuminluminatedhave, encuoniams here and improperies there.3 With a pansy for the pussy in the corner.4 |
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Bewise of Fanciulla’s heart, the heart of Fanciulla! Even the recollection of willow fronds is a spellbinder that lets to hear.5 The rushes by the grey |
Incipit intermissio. |
| Uncle Flabbius Muximus to Niecia Flappia Minnimiss. As this is. And as this this is. |
nuns’ pond: ah eh oh let me sigh too. Coalmansbell: behoves you handmake of the load. Jenny Wren: pick, peck. Johnny Post: pack, puck.6 All the world’s in want and is writing a letters.7 A letters from a person to a place about a thing. And all the world’s a wish to be carrying a letters. A letters to a king about a treasure from a cat.8 When men want to write a letters. |
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| Dear Brotus, land me arrears. |
Ten men, ton men, pen men, pun men, wont to rise a ladder. And den men, dun men, fen men, fun men, hen men, hun men wend to raze a leader. |
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| Rockaby, babel, flatten a wall. |
Is then any lettersday from many peoples, Daganasanavitch? Empire, your outermost.9 A posy cord. Plece. |
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| How he broke the good news to Gent. |
We have wounded our way on foe his prince till that force in the gill is faint afarred and the face in the treebark feigns afear. This is rainstones ringing. Strangely cult for this ceasing of the yore. But Erigureen is ever. Pot price pon patrilinear plop, if the osseletion of the omkring gives omen nome? Since alls war that end war let sports be leisure and bring and buy fair. Ah ah athclete, blest your bally bathfeet! Towntoquest, fortorest, the hour that hies is hurley. A halt for hearsake.10 A scene at sight. Or dreamoneire. Which they shall memorise. By her freewritten. Hopely for ear that annalykeses if scares for eye that sumns. Is it in the now woodwordings |
Major and minor modes coalescing proliferate homogenuine homogeneity. |
| Bibelous hicstory and Barbarassa harestary. |
of our sweet plantation where the branchings there will singingsing tomorrows gone and yesters ontocome as Sataday’s aftermoon lex leap smiles on our twelvemonthsminding? Such is. Dear (name of desired subject, A.N.), well, and I go on to. Shlicksher. I and we (tender condolences for happy funeral, one if) so sorry to (mention person suppressed for the moment, F.M.). |
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| A shieling in coppingers and porrish soup all days. How matches metroosers? |
Well (enquiries after allhealths) how are you (question maggy). A lovely (introduce to domestic circle) pershan of cates. Shrubsher. Those pothooks mostly she hawks from Poppa Vere Foster but these curly mequeues are of Mippa’s moulding. Shrubsheruthr. (Wave gently in the ere turning ptover.) Well, mabby (consolation of hopes) to soon air. With best from Christinette (cinders, if prints chumming, can be when desires Soldi, for asamples, backfronted or, if all, peethrolio or Get my Prize, using her |
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| Le hélos tombaut soul sur la jambe de marche. |
flower or perfume or, if veryveryvery chumming, in otherwards, who she supposed adeal, kissits my exits). Shlicksheruthr. From auburn chenlemagne. Pious and pure fair one, all has concomitated to this that she shall read them, lifetree’s leaves, whose silence hitherto has shone as sphere of silver, fast albernstone, that fount Bandusian shall play liquick music and after odours sigh of musk. Blotsbloshblothe, once dear that was. Sleep in the water, drug at the fire, shake the dust off and dream your One who |
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| Mai maintenante elle est venuse. |
would give her sidecurls to. Till latter Lammas is led in by baith our washwives, a weird of wonders tenebrous as that evil thorngarth, a field of faery blithe as this blowing wild. |
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Twos Dons Johns and Threes Totty Askins.
Also Spuke Zerothruster. |
Aujourd’hui, comme aux jours de Pline et de Columelle, la jacinthe se plaît dans les Gaules, la pervenche en Illyrie, la marguerite sur les ruines de Numance;1 et pendant qu’autour d’elles les villes ont changé de maîtres et de nom, que plusieurs sont rentrées dans le néant, que les civilisations se sont choquées et brisées, leurs paisibles générations ont traversé les âges et se sont succédé l’une à l’autre jusqu’à nous, fraîches et riantes comme aux jours des batailles.2 |
The part played by belletristicks in the bellumpax-bellum mutuomorphomutation. |
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Margaritomancy! Hyacinthinous pervinciveness! Flowers. A cloud. But Bruto and Cassio are ware only of trifid tongues,3 the whispered wilfulness |
Sortes virginianae. |
| A saxum shillum for the sextum but nothums for that parridge preast. |
(’tis demonal!) and shadows shadows multiplicating (il folsoletto nel falsoletto col fazzolotto dal fuzzolezzo).4 Totients quotients, they tackle their quarrel. Sickamoor’s so woful sally. Ancient’s aerger. And eachway bothwise glory signs. What if she love Sieger less though she leave Ruhm moan? That’s how our oxyggent has gotten ahold of half their world, moving about in the free of the air and mixing with the ruck. Enten eller, either or. |
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And! |
Interrogation. |
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Nay, rather! |
Exclamation. |
| Tricks stunts. |
With sobs for his job, with tears for his toil, with horror for his squalor but with pep for his perdition,5 lo, the boor plieth as the laird hireth him. |
Antithesis of ambidual anticipation. The mind factory, its give and take. |
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Boon on begyndelse. |
Auspicium. |
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At maturing daily gloryaims!6 |
Auguria. |
| Truckeys’ cant for dactyl and spondee. |
A flink dab for a freck dive and a stern poise for a swift pounce was frankily at the manual arith sure enough which was the bekase he knowed from his cradle, no bird better, why his ten fingures were giving him whatfor to fife with. First, by observation, there came boko and nigh him wig-worms |
Divinity not deity the uncertainty justified by our certitude. Examples. |
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and nigh him tittlies and nigh him cheekadeekchimples and nigh him pickpocket with pickpocketpumb, pickpocketpoint, pickpocketprod, pickpocketpromise and upwithem.1 Holy Joe in lay Eden. And anyhows always after them the dimpler he weighed the fonder fell he of his null four |
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| Panoplous peregrine pifflicative pomposity. |
lovedroyd curdinals, his element curdinal numen and his enement curdinal marryng and his epulent curdinal weisswassh and his eminent curdinal Kay O’Kay. Always would he be areciting of them, hoojahs koojahs, up by rota in his Fanden’s Catachysm, from fursed to laced, quickmarch to decemvers, so as to pin the tenners, thumbs down. And anon and aldays, strues yer-there, would he wile arecreating em and ingreasing em and moultipiecing em rightleft by lumerous ways, caiuscounting in the scale of pin puff pive piff, piff puff pive poo, poo puff pive pree, pree puff pive pfoor, pfoor puff pive pippive, poopive,2 Niall Dhu, Foughty Unn, Enoch Thortig, endso |
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| Non plus ulstra, Elba, nec cashellum tuum! |
one, like to pitch of your cap, pac, on to tin tall spillicans.3 To sum, borus pew notus pew eurus pew zipher. Ace, deuce, tricks, quarts, quims. Mumtiplay of course and carry to their whole number. While on the other hand, traduced by their comedy nominators to the loafer’s terms for their aloquent parts, sexes, suppers, oglers, novels and dice.4 He could find (the rakehelly!) by practice the valuse of thine-to-mine articles with no reminder and, for the equality of relations, with the helpings from his tables improduce fullmin to trumblers, links unto chains, weys in Nuffolk till tods of Yorek, oozies ad libs and several townsends several hundreds and civil-to-civil imperious gallants to gells (Irish), bringing alliving stone allaughing |
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| Dondderwedder kyboshicksal. |
down to grave clothnails and a league of achers, fools and lurchers under the rude rule of fumb. What signifieth whole that5 but, be all the prowess of ten, ’tis as strange to relate he, nonparile to reed, rite and reckan, caught allmeals dull marks for his nucleud and alegobrew. They wouldn’t took bearings no how anywheres. O them doddhunters and allanights, aahs and baas for agnomes, yees and zees for incognits, bate him up jerrybly! Worse nor herman dororrhea. Give you the fantods, seemed to him. They ought to told you every last word first stead of trying every which way to kinder |
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| A stodge Angleshman has been worked by eccentricity. |
smear it out poison long. Show that the median, hce che ech, interecting at roide angles the parilegs of a given obtuse one biscuts both the arcs that are in curveachord behind. Brickbaths. The family umbroglia. A Tullagrove pole1 to the Height of County Fearmanagh has a septain inclinaison2 and the graphplot for all the functions in Lower County Monachan, whereat samething is rivisible by nighttim, may be involted into the zeroic couplet, |
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| An oxygon is naturally reclined to rest. |
pall’s pell in his heventh gleike noughty times ∞, find, if you are not literally cooefficient, how minney combinaisies and permutandies can be played on the international surd ¡pthwndxrclzp!, hids cubid rute being extracted, taking anan illitterettes, ififif at a tom. Answers (for teasers only).3 Ten, twent, thirt, see, ex and three icky totchty ones. From solation to solution. Imagine the twelve deaferended dumbbawls of the whowl abovebeugled to be the contonuation through regeneration of the urutteration of the word in pregross. It follows that, if the two antesedents be bissyclitties and the three comeseekwenchers trundletrikes, then, Aysha Lalipat behidden on the |
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| Ba be bi bo bum. |
footplate, Big Whiggler4 restant upsittuponable, the nCr5 presents to us (tandem year at lasted length!) an ottomantic turquo-indaco of pictorial shine by pictorial shimmer so long as, gad of the gidday, pictorial summer, viridorefulvid, lits asheen; but (lenz alack lends a lot), if this habby cyclic erdor be outraciously enviolated, by a merelin roundtableturning, like knuts in maze, the zitas runnind hare and dart,6 with the yeggs in their muddle, like a seven of wingless arrows, hodgepadge, thump, kick and hurry, all boy more missis blong him he race quickfeller all same hoggle-piggle |
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| Finnfinnotus of Cincinnati. |
longa house blong him,7 while the catched and dodged exarx seems himmulteemiously to beem (he wins her head! he falls to tail!) the ersed ladest mand8 and (uhu and uhud!) the losed farce on erroroots,9 twalegged poneys and threehandled dorkeys (madahoy, morahoy, lugahoy, jogahoyaway), |
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| Arthurgink’s hussies and Everguin’s men. |
MPM brings us a rainborne pamtomomiom aqualavant to (cat my dogs, if I baint dingbusted like everything!) kaksitoista volts yksitoista volts kymmenen volts yhdeksan volts kahdeksan volts seitseman volts kuusi volts viisi volts nelja volts kolme volts kaksi volts yksi, allahthallacamellated |
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| Nom de nombres! The balbearians. |
caravan series, to the finish of helve’s fractures.10 In outher wards, one from five, two to fives ones, one from fives two millamills with a mill and a half a mill and twos twos fives fives of bullyclavers. For a surview over all the factionables see Iris in the Evenine’s World.1 Binomeans to be comprendered. Inexcessible as thy by god ways. The aximones. And their prostulutes. For his neuralgiabrows. Equal to = aosch. |
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P.t.l.o.a.t.o. |
Heptagrammaton. |
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So, bagdad, after those initials falls and that primary taincture, as I know and you know yourself, begath, and the arab in the ghetto knows better, by nettur, nor anymeade or persan, comic cuts and series exerxeses always were to be capered in Casey’s, frost book of, page torn on dirty, to be hacked, |
Hypotheses of commonest experiences before apotheosis of the lustral principium. |
| Vile Paco Hunter! |
ever so new, at Hickey’s, huckster, Wellington’s Iron Bridge, and so, by long last, as it would shu∫e out, must he to trump adieu atout atous to those |
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| The hoisted in red and the lowered in black. |
cardinhands he a big deal missed, radmachrees and rossecullinans and blagpikes in suitclover. Dear hearts of my counting, would he revoke them, forewheel to packnumbers, and, the time being no help fort, plates to lick one and turn over. |
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| The boss’s bess bass is the browd of Mullingar. |
Problem ye ferst, construct ann aquilittoral dryankle. Probe loom! With his primal handstoe in his sole salivarium. Concoct an equoangular trilitter.2 On the name of the tizzer and off the tongs and off the mythametical tripods. Beatsoon. |
Ingenious labortenacity as between ingenuous and libertine. |
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Can you nei do her, numb? asks Dolph,3 suspecting the answer know. Oikkont, ken you, ninny? asks Kev,4 expecting the answer guess.5 Nor was the noer long disappointed for, easiest of kisshams, he was made vicewise. |
Prope and procul in the convergence of their contrapulsiveness. |
| The aliments of jumeantry. |
Oc, tell it to oui, do, Sem! Well, ’tis oil thusly. First mull a mugfull of mud, son.6 Oglores, the virtuoser prays, olorum! What the D.V. would I do that for? That’s a goosey’s ganswer you’re for giving me, he is told, what the Deva would you do that for?7 Now, sknow royal road to Puddlin, take your |
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| Wolsherwomens at their weirdst. |
mut for a first beginning, big to bog, back to bach. Anny li∫e mud which cometh out of Mam will doob, I guess. A.1. Amnium instar. And to find a locus for an alp get a howlth on her bayrings as a prisme O and for a second O unbox your compasses. I cain but are you able? Amicably nod. Gu it! So let’s seth off betwain us. Prompty? Mux your pistany at a point of the coastmap to be called α but pronounced olfa. There’s the isle of Mun, ah! O! ’Tis just. Bene! |
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Now, whole in applepine odrer1 (for—husk, hisk, a spirit spires—Dolph, dean of idlers, meager suckling of gert stoan, though barekely in his balbose boy, he too—venite praeteriti,2 sine mora dumque de entibus nascituris decentius in lingua romana mortuorum parva chartula liviana ostenditur, sedentes in laetitia super ollas carnium, spectantes immo situm lutetiae unde auspiciis secundis tantae consurgent humanae stirpes, antiquissimam flaminum amborum Jordani et Jambaptistae mentibus revolvamus sapientiam: totum tute fluvii modo mundo fluere, eadem quae ex aggere fututa fuere iterum intra alveum fore futura, quodlibet sese ipsum per aliudpiam agnoscere contrarium, omnem demum amnem ripis rivalibus amplecti3—recurrently often, when him moved he would cake their chair, coached ribolliumtending mikes of his same and over his own choirage at Backlane Univarsity, among of which pupal souaves the pizdrool was pulled up, bred and battered, for a dillon a dollar,4 changing letters for them vice o’ verse to bronze mottes and blending tschemes for em in tropadores and doublecrossing twofold truths and devising tingling tailwords too whilest, cunctant that another would finish his sentence for him, he ’druider smilabit eggways5 ned, he would, to don’t say nothing, so prim, and pick upon his ten ordinailed ungles, trying to undo with his teeth the knots made by his tongue, retelling humself by the math hour, long as he’s brood, a reel of funnish ficts apout the shee, how faust of all and on segund thoughts and the third’s the charmhim girlalove and fourthermore and filthily with bag from Oxatown and baroccidents and proper accidence and hoptohill and hexenshoes, in fine the whole damning letter; and, in point of feet, when he landed in ourland’s leinster6 of saved and solomnones for the twicedhecame time off Lipton’s strongbowed launch, the Lady Eva, in a tan soute of sails7 he converted its natives, name saints, young ordnands, maderaheads and old unguished P.T. Publikums, through the medium of znigznaks with sotiric zeal, to put off the barcelonas8 from their peccaminous corpulums (Gratings, Mr Dane!) and kiss on their bottes (Master!) as often as they came within bloodshot of that other familiar temple and showed em the celestine way to by his tristar and his flop hattrick and his perry humdrum dumb and numb nostrums that he larned in Hymbuktu;1 and that same gallo-roman cultous is very prevailend up to this windiest of laud-have-miseries all over what was beforeaboots a land of nods, in spite of all the bloot, all the braim, all the brawm, all the brile, that was shod, that were shat, that was shuk all the while, for our massangrey if mosshungry people at the Wickerworks2 still hold ford to their healing and3 byleave in the old weighs downupon the Swanny innovated by him, the prence di Propagandi, the chrism for the christmass, the pillar of the perished and the rock o’ ralereality, and it is veritably belied, we belove, that not allsods of esoupcans that’s in the queen’s pottagepots and not allfines of greendgold that the Indus contains would ever hinduce them (o.p.) to steeplechange back, once from their ophis workship and twice on sundiscs, to their ancient flash and crash habits of old Pales time ere beam slewed cable4 or Derzherr, live wire, fired Benjermine Funkling outa th’Empyre, sin righthand son; which (h.o.o.p.t.), cummal, having listed curefully to his blessed by Pointer the Grace’s continental’s curses, pummel, apostrophised Byrne’s and Flaming’s and Furniss’s and Bill Hayses’s and Ellishly Haught’s, hoo, they (a.t.W.), sick or whole, stiff or sober, let drop as a doombody drops, without another ostrov-gods’ word eitherways, in their own lineal descendance, as priesto as paddywhack,5 coal on:6 and, as we gang along to gigglehouse, talking of molniacs’ manias and missions made to scotch the schlang and leathercoats for murty magdies, of course this has blameall in that medeoturanian world to say to the interlooking and the underlacking of her twentynine shifts or his private’s jidgments7 when, so to put it, disparito, duspurudo, desterrado, despertieu, or, saving his presents for his own onefriend Beveradge, Conn the Shaughraun; but to return for a mere moment from the reptile’s age8 to the coxswain on the first landing (page Ainée Rivière!), if the pretty Lady Elisabbess, Hotel des Ruines—she laid her batsleeve for him two trueveres tell (Loves. On the Ides of Valentine’s, at Idleness, Floods Area, Isolade, Liv’s lonely daughter, with the Comes Tichiami, of Primavista, Abroad, suddenly), and beauty alone of all dares say when now, uncrowned, deceptered, in what niche of time1 is Shee, or where in the rose world trysting, that was the belle of La Chapelle, shapely Liselle, and the peg-of-my-heart of all the tompull, or on whose limbs-to-lave her semicupiose eyes now kindling themselves are brightning,2 O Shee who then (4.32 m.p., old time, to be precise, accordant to all three doctors’ waterburies, that was MacAuliffe and poor MacBeth and poor old MacGhimley, to the tickleticks, of the synchronisms, all lauschening, a time also confirmed seven sincuries later by the quatren medical johnny, poor old MacAdoo Aboo MacDollett, with notary,3 whose presence was required by the law of Devine-Foresygth and the decretal of the Douge) who, after the first compliments4 med darkist daylight, gave him then that vantage of a Blinkensope’s cuddlebath at her proper mitts—if she then, the then that matters—but, seigneur!, she could never have forefelt, as she yet will fearfeel, when the lovenext breaks out, such a coolcold douche as him, the totterer, the four-flights-the-charmer, doubling back in nowtime5 bymby when saltwater he wash him these iselands, O alors!, to mount miss (the wooeds of Fogloot!) under that chemise de fer and a vartryproof name, Multalusi (would it wash?), with a cheek white peaceful as, shall we say, a single professed claire’s6 and his washawash tubatubtub and his diagonoser’s lampblick, to pure wher they where hornest girls, to buy her in, par jure, if you plait, nunc and tunc and for simper, and other duel mavourneens in plurible numbers from Arklow Vikloe to Louth super Lusk, come messes, come mams, and touch your spottprice (for ’twas he was the born suborner, man), on behalf of an oldest ablished firma of winebakers, Lagrima und Gemiti, later on, his craft ebbing, invoked by the unirish title, Grindings og Nash,7 the One and Only, Unic bar None, lastly of Saint Yves by Landsend corner, man—ship me silver!, it must have been, faw!, a terrible mavrue mavrone to synamite up the old Adam-he-used-to, such a finalley, and that’s flat as Tut’s fut, for whowhowho?, the poour girl, a lonely peggy, given the bird, so iseulated as Crampton’s peartree (she shall earn bitter bed by that sweet of her face!), and short wonder so manny of the tomthick and tarry members in all there sobsequious ages of our timocracy upped to console with her at her mirrorable gracewindow’d hut1 till the ives of Manx, the O’Kneels and the O’Prayins and the O’Hyens of Lochlaunstown and the O’Hollerins of Staineybooter, hollyboys all, burryripe, who’ll buy?,2 in juwelietry and kickychoses and madornaments and that’s not the finis of it (would it were!)—but to think of him founding a nelliza the second,3 also clipt buss (the best was still there if the torso was gone), where he did and when he did, retriever to the last4—escapes my forgetness now was it dustcovered, nom de Lieu!, on Waterlow raid or street down, through, for or from a foe, by, with or on a friend, at the Rectory? Vicarage Road? Bishop’s Folly? Papesthorpe?, after picket fences, stonewalls, out and ins or oxers—for merry a valsehood whisprit he to minny a lilying earling;5 and to try to analyse that ambo’s pair of braceleans akwart the rollyon trying to amarm all6 of that miching micher’s bearded but insensible virility and its gaulish mousetaches, Dammad and Groany, into her limited (tufftuff, que tu es pitre!) lapse at the same slapse for towelling ends7 in their delightful Sexsex home, Somehow-at-Sea (O little oily head, sloper’s brow and prickled ears!), as though he, a notoriety, a foist edition, were a wrigular writher neonovene babe!8—well, diarmuee and granyou and Vae Vinctis, if that is what lamoor that of gentle breast rathe is intaken seems circling towards out yondest (it’s life that’s all chokered by that batch of grim rushers) heaven holp his hindmost and, mark me, if the so greatly displeaced diorems in the Saint Lubbock’s Day number of that most improving of roundshows, Spice and Westend Woman (utterly exhausted before publication, indiapepper edition shortly), are for our indices, it agins to pear like it, par my fay, and there is no use for your pastripreaching for to cheese it either or praying fresh fleshblood claspers of young catholick throats on Huggin Green9 to take warnung by the trispast, why?, bycows man, in shirt, is how he is più la gonna è mobile and they wonot do ut; and, an you could peep inside the cerebralised saucepan of this our illwinded goodfornobody, you would see in his house of thoughtsam (was you, that is, decontaminated enough to look discarnate) what a jetsam litterage of convolvuli of times lost or strayed, of lands derelict or sunk and of tongues laggin too, beached, bashed and beaushelled à la Mer, and not only that but, by searchlighting longa yamsayore pharahead into faturity, your own convolvulis, pickninny capman, would real to jazztfancy the novo takingplace of what stale words whilom were woven with and fitted fairly featly for; so; and equally so, the crame of the whole faustian fustian, whether your launer’s lightsome or your soulard’s schwearmood, is that, whenas the swiftshut soareyes of our pupilteachertaut duplex will hark back to lark to you symibellically that, though a day be as dense as a decade, no mouth has the might to set a mearbound to the march of a landsmaul,1 in half a sylb, helf a solb, holf a salb onward2 the beast of boredom, common sense, lurking gyrographically down inside his loose Eating S.S. collar is gogoing to whisht to you sternly—Plutonic lovelinks twinxt Platonic yearlings—how) you must, haw, in undivided reawlity, draw the line somewhawre.
Fig. 1. Bass.
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Coss? Cossist? Your parn! You, you make what name? (And in truth, as a poor soul is between shift and shift ere the death he has lived through becomes the life he is to die into, he or he had albut—he was rickets as to reasons but the balance of his minds was stables—lost himself or himself some somnione sciupiones, so swhitchoverswetch had he or he gazed, |
Why my as likewise whis his. |
| Uteralterance or the Interplay of Bones in the Womb. |
murphy come, murphy go, murphy plant, murphy grow, a maryamyriameliamurphies, in the lazily eye of his lapis, Vieus Von DVbLIn—’twas one of doze deams darkies ding in dewood—the Turnpike under the Great Elm with Mearingstone in Foreground.)3 Given now ann linch you take enn all. Allow me! And, heaving alljawbreakical expressions out of old Sare Isaac’s4 universal of specious aristmystic unsaide, A is for Anna like L is for |
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| The Vortex. Spring of Sprung Verse. The Vertex. |
liv. Ahahahah, Ante Ann, you’re apt to ape aunty annalive! Dawn gives rise. Lo, lo, lives love! Eve takes fall. La, la, laugh leaves alass! Aiaiaiai, Antiann, we’re last to the lost, Loulou! ’Tis perfect. Now (lens your dappled eye here, mine’s presbyoperian, shill und wall), we see the copyink strayed line AL (in Fig., the forest), from being continued, stops ait Lambday.1 Modder ilond there too. Allow me anchore! I bring down noth and carry awe. |
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| Sarga, or the path of outgoing. |
Now then, take this in! One of the most murmurable loose carollaries ever Ellis threw his cookingclass. With Olaf as centrum and Olaf ’s lambtail for his spokesman circumscript a cyclone. Allow ter! Hoop! As round as the calf of an egg! O, dear me! O, dear me now! Another grand discobely! After Makefearsome’s Ocean! You’ve actuary entducked one! Quok! Why, you haven’t a passer! Fantastic! Early clever, surely doomed, |
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| Docetism and Didicism, Maya-Thaya, Tamas-RajasSattvas. |
to Swift’s, alas, the galehus! Match of a matchness, like your Bigdud Dadder in the bouedeville song, Gorotsky Gollovar’s Troubles, raucking his flavourite turvku in the smukking precincts of lydias,2 with Mary Owens and Dolly Monks seesidling to edge his cropulence and Blake-Roche, Kingston and Dockrell auriscenting him from afurz. Doweth knoweth him, our papacocopotl,3 Abraham Bradley King (tingting! tingting!)? By his magmasine fall. Lumps, lavas and all.4 Bene! But, thunder and turf, it’s not alover yet! One recalls Byzantium. The mystery repeats itself todate as our callback mothar Gaudyanna, that was daughter to a tanner,5 used to sing, as I think, now and then consinuously over her possetpot in her quer homolocous humminbass hesterdie and istherdie and forivor6 and for a night of thoughtsendyures and a day. As Great Shapesphere puns it. |
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| The Vegetable Cell and its Private Properties. |
Vanissas Vanistatums! In effect. I remumble, from the yules gone by, purr lil murrer of myhind, so she used indeed. When she give me the Sundaclouths she hung up for Tate and Comyng and snuffed out the ghost in the candle at his old game of haunt the sleepper. Faithful departed. When I’m dreaming back like that I begins to see we’re only all telescopes. Or the comeallyoum of sands. Like when I dromed I was in Dairy and was wuckened up with thump in thudderdown. Rest in peace! But to return.7 What a wonderful memory you have too! Twonderful morrowy! Straorbinaire! Bene! I bring town eau and curry nothung up my sleeve. Now, springing quickenly from the mudland Loosh from Luccan with Allhim as her Elder tetraturn a somersault. All’s fair on all fours, as my instructor unstrict me. Watch! And you’ll have the whole inkle. Allow, allow! Gyre O, gyre O, gyrotundo! Hop lala! As umpty herum as your seat! O, dear me, that was very nesse! Very nace indeed! And makes us a daintical pair of accomplasses! |
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| The haves and the havenots: a distinction. |
You allus for the kunst and me for omething with a handel to it. Bene! Now, as will pressantly be felt, there’s tew tricklesome poinds where our twain of doubling bicirculars, mating approxemetely in their suite poi and poi, dunloop into eath the ocher. Lucihere! I fee where you mea. The doubleviewed seeds. Nun, lemmas quatsch, vide pervoys akstiom, and I think as I’m squeezing the limon stickme punktum but I’d likelong, by |
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| Zweispaltung as Fundemaintalish of Wiederherstellung. |
Araxes, to mack a capital Pee for Pride down there on the batom1 and let you go, Airmienious, and orrange your modest mock Pie out of Humbles up your end. Where your apexojesus will be a point of order. With a geign groan grunt and a croak click cluck.2 And my faceage kink and kurkle trying to make keek peep.3 Are you right there, Michael, are you right? Do you think you can hold on by sitting tight? Well, of course, it’s awful angelous. Still I don’t feel it’s so dangelous. Ay, I’m right here, Nickel, and I’ll write. Singing the top line why it suits me mikey fine. But, yaghags hogwarts and arrahquinouthiance, it’s the muddest thick that was ever heard dump since Eggsmather got smothered in the plap of the pfan. Now, to compleat anglers, beloved birouthiarn and hushtokan hishtakatsch, for semenal rations join alfa pea and pull loose by dotties and, to be more sparematically logoical, eelpie and paleale by trunkles. Allow me align while I encloud especious! The nike done it. Like pah.4 I peh. Innate little |
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| Destiny, Influence of Design upon. |
bondery. And as plane as a pokestiff.5 Now, aqua in buccat, I’ll make you to see figuratleavely the whome of your eternal geomater. Where Hoddum and Heave, our monsterbilker, bauked his bawd of parodies. And if you fiung her headdress on her from under her highlows you’d wheeze whyse Salmonson set his seel on a hexengown.6 Hissss! Arrah, go on! Fin for fun? You’ve spat your shower, syphsyph like a son of Sibernia. But let’s have at it! Subtend to me now! Pisk! Outer serpumstances being ekewilled, we carefully, if she pleats, lift up by her seam, hem and jabote at the spidsiest of her trickkikant (like thousands done before since fillies calpered. Ocone! Ocone!) the maidsapron of our A.L.P., fearfully!, till its nether nadir is vortically where (allow me aright to two cute winkles) its naval’s |
|
| Prometheus or the Promise of Provision. |
napex will have to beandbe. You must proach nearmear for at is dark. Lob. And fight your match. Jeldy! And this is what you’ll say.1 For addn’t we to gayatsee with Puhll the Punkah’s bell? Waaaaaa. Tch! Sluice! Pla! And there, redneck (your sow to the duble!), mygh and thy, the living spit of dead waters,2 fastness firm of Hurdlebury Fenn, discinct and isopleural in its sixuous parts, flument, fluvey and fluteous, middenwedge of its stream’s your muddy old triagonal delta, fiho miho, plain for you now, appia lippia pluvaville (hop the hula, girls!), the no niggard spot of her safety vulve, our first of all usquiluteral threeingles (and why wouldn’t she sit cresslogged like the lass that lured a tailor?), the constant of fluxion, Mahamewetma, pride of the province,3 and, when that tidled boare rutches |
|
| Ambages and Their Rôle. |
up from the Afrantic, Allaph Quaran’s his bett und bier!4 Paa lickam laa, all lickam pal! This it is an her. You see her it. Which it whom you see it is her her. And if you could go a neggbetter we’d soon see some raff and some scrumble riffa. Quicks herit fossyending. Quef! So post that to your pape and smarket! And you can haul up that languil pennant, mate. I’ve read your tunc’s dimissage. For, let it be taken that her littlenist is of no magnetude or, again, let it be granted that Doll the laziest can be dissimulant with all respects from Doll the fiercst, thence must any whatyoulike |
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| Ecclesiastical and Celestial Hierarchies. The Ascending. The Descending. |
in the power of empthood be either greater THAN or less THAN the unitate we have in one or hence shall the vectorious readyeyes of evertwo circumflickerent searclhers never film in the elipsities of their gyribouts those fickers which are returnally reprodictive of themselves.5 Which is unpassible. Quarrellary. The logos of somewome to that base anything, when most characteristically mantissaminus, comes to nullum in the endth:6 orso, here is nowet badder than the sin of Aha with his cosin Lil, verswaysed on coverswised, and all that’s consecants and cotangincies till Perpperp stops repippinghim, since her redtangles are all abscissans, for limitsing |
|
| The peripatetic periphery. It’s Allothesis. |
this tendency of our paradismic perimutter, Frivulteeny Sexuagesima,7 to expense herselfs as sphere as possible in all directions on the bend of the unbridalled, the infinisissismalls of her facets becoming manier and manier as the calicolum of her umdescribables (one has thoughts of that eternal Rome) shrinks from schurtiness to scherts.1 Scholium: there are trist sigheds to everysing but ichs on the freed brings euchs to the feared. Qued? Mother of us all! O, dear me, look at that now! I don’t know is it your spictre or my omination but I’m glad you dimentioned it! My Lourde! My Lourde! If that aint just the beatenest lay I ever see! And a superpbosition! |
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| Canine Venus Sublimated to Aulidic Aphrodite. |
Quoint a quincidence! O.K. Omnius Kollidimus. As Ollover Krumwall sayed when he slepped über his grannyamather. Kangaroose feathers. Who in the name of thunder’d ever belevin you were that bolt? But you’re holy mooxed and gaping up the wrong palce2 as if you was seeheeing the gheist that stays forenenst, you blessed simpletop domefool! Where’s your belested loiternan’s lamp? You must lap wandret down the bluishing refluction below. Her trunk’s not her braindbox. Hear where the bolgylines. |
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| Exclusivism: The Ors, Sors and Fors, Which? |
Yseen here the puncture. See her good. Luck! So he done it. Well, well, well, well, well! O Dee, O Dee, that’s very lovely! We like Simperspreach Hammeltones to fellow Selvertunes O’Haggans.3 When he rolls over his ars and shows the hise of his heels. Vely lovely entilely! Like a yangsheepstang with the tsifengtse. So analytical plausible! And, be the powers of Moll Kelly, neighbour topsowyer, it will be a lozenge to me all my lauffe.4 More better twofeller we been speak copperads. Ever thought about Guinness’s? And the regrettable Parson Rome’s advice? Want to join the police?5 You know, you were alwise one of the bright ones, since a foot made you an unmentionable, fakes! You know, you’re the divver’s own smart gossoon, aequal to yoursell and anigel to anglyother, so you are, hoax! You know, you’ll be dampned, so you will, one of these invernal days, but you will be, carrotty!6 |
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| Primanouriture and Ultimogeniture. |
Whereapool, gayed that when he stop look time he stop long ground who here hurry he would have ever the lothst word, with a sweet me ah err eye ear marie to reat from the jacob’s7 and a slypull for toothsake of his armjaws at the slidepage of de Vere Foster, would, would and could, candydissing P. Kevin, to fress up the rinnerung and to ate by hart (leo, I read, such is spanish, escribibis, all your mycoscoups), wont to nibbleh ravenostonnoriously ihs mum to me in bewonderment of his chipper chuthor (for, while that Other by the halp of his creactive mind offered to deleberate the mass from the booty of fight, our Same with the holp of the bounty of food sought to delubberate the mess from his corructive mund) with his muffetee cuffs ownconsciously grafficking with his sinister cyclopes after trigamies and spirals’ wobbles pursuiting their rovinghamilton selves and godolphing in fairlove to see around the waste of noland’s |
Sick us a sock with some sediment in it for the sake of our darning wives. |
| No Sturm. No Drang. Illustration. |
browne jesus1 (thur him no quartos!) till that on him so poorin sweat the juggaleer’s veins (quench his quill!) in his napier scrag stud out bursthright tamquam taughtropes. (Spry him! Call a bloodlekar! Where’s Dr Brassenaarse?) Es war itwas in his priesterrite. O He Must Suffer! From this misbelieving feacemaker to his noncredible fancyflame.2 Ask for Bosthoon, late for Mass, pray for the blaablaablack sheep. (Sure, you could wright anny pippap passage, Eye bet, as foyne as that moultylousy Erewhig yerself, mick! Nock the muddy nickers!3 Christ’s Church varses Bellial!) Dear and |
|
| Ascription of the Active. |
he went on to scripple gentlemine born, milady bread, he would pen for her, he would pine for her,4 how he would patpun fun for all5 with his frolicky frowner so and his glumsome grinner otherso. And how are you, waggy?6 My animal is sorrafool! And trieste, ah trieste ate I my liver! Se non è vero son trovatore. O jerry! He was soso, harriot all! He was sadfellow, steifel! He was mistermysterion. Like a pyrate out of pensionce with a gouvernament job. All moanday, tearsday, wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till the fear of the Law. Look at his twitchers! He was quisquis, |
|
| Proscription of the Passive. |
floored on his plankraft of shittim wood. Look at him! Sink deep or touch not the Cartesian spring! Want more ashes, griper? Now diesmal he was lying low on his rawside laying siege to goblin castle. And, bezouts that, now hyenasmeal he was laying him long on his laughside lying sack to croakpartridge. (Be thou wars of Rolaf ’s intestions! quoths the Bhagavat biskop Leech.) Ann opes tipoo soon ear. If you could me lendtill my pascol’s kondyl, sahib, and the price of a plate of poultice. Punked. With best apolojigs and merry money thanks to self for all the clericals and again |
|
| Ensouling Female Sustains Agonising Overman. |
begs guerdon for bistrispissing on your bunificence. Well, wiggywiggy-wagtail, and how are you, yaggy? With a capital Tea for Thirst. From here Buvard to dear Picuchet. Blott. |
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| |
Now (peel your eyes, muggins, and brush your saton hat, me elementator joyclid, son of a Butt! She’s mine, Jow low jure,1 be Skibbering’s eagles, sweet tart of Whiteknees Archway) watch him, having caught at the bifurking calamum in his bolsillos, the onelike underworp he had ever funnet in without difficultads, the aboleshqvick, signing away in happinext |
When the answerer is a leman. |
| Sesame to the Rescue. The Key Signature. |
complete. (Exquisite. Game of inspiration! I always adored your hand. So could I too and without the scrape of a pen. Ohr for oral, key for crib, olchedolche and a lunge ad lib. Can you write us a last line? From Smith-Jones-Orbison?) Intricatedly in years, jirryalimpaloop. And i Romain to fallthere at bare feet, hurryaswormarose. Hp u bn gd grl.2 Und alws my thts. Two dies of one rafflement. Eche bennyache. Outstamp and distribute him at the expanse of his society. To be continued. Anon. |
|
Force Centres of the Fire Serpentine: heart, throat, navel, spleen, sacral, fontanelle, intertemporal eye. |
And ook, ook, ook, fanky! All the charictures3 in the drame! This is how San Holypolypools. And this, pardonsky!, is the way Romeopullupaleaps.4 Pose the pen, man, way me does. Way Ole Missa Yellatooth fust show me how. Fourth power to her illpogue! Bould strokes for your life! Tip! This is Steal, this is Barke, this is Starn, this is Swhipt, this is Wiles, this is Pshaw, this are Dibbllinnbbayyates.5 This is brave Danny weeping his spache for the popers. This is cool Connolly wiping his hearth with brave Danny. And this, regard!, is how Chawleses Skewered paraparnelligoes between brave |
All square and according to cocker. |
| Conception of the Compromise and Finding of a Formula. |
Danny boy and the Connolly. Upanishadem! Top. Spoken hath L’Arty Magory. Ergobragh! Prouf!6 |
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| |
And Kev was wreathed with his pother. |
Frothblowers. |
| |
But (that Jacoby feeling again for forebitten fruit! and, my Georgeous, Kevvy too he just loves his puppadums, I judge!) after all his autocratic writings of paraboles of famellicurbs and meddlied muddlingisms, thee |
Fig and thistle plot a pig and whistle. |
| Ideal Present Alone Produces Real Future. |
faroots hof cullchaw end ate citrawn, woodint wun able rep of the triperforator awlrite blast through his pergaman hit him where he lived and do for the blessted selfchuruls, what I think, smarter like it done for a manny another unpious of the hairydary quare quandary firstlings till at length, you one bladdy bragger, by mercystroke he measured his earth anyway? could not but reckon in his adder’s badder cadder way our frankson who, to be plain, he fight him all time twofeller longa kill dead finish bloody face blong you, was misocain. Wince wan’s won! Rip!1 And his countinghands rose. |
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| |
Formalisa. Loves deathhow simple! |
With eboniser. |
| |
Slutningsbane.2 |
In pix. |
| Service superseding self. |
Thanks eversore much, Pointcarried! I can’t say if it’s the weight you strike me to the quick or that red mass I was looking at but at the present momentum, potential as I am, I’m seeing raying bogeys rings round me. Honours to you and may you be commended for your exhibitiveness! I’d love to take you for a bugaboo ride and play funfer all if you’d only sit and be the ballasted bottle in the porker barrel. You well deserve a rolypoly as long as from here to tomorrow. And to heel with them drift bobs and bottom trailers! By Saxon Chromaticus, you done that lovely for me! Didn’t he now, Nubilina? Tiny Mite, shie studiert whas?3 With her listening-in coiffure, her dream of Endsland’s daylast and the glorifires of being pre-sainted maid to majesty. And less is the pity. For she isn’t the lollypops she easily might be if she had for a sample Virginia’s air of achievement. That |
Euchre risk, merci buckup, and mind who you’re pucking, flabby. |
| Catastrophe and Anabasis. |
might keep her from throwing delph.4 As I was saying, while retorting thanks, you make me a reborn of the cards. We’re offals boys ambows.5 |
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| The rotary processus and its reestablishment of reciprocities. |
And if my bag was big enough I’d send you a toxis. For I’ve flicked up all the crambs as they crumbled from your table um, singing glory allaloserem, cog it out, here goes a sum. So read we in must book. It tells. He prophets most who I bilks the best.6 |
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| |
And that salubrated sickenagiaour of yaours have teaspilled all my hazeydency. Forge ahead, Sunny Sim! Sheepshopp. Bleating Goad, it is the least of things, Eyeinstye! Imagine it, my deep dartry dullard! It is hours giving, not more. I’m only out for celebridging over the guilt of the gap in your hiscitendency. You are a hundred thousand times welcome, old wortsampler, hellbeit you’re just about as culpable as my woolfell merger would be. |
Come si compita cunctititillitation? Conkerycunk, thighthightickellythigh, liggerilag, titteritot, leg in a tee, lug in a law, two at a tie, three on a thricky till ohio ohio ioiomiss. |
| The Twofold Truth and the Conjunctive Appetites of Oppositional Orexes. |
In effect I could engage in an energument over you till you were republicly royally toobally prussic blue in the shirt after.7 Trionfante di bestia! And if you’re not your bloater’s kipper may I never curse again on that pint I took of Jamesons. Old Keane now, you’re rod, hook and sinker, old jubalee Keane! Biddy’s hair. Biddy’s hair, mine lubber. Where is that Quin but he sknows it knot but what you that are my popular endphthisisis were born |
|
| Trishagion. |
with a solver arm up your sleep? Thou in shanty! Thou in scanty shanty!! Thou in slanty scanty shanty!!! Bide in your hush! Bide in your hush, do! The law does not aloud you to shout. I plant my penstock in your postern, chinarpot. Ave. And let it be to all remembrance. Vale. Ovocation of maiding waters.1 For auld lang salvey steyne. I defend you to champ my scullion’s praises. To book alone belongs the lobe. Foremaster’s meed2 will mark tomorrow when we are making pilscrummage to whaboggeryin with staff, scarf and blessed wallet and our aureoles round our neckkandcropfs where as and when Heavysciugardaddy, parent who offers sweetmeats, will |
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| Abnegation is Adaptation. |
gift uns his Noblett’s surprize. With this laudable purpose in loudability let us be singulfied. Betwixt me and thee hung cong. Item, mizpah ends. |
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| |
But while the dial are they doodling dawdling over the mugs and the grubs? Oikey, Impostolopulos?3 Steady steady steady steady steady studiavimus. Many many many many many manducabimus.4 We’ve had our day at triv and quad and writ our bits as intermidgets. Art, literature, politics, economy, chemistry, humanity, &c. |
Enter the cop and how. Secures gubernant urbis terrorem. |
| Cato. |
Duty, the Daughter of Discipline, |
|
| Nero. |
The Great Fire at the South City Markets, |
|
| Saul. |
Belief in Giants and the Banshee, |
|
| Aristotle. |
A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place, |
|
| Julius Caesar. |
Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword? |
|
| Pericles. |
A Successful Career in the Civil Service,5 |
|
| Ovid. |
The Voice of Nature in the Forest,6 |
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| Adam, Eve. |
Your Favourite Hero or Heroine, |
|
| Domitian. |
On the Benefits of Recreation,7 |
|
| Edipus. |
If Standing Stones Could Speak, |
|
| Socrates. |
Devotion to the Feast of the Indulgence of Portiuncula, |
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| Ajax. |
The Dublin Metropolitan Police Sports at Ballsbridge, |
|
| Homer. |
Describe in Homely Anglian Monosyllables the Wreck of the Hesperus,8 |
|
| Marcus Aurelius. |
What Morals (if Any) can be drawn from Diarmuid and Grania?9 |
|
| Alcibiades. |
Do you Approve of our Existing Parliamentary System? |
|
| Lucretius. |
The Uses and Abuses of Insects, |
|
| Noah. |
A Visit to Guinness’s Brewery, |
|
| Plato. |
Clubs, |
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| Horace. |
Advantages of the Penny Post, |
|
| Isaac. |
When is a Pun not a Pun? |
|
| Tiresias. |
Is the Co-Education of Animus and Anima Wholly Desirable?1 |
|
| Marius. |
What Happened at Clontarf? |
|
| Diogenes. |
Since our Brother Jonathan Signed the Pledge or |
|
| Procne, Philomela. |
The Meditations of Two Young Spinsters,2 |
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| Abraham. |
Why we all Love our Little Lord Mayor, |
|
| Nestor. |
Hengler’s Circus Entertainment, |
|
| Cincinnatus. |
On Thrift,3 |
|
| Leonidas. |
The Kettle-Griffith-Moynihan Scheme for a New Electricity Supply, |
|
| Jacob. |
Travelling in the Olden Times,4 |
|
| Theocritus. |
American Lake Poetry, |
|
| Joseph. |
The Strangest Dream that was Ever Halfdreamt,5 |
|
| Fabius. |
Circumspection, |
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| Samson. |
Our Allies the Hills, |
|
| Cain. |
Are Parnellites Just towards Henry Tudor? |
|
| Esop. |
Tell a Friend in a Chatty Letter the Fable of the Grasshopper and the Ant,6 |
|
| Prometheus. |
Santa Claus, |
|
| Lot. |
The Shame of Slumdom, |
|
| Pompeius Magnus, Miltiades Strategos. |
The Roman Pontiffs and the Orthodox Churches,7 |
|
| Solon. |
The Thirty Hour Week, |
|
| Castor, Pollux. |
Compare the Fistic Styles of Jimmy Wilde and Jack Sharkey, |
|
| Dionysius. |
How to Understand the Deaf, |
|
| Sappho. |
Should Ladies learn Music or Mathematics? |
|
| Moses. |
Glory be to Saint Patrick! |
|
| Job. |
What is to be found in a Dusstheap, |
|
| Catilina. |
The Value of Circumstantial Evidence, |
|
| Cadmus. |
Should Spelling? |
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| Ezekiel. |
Outcasts in India, |
|
| Solomon. |
Collecting Pewter, |
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| Themistocles. |
Eu,1 |
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| Vitellius. |
Proper and Regular Diet Necessity For,2 |
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| Darius. |
If You Do It Do It Now, |
|
| Xenophon. |
Delays are Dangerous. |
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| |
Vitavite! Gobble Anne: tea’s set, see’s eneugh! Mox soonly will be in a split second per the chancellory of his exticker. |
Mawmaw, luk, your beeeftay’s fizzin over! |
| Pantocracy. |
Aun |
|
| Bimutualism. |
Do |
|
| Interchangeaability. |
Tri |
|
| Naturality. |
Car |
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| Superfetation. |
Cush3 |
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| Stabimobilism. |
Shay |
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| Periodicity. |
Shockt |
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| Consummation. |
Ockt |
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| Interpenetrativeness. |
Ni |
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| Predicament. |
Geg4 |
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| Balance of the factual by the theoric Boox and Coox, Amallagamated. |
Their feed begins. |
Kakaopoetic lippuddenies of the ungumptious. |
Nightletter
With our best youlldied greedings to Pep and Memmy and the old folkers below and beyant, wishing them all very merry Incarnations in this land of the livvey and plenty of preprosperousness through all their coming new yonks
from
jake, jack and little sousoucie
(the babes that mean too)
It may not or maybe a no concern of the Guinnesses but.
That the fright of his light in tribalbalbutience bides aback in the doom of the balk of the deaf but that the height of his life from a bride’s eye stammpunct is when a man that means a mountain barring his distance wades a lymph that plays the lazy winning she likes yet that pride that bogs the party begs the glory of a wake while the scheme is like your rumba round me garden, allatheses, with perhelps the prop of a prompt to them, was now or never, in Etheria Deserta as in Grander Suburbia, with Finnfannfawners, ruric or cospolite, for much or moment indispute.
Whyfor had they, it is Hiberio-Miletians and Argloe-Noremen, donated him, birth of an otion that was breeder to sweatoslaves, as mysterbolder, forced in their waste, and as for Ibdullin what of Himana, that their tolvtubular high fidelity daildialler, as modern as tomorrow afternoon and in appearance up to the minute (hearing that anybody in that ruad duchy of Wollinstown schemed to halve the wrong type of date), equipped with supershielded umbrella antennas for distancegetting and connected by the magnetic links of a Bellini-Tosti coupling system with a vitaltone speaker, capable of capturing skybuddies, harbour craft emittences, key clickings, vaticum cleaners, due to woman formed mobile or man made static, and bawling the whowle hamshack and wobble down in an eliminium sounds-pound so as to serve him up a melogoturny marygorauund, eclectrically filtered for allirish earths and ohmes. This harmonic condenser enginium (the Mole) they caused to be worked from a magazine battery (called the Mimmim Bimbim, patent number 1132, Thorpetersen and Synds, Jomsborg, Selverbergen) which was tuned up by twintriodic singalvalvulous pipelines (lackslipping along as if their liffng deepunded on it) with a howdro-cephalous enlargement, a gain control of circumcentric megacycles, ranging from the antidulibnium onto the serostaatarean. They finally caused, or most leastways brung it about somehows, (that) the pip of the lin (to) pinnatrate inthro an auricular forfickle (known as the Vakingfar Sleeper, monofractured by Piaras Ua Rhuamhaighaudhlug, tympan founder, Eustache Straight, Bauliaughacleeagh), a meatous conch culpable of cunduncing Naul and Santry and the forty routs of Corthy with the concertiums of the Brythyc Symmonds Guild, the Ropemakers Reunion, the Variagated Peddlars Barringoy Bnibrthirhd, the Askold Olegsonder Crowds of the O’Keef-Rosses and Rhosso-Keevers of Eastwoking, the Ligue of Yahooth o.s.v., so as to lall the bygone dozed they arborised around, up his corpular fruent and down his reuctionary buckling, hummer, enville and cstorrap (the man of Iren, thore’s Curlymane for you!), lill the lubberendth of his otological life.
House of call is all their evenbreads though its cartomanse hallucinate like an erection in the night the mummery of whose deed, a lur of Nur, immerges a mirage in a merror, for it is where by muzzinmessed for one watthour, bilaws below, till time jings pleas, that host of a bottlefilled, the bulkily hulkwight, hunter’s pink of face, an orel orioled, is in on a bout to be unbulging an o’connell’s, the true one, all seethic, a luckybock, pledge of the stoup, whilom his canterberry bellseyes wink wickeding indtil the teller, oyne of an oustman in skull of skand. Yet is it, this ale of man, for him, our hubuljoynted, just a tug and a fistful as for Culsen, the Patagoreyan, chieftain of chokanchuckers and his moyety joyant, under the foamer dispensation when he pullupped the turfeycork by the greats of gobble out of Lougk Neagk. When, pressures be to our hoary frother, the pop gave his sullen bulletaction and, bilge, sled a movement of catharic emulsipotion down the sloppery slide of a slaunty to tilted lift-ye-landsmen. Allamin. Which in the ambit of its orbit heaved a sink her sailer alongside of a drink her drainer from the basses brothers, those two they-got-theres.
It was long after once there was a lealand in the luffing ore it was less after lives thor a toyler in the tawn at all ohr it was note before he drew out the moddle of Kersse by jerkin his dressing but and or it was not before athwartships he buttonhaled the Norweeger’s capstan.
So he sought with the lobestir claw of his propencil the clue of the wickser in his ear. O, lord of the barrels, comer forth from Anow (I have not mislaid the key of Efas-Taem), O, Ana, bright lady, comer forth from Thenanow (I have not left temptation in the path of the sweeper of the threshold), O!
But first, strongbowth, they would deal death to a drinking. Link of a leadder, dubble in it, slake your thirdst thoughts awake with it. Our svalves are svalves aroon! We rescue thee, O Baass, from the damp earth and honour thee, O Connibell, with mouth burial! So was done, neat and trig. Up draught and whet them!
Then sagd he to the ship’s husband in his translatentic norjankeltian: Hwere can a ketch or hook alive a suit and sowterkins? Soot! sayd the ship’s husband, knowing the language, Here is tayleren. Ashe and Whitehead, closechop, successor to. Ahorror, he sayd, canting around to that beddest his friend, the tayler, for finixed coulpure, chunk pulley muchy chink topside numpa one sellafella, fake an capstan make and shoot! Manning to sayle of cloths for his lady her master whose to be precised of a peer of trouders under the pattern of a cassack. Let me prove, I pray thee, but this once, sazd Mengarments, saving the mouthbrand from his fire-pool. He spit in his faist (beggin): he tape the raw baste (paddin): he planked his pledge (as dib is a dab): and he tog his fringe sleeve (buthock, lad, fur whale). Alloy for allay and this toolth for that soolth. Lick it and like it. A barter, a parter. And plenty good enough, neighbour Norreys, every bit and grain. And the ship’s husband brokecurst after him to hail the lugger. Stolp, tief, stolp, come bag to Moy Eireann! And the Norweeger’s capstan swaradeed, some blowfish out of schooling. All lykkehud! Below taiyor he ikan heavin sets. But they broken waters and they made whole waters at they surfered bark to the lots of his vauce. And aweigh he yankered on the Norgean run so that seven sailend sonnenrounders was he breastbare to the brinabath, where bottoms out has fatthoms full, fram Franz José Land til Cabo Thormendoso, evenstarde and risingsoon. Up the Rivor Janueiry and down the Golfe Desombres. Farety days and fearty nights. Enjooy yourself, O maremen! And the tides made, veer and haul, and the times marred, rear and fall, and, holey bucket, dinned he raign!
— Hump! Hump! bassed the broaders-in-laugh with a quick piddysnip that wee halfbit a second.
— I will do that, sazd Kersse, mainingstaying the rigout for her wife’s lairdship. Nett sew? they hunched back at the earpicker.
But old sporty, as endth lord, in ryehouse reigner, he nought feared crimp or cramp of shore sharks, plotsome to getsome. It was whol niet godthaab of errol Loritz off his Cape of Good Howthe and his trippertrice, loretta lady, a maomette to his monetone, with twy twy twinky her stone hairpins, only not, if not, a queen of Prancess their telling tabled who was for his seeming a casket through the heavenly, nay, the heart of the sweet (had he hows would he keep her as niece as a fiddle!) but in the mealtub it was wohl yeas sputsbargain what, rarer of recent, an occasional conformity, he, with Muggleton Muckers, alwagers allalong most certainly allowed, as pilgrimager’s grace to petitionists of right, of the three blend cupstoomerries with their customed spirits, the Gill gob, the Burkeley bump, the Wallisey wanderlook, having their ceilidhe gailydhe in his shaunty irish. Group drinkards maaks grope thinkards or how reads rotary, jewr of a chrestend, respecting the otherdogs churchees. So long plubs will be plebs but plabs by low frequency amplification may later agree to have another. For the people of the shed are the sure ads of all quorum. Lorimers and leathersellers, skinners and salters, pewterers and paperstainers, parishclerks, fletcherbowyers, girdlers, mercers, cordwainers and first, and not last, the weavers. Our library he is hoping to ye public.
Innholder, upholder.
— Sets on sayfohrt! Go to it, agitator! they bassabosuned over the flowre of their hoose. Godeown moseys and skeep thy beeble bee!
— I will do that, acordial, by mine hand, sazd Kersse, piece Cod, and in the flap of a jacket, ructified after his nap of a blankit their o’cousin, as sober as the ship’s husband he was one my godfather when he told me saw whileupon I am now well and jurily sagasfide after the boonamorse that the widower, according to rider, following pnomoneya, he is consistently blown to Adams. So help me boyg who keeps the book!
Whereofter behest his suzerain law the Thing and the pilsener had the baar, Recknar Jarl (they called him Roguenor, Irl call him), still passing the change-a-pennies, pengeypigses, a several sort of coyne in livery, pushed their whisper in his hairing (seemed some shipshep’s sottovoxed stalement, a dearagadye, to harvey anyone doing duty for duff point of dockland composs), the same to the good, ind ast velut discharge after which he had ex-emptied more than orphan for the ballast of his nurtural life. And threw a cast. A few pigses and hare you are and no chicking, tribune’s tribute, if you guess mimic miening. Meanly, in his lewdbrogue, take your tyou coppels token with this good sixtric from mine runbag of juwels. Nummus that is summus that is toptip that is bottomlay that is Twomeys that is Digges that is Heres. In the frameshape of hard mettles. For we all would fain make glories. It is minely well mint.
Thus as count the costs of liquid courage, a bullyon gauger, stowed stivers pengapung in bulk in hold (fight, great finnence! brayvoh, little bratton!) keen his kenning, the queriest of the crew, with that fellow fearing for his own misshapes, should he be himpself namesakely a foully fallen dissentant from the peripulator, sued towerds Meade-Reid and Lynn-Duff, rubbing the hodden son of a pookal, leaden be light, lather be dry and it be drownd on all the ealsth beside, how the camel and where the deiffel or when the finicking or why the funicking or who caused the scaffolding to be first removed you give orders, babeling, were their reidey meade answer when on the cutey (the corespondent) in conflict of evidence drew a kick at witness but (missed) and for whom in the dyfflun’s kiddy removed the planks they were wanted, boob.
Bump!
Bothallchoractorschumminaroundgansumuminarumdrumstrumtr
uminahumptadumpwaultopoofoolooderamaunsturnup!
— Did do a dive, aped one.
— Propellopalombarouter, based two.
— Rutsch is for rutterman ramping his roe, seed three. Where the muddies scrimm ball. Bimbim bimbim. And the maidies scream all. Himhim himhim.
And forthemore let legend go lore of it. That mortar scene so cwympty dwympty what a dustydust it razed arboriginally but, luck’s leap to the lad at the top of the ladder, so sartor’s risorted why the sinner the badder! Ho ho ho hoch! La la la lach! Hillary rillary gibbous grist to our millery! A pushpull, qq: quiescence, pp: with extravent intervulve coupling. The savest lauf in the world. Paradoxmutose caring, but here in a present booth of Ballaclay, Barthalamou, where their dutchuncler mynhosts and serves them dram well right for a boors’ interior (homereek van hohmryk) that salve that selver is to screen its auntey and has ringround as worldwise eve her sins (pip, pip, pip) willpip futurepip feature apip footloose pastcast with spareshins and flash subtittles of noirse-made-earsy from a nephew mind the narrator but give the devil his so long as those sohns of a blitzh call the tuone tuone and thonder alout makes the thurd. Let there be. Due.
— That’s all murtagh purtagh but whad ababs his dopter? sissed they who were onetime ungkerls themselves (when the youthel of his yorn shook the bouchal in his bed), twilled alongside, in wiping the rice assatiated with their wetting. The lappel of his size? His ros in sola velnere and he sicckumed of homnis terrars. She wends to scoulas in her slalpers. There were no peanats in her famalgia so no wumble she tumbled for his famas roalls davors. Don’t him forget! A butcheler artsed out of Cullege Trainity. Diddled he daddle a drop of the cradler on delight mebold laddy was stetched? Knit wear? And they addled (ere the cry of their tongues would be uptied dead), Shufflebotham asidled, plus his ducks fore his drills, an inlay of a liddle more lining maught be licensed all at ones, be these same tokens, forgiving a brass rap, sneither a whole length nor a short shift so full as all were concerned.
Burniface, shiply efter, shoply after, at an angle of lag, let flow, brabble brabble and brabble, and so hostily, heavyside breathing, came up with them and, check me joule, shat the three tailors, butting back to Moyle herring, bump as beam and buttend, roller and reiter, after the diluv’s own deluge, the seasant samped as skibber breezed in, tripping, dripping, threw the sheets in the wind, the tights of his trunks at tickle to tackle and his rubmelucky truss rehorsing the pouffed skirts of his overhaul. He’d left his stickup in his hand to show them none ill feeling, Whatthough for all appentices it had a mushroom on it. While he faced them front to back, Then paraseuls round, quite taken atack, Sclaiming, Howe Cools Eavybrolly!
— Good marrams, sagd he, freshwatties and boasterdes all, as he put into bierhiven, nogeysokey first, cabootle segund, jilling to windwards, as he made straks for that oerasound the snarsty weg for Publin, so was his horenpipe lug in the lee off their mouths organs, with his tilt too taut for his tammy all a slaunter and his wigger on a wagger with its tag tucked. Up. With a good eastering and a good westering. And he asked from him how the hitch did do this my fand Sulkers that mone met the kidballacks which he suttonly remembered also where the hatch was he endnew strandweys he’s that fond Sutchenson, a penincular fraimd of mind, fordeed he was langseling to talka holt of hems. Clown toff, tye hug fliorten. Cablen: Clifftop. Shelvling tobay oppelong tomeadow. Ware cobbles. Posh.
Skibbereen has common inn, by pounautique, with pokeway paw and sadder raven evermore, telled shinshanks lauwering frankish for his kicker who, through the medium of gallic:
— Pukkelsen, tilltold.
That with some our prowed invisors how their ulstravoliance led them infroraids, striking down and landing alow against our aerian insulation resistance, two boards that beached ast one, widness thane and tysk and hanry. Prepatrickularly all, they summed. Kish met. Bound to. And for landlord, noting, nodding, a coast to moor was cause to mear. Besides proof plenty, over proof. While they either took a heft. Or the other swore his eric. Heaved two, spluiced the menbrace. Heirs at you, Brewinbaroon! Weth a whistle for methanks.
— Good marrams and good mirrymills, sayd good mothers gossip, bobbing his bowing both ways with the bents and skerries, when they were all in the old walled of Kinkincaraborg (and that they did overlive the hot air of Montybunkum upon the coal blasts of Mitropolitos let there meeds be the hourihorn), hiberniating after seven oak ages, fearsome where they were he had gone dump in the doomering this tide where the peixies would pickle him down to the button of his seat and his sess old soss Erinly into the boelgein with the help of Divy and Jorum’s locquor and shut the door after him to make a rarely fine Ran’s cattle of fish. Morya Mortimor! Allapalloverus! Howoft had the ballshee tried! And they laying low for his homegang in that eeriebleak mead, with fireball feast and turkeys tumult and paupers patch to provide his bum end. The foe things your niggerhead needs to be fitten for the Big Water. He made the sign of the hammer. Cod’s drought, he sayd, after a few daze, thinking of all those bliakings, how leif pauses! Here you are back on your hawkins from Blasil the Brast to our povotogesus portocall, the furt on the turn of the hurdies, slave to trade, vassal of spices and a dragon-the-market, and be turbot, lurch a stripe, as were you soused methought out of the mackerel. Eldsfells! sayd he. A kumpavin on iceslant! Here’s open handlegs for one old faulker from the hame folk here in You’s booth! So sell me gundy, sagd the now waging cappon with a warry posthumour’s expletion, shoots ogos shootsle him or where’s that slob? A bit bite of keesens, he sagd, til Dennis, for this jantar (and let the dobblins roast perus!) or a stinger, he sagd, t. d., on a dorough-bread kennedys for Patriki San saki on svo fro or my old relogion’s out of tiempor and when I’m soured to the tipple you can sink me lead, he sagd, and, if I get can, sagd he, a pusspull of tamtartarum. Thirst because homing hand give. Allkey dalkey, sayd the shop’s housebound, for he was as deep as the north star (and could tolk sealer’s solder into tankar’s tolder), as might have sayd, every man to his beast and a treat for the trading scow, my cater million falls to you and crop feed a stall, if thoult pay mine’s the winnowing sheet! Afram!
And he got and gave the ekspedient for Hombreyhambrey wilcomer what’s the good word. He made the sign on the feaster. Cloth be laid! And a disk of osturs for the swanker! Allahballah! He was the carelessest man I ever see but he sure had the most sand. One fishball with fixings! For a dan of a ven of a fin of a son of a gun of a gombolier. Ekspedient, sayd he, sonnur mine, Shackleton Sulten! Opvarts and at ham, or this ogry Osler will oxmaul us all, sayd he, like one familiar to the house, while Waldemar was heeling it and Maldemer was toeing it, soe syg he was walking from the bowl at his food and the meer crank he was waiting for the tow of his turn.
Till they plied him behaste on the fare. Saywehrn!
— Nohow did he kersse or hoot alike the suit and solderskins? minded first breachesmaker with considerable way on and
— Humpsea dumpsea, the munchantman, secondsnipped cutter the curter.
— A ninth for a ninth. Take my worth from it. And no mistaenk, they thricetold the taler, and they knew the whyed for too. The because of his sosuch. Uglymand fit himshemp but throats fill us all! And three’s here’s for repeat of the unium!
— Place the scaurs wore on your groot big bailey bill, he apullajibed, the O’Colonel Power, latterly distented from the O’Conner Dan, so promonitory himself that he was obliffious of the headth of hosth that rosed before him from Sheeroskouro, under its zembliance of mardal mansk, like a dun darting dullemitter, with his moultain haares stuck in plostures upon it (do you kend yon peak with its coast so green?), still trystfully acape for her his gragh knew well in precious memory and that proud grace to her, in gait a movely water, of smile a coolsome cup, with that rarefied air of a Montmalency and her quick little breaths and her climbing colour. Take thee live will save thee wive? I’ll think uplon, lilady. Should anerous enthroproise call homovirtue, duinnafear! The ghem’s to the ghoom be she nere zo zma. Obsit nemon! Floodlift, her ancient of rights regaining, so yester yidd, even remembrance. And greater grown than in the trifle of her days, a mouse, a mere tittle, trots off with the whole panoromacron picture. Her youngfree yoke stilling his wandercursus, jilt the spin of a curl and jolt the broadth of a buoy. The Annexandreian captive conquest. Ethna Prettyplume, Hooghly Spaight. Him her first lap, her his fast pal, for ditcher for plower, till deltas twoport. While this glowworld’s lump is gloaming off and han in hende will grow. Through simpling years where the lowcasts have aten of amilikan honey and datish fruits and a bannock of barley on Tham the Thatcher’s palm. O wanderness be wondernest and now! Listeneath to me, veils of Mina! He would withsay, nepertheloss, that is too me mean. I oldways did me walsh and preechup ere we set to sope and fash. Now eats the vintner over these contents oft with his sad slow munch for backonham. Yet never shet is the brood of aurowoch, not for legions of donours of Gamuels. I have performed the law in truth for the lord of the law, Taif Alif. I have held out my hand for the holder of my heart in Annapolis, my youthrib city. Be ye then my protectors unto Mussabotomia before the guards of the city. Theirs theres is a gentlemeants agreement. Womensch plodge. To slope through heather till the foot. Join Andersoon and Co. If the flowers of speech valed the springs of me rising the hiker I hilltapped the murk I mist my blezzard way. Not a knocker on his head nor a nicknumber on the manyoumeant. With that coldtbrundt natteldster wefting stinks from Alpyssinia, wooving nihilnulls from Memoland and wolving the ulvertones of the voice. But his spectrem only mergeant crested from the irised sea in plight, calvitousness, loss, nngnr, gliddinyss, unwill and snorth. It might have been what you call your change of my life but here’s the chance of a night for my lifting. Hillyhollow, valleylow! With the sounds and the scents in the morning.
— I shot be shoddied, throttle me, fine me cowheel for ever, usquebauched the ersewild aleconner, for bringing briars to Benbracken and ringing rinbus round Demetrius for, as you wrinkle wryghtly, bully bluedomer, it’s a suirsite’s stircus haunting hesteries round old volcanoes. We gin too gnir and thus plinary indulgence makes collemullas of us all. But time is for talerman tasting his tap. Tiptoptap, Mister Maut.
He made one summery (cholk and murble in lonestime) of his the three swallows like he was muzzling Moselems and torched up as the faery pangeant fluwed down the hisophenguts, a slake for the quicklining, to the tickle of his tube and the twobble of his fable, O, fibbing once upon a spray what a queer and queasy spree it was. Plumped.
Which both did. Prompt. Eh, chrystal holder? Save Ampsterdampster that had rheumaniscences in his netherlumbs.
— By the drope in his groin, Ali Slupa, thinks the cappon, plumbing his liners, we were heretofore.
— And be the coop of his gobbos, Reacher the Thaurd, thinks your girth fatter, apopo of his buckseaseilers, but where’s Horace’s courtin troopsers?
— I put hem behind the oasthouse, sagd Pukkelsen, tuning wound on the teller, appeased to the cue, that double dyode dealered, and he’s wallowing awash swill of the Tarra water. And it marinned down his gargantast trompsathletic like the marousers of the gulpstroom. The kersse of Wolafs on him, shitateyar, he sagd in the fornicular, and, at weare or not at weare, I’m sigen no stretcher, for I carsed his muhersson goat in trotthers with them newbucklenoosers behigh in the fire behame in the oasthouse. Hops! sagd he.
— Smoke and coke choke! lauffed till the tear trickled drown a thigh the loafers all but a sheep’s whosepants that swished to the lord he hadn’t and the starer his story was talled to who felt that, the fierifornax being thurst on him motophosically, as Omar sometime notes, such a satuation, debauchly to be watched for, would empty dempty him down to the ground.
— And hopy dope! sagd he, anded the enderer, now dyply hypnotised or hopeseys doper himself. And kersse him, sagd he, after inunder tarrapoulling, and the shines he cuts, shinar, the screeder, the stitchimesnider, adepted to nosestorsioms in his budinholder, cummanisht, sagd he (fouyoufoukou!), which goes in the ways smooking publics, sagd he, bomboosting to be in thelitest civille row faction for a dubblebrasterd, navvygaitered (flick off that hvide aske, big head!), sagd he, the big bag of my hamd till hem, tollerloon, sagd he, with his pudny bun brofkost when he walts meet the bangd. I will put his fleas of wood in the flour, and he sagd, behunt on the oatshus, the not wellmade one, sagd he, the kersse of my armsore appal this most ummentionablest of men (mundering eeriesk, if he didn’t scalded him all the shimps names in his gitter!) a coathemmed gusset sewer, sagd he, his first cudgin is an innvalet in the unitred stables, which is not feed tonights a kirtle offal fisk, and he is that woe worstered wastended shoot-maker whatever poked a noodle in a clouth!
So for the second tryon all the meeting of the acarras had it. How he hised his bungle oar his shourter and cut the pinter off his pourer and lay off for Fjellagulphia in the farning. From his dhruimadhreamdhrue back to Brighten-pon-the-Baltic, from our lund’s rund turs bag til threathy hoeres a wuke. Ugh!
— Stuff, Taaffe, stuff! interjoked it his wife’s hopesend to the boath of them consistently. Come back to May Aileen.
— Ild luck to it! blastfumed the nowraging scamptail, in flating furies outs trews his cammelskins, the flashlight of his ire wackering from the eye-winker on his masttop. And aye far he fared from Afferik Arena and yea near he night till Blawland Bearring, baken be the brazen sun, buttered be the snows. And the sea shoaled and the saw squalled. And, soaking scupper, didn’t he drain!
A pause.
Infernal machinery (seareel number: Bullysacre, dig care a dig) having thus passed the buck to billy back from jack (finder the keeper) as the baffling yarn sailed in circles it was now high tide for the reminding pair of snipers to be suitably punished like the pervious oelkenner done till they had liquorally no more powers to their elbow. Ignorinsers’ bliss, therefore, their not to say rifle butt target, none too wisefolly, poor fish (he is eating, he is spun, is milked, he dives), upholding a lampthorne of lawstift as wand of welcome to all men in bonafay (and the corollas he so has saved gainsts the virus he has thus injected!), discoastedself to that kipsie point of its Dublin bar where, breaking and entering, from the outback’s dead heart, Glasthule Bourne or Boehernapark Nolagh, by wattsismade or bianconi, astraylians in island, a wellknown tall hat blown in between houses by a nightcap of that silk or it might be a black velvet and a kiber galler dragging his hunker were signalling gael warnings towards Wazwollenzee Haven to give them their beerings, east circular route or elegant central highway. Open, ’tis luck will have it! Lifeboat Alloe, Noeman’s Woe, Hircups Emptybolly! With winkles, whelks and cocklesent jelks. Let be buttercup eve lit by night in the Phoenix! Music. And old lotts have funn at Flammagen’s ball. Till Irinwakes from Slumber Deep. How they succeeded by courting daylight in saving darkness he who loves will see.
Busimess. His bestness. Copeman helpen.
Contrescene.
He cupped his years to catch me’s to you in what’s yours so as minest to hissent, giel as gail, geil as gaul, Odorozone, now ourmenial servent, blanding rum, milk and toddy with I hand it to you. Saying whiches, see his bow on the hapence, with a pattedyr but digit here, he scooped their hens, hounds and horses, biddy by bunny, with an arc of his covethand, saved from the drohnings they might oncounter, intill his cubid long to hide in dry. Aside. Your sows tin the topple, dodgers, trink me dregs! Zoot!
And with the gush of a spring alice the fossickers and swagglers with him on the hoof from down under spiked forth desert roses in that mulligar scrub.
Reenter Ashe Junior. Peiwei toptip, nankeen pontdelounges. Gives fair day. Cheroot. Cheevio!
Off.
— Take off thatch whitehat (lo, Kersse come in back bespoking of loungeon off the Boildawl stumplecheats for rushirishis Irush-Irish, dangieling his old Conan over his top gallant shouldier so was, lao yiu shao, he’d like more look a novicer on the nevay).
— Tick off that whiltehot, you scum of a botch (of Kersse who, as he turned out, alas, hwen ching hwan chang, had been mocking his hollaballoon a sample of the costume of the country).
— Tape oaf that saw foull and sew wrong, welsher, you suck of a thick, stock and the udder, and confiteor yourself (for bekersse he had cuttered up and misfutthered in the most multiplest manner for that poor old bridge’s masthard slouch a shook of cloakses the wise, hou he pouly hung hoang tseu, his own fitther couldn’t nose him).
Chorus: With his coate so graye. And his pounds that he pawned from the burning.
— And, haikon or hurlin, who did you do at doyle today, my horsey dorksey gentryman?
— Serge Mee, suit! sazd he, tersey kersey.
And when Tersse had sazd this Kersse stood them the whole koursse of training how the whole blazy raze ocurraghed, from lambkinsback to sliving board and from spark to phoenish. And he tassed him tartly and he sassed him smartly, tig for tager, strop for stripe, as long as there’s a lyasher on a kyat. And they peered him beheld on the pyre.
And it was so. Behold.
— Same capman no nothing horces two feller he feller go where. Isn’t that effect? gig for gag, asked there three newcommers till knockingshop at the ones upon a topers who, while in admittance to that impedance, as three as they were there, they had been malttreating themselves to their health’s contempt.
— That’s fag for fig, metinkus, confessed, mhos for mhos, those who, would it not be for that dielectrick, were upon the point of obsoletion and at the brink of, from the pillary of the Nilsens and from the statutes of the Kongbullies and from the millestones of Ovlergroamlius libitate nos, Domnial!
— And so culp me goose, he sazd, szed the ham muncipated of the first course, recoursing, all cholers and coughs with his beauw on the bummell, the bugganeering wanderducken, he sazd (that his pumps may ship awhoyle shandymound of the dussard), the coarsehair highsaydighsayman, there’s nice tugs he looks (how you was, Ship Alouset?), he sazd, the bloedaxe bloodooth baltxebec, that is crupping into our raw lenguage navel through the lumbsmall of his hawsehole, he sazd, donconfounder him, voyaging after maidens, belly jonah hunting the polly joans, and the kurss of all portnoysers befaddle him, he sazd, till I split in his flags, he sazd, one to one, the landslewder, after Donnerbruch fire. Reefer was a wenchman. One can smell oπ his wetsments how he is coming from a beach of promisck. Where is that old muttiny, shall I ask? Free kicks he will have from me, turncoats, in Bar Bartley if I wars a fewd years ago. Meistr Capteen Gaascooker, a salestrimmer! As he was soampling me ledder, like pulp, and as I was trailing his fumbelums, like hulp, he’ll fell the fall of me faus, he sazd, like yulp! The goragorridgorballyed pushkalsson, he sazd, with his bellows pockets fulled of potchtatos and his fox in a stomach, a disagrees to his ramskew coddlelecherskithers’ zirkuvs, drop down dead and deaf, and there is never a teilwrmans in the feof fife folks of Iseland or in the wholeabelongd of Skunkinabory from Drumadunderry till the rumnants of Mecckrass, could milk a colt in thrushes foran furrow follower width that hole in his tale and that hell of a hull of a hill of a camelump bakk. Fadgestfudgist!
Upon this dry call of selenium cell (that horn of lunghalloon, Riland’s in peril!) with its doomed crack of the old damn ukonnen power insound it the lord of the saloom, as if for a flash salamagunnded himself, listed his tummelumpsk pack and hearinat presently returned him, ambilaterally alleyeoneyesed, from their uppletoned layir to his beforetime guests, that bunch of palers on their round, timemarching and petrolling how, who if they were abound to loose a laugh (Toni Lampi, you booraascal!) they were abooned to let it as the leashed they might do when they felt (O, the wolf he’s on the walk, sees his sham cram bokk!) their joke was coming home to them, the steerage way for stabling, ghustorily spoeking, gen and gang, dane and dare, like the dud spuk of his first foetotype (Trolldedroll, how vary and likely!), the fillibustered, the fullybellied, with the old sit in his shoulders and the new satin atlas onder his uxter, erning his breadth to the swelt of his proud and picking up the amberose of the lizod lights, his tail toiled of spume and spawn, and the bulk of him and the hulk of him, as whenever it was he reddled a ruad to riddle a rede from the sphinxish pairc while Ede was a guardin, ere love a side issue. They hailed him cheeringly, their encient, the murrainer, and wallruse, the merman, ye seal that lubs you lassers, Thallasee or Tullafilmagh, when come of uniform age.
— Heave, coves, emptybloody!
And ere he could catch or hook or line to suit their sausyskins, the lumpenpack. Underbund was overraskelled. As
— Sot! sod the tailors opsits from their gabbalots. Change all that whole set. Shut down and shet up. Our set, our set’s allohn.
And they poured em behoild on the fire. Scaald!
Rowdiose wodhalooing. Theirs is one lessonless missage for good and truesirs. Will any persen bereaved to be passent bringback or rumpart to the Hoved politymester. Clontarf, one love, one fear. Ellers, for the greeter glossary of code, callen hom: Finucane-Lee, Finucane-Law.
Am. Dg.
Welter focussed.
Wind from the nordth. Warmer towards mu√nbell. Lull.
As our revelant Columnfiller predigted in last mount’s chattiry sermon, the allexpected depression over Schiumdinebbia, a bygger muster of veirying precipitation, haralded by faugh sicknells (hear kokkenhovens ekstras!) and umwalloped in an unusuable suite of clouds, having filthered trough the middelhav of the same gorgers’ kennel on its wage wealthwards and incursioned a sotten retch of low pleasure, missed in some ports but with lucal drizzles, the outlook for tomarry (Streamstress Mandig) beamed brider, his ability good.
What hopends to they?
Giant crash in Aden. Birdflights confirm abbroaching nubtials. Burial of Lifetenant-Groevener Hatchett, R.I.D. Devine’s Previdence.
Ls. De.
Art thou gainous sense uncompetite! Limited. Anna Lynchya Pourable! One and eleven. United We Stand, even many oπered. Don’t forget. I wish auspicable thievesdayte for the stork dyrby. It will be a thousanne’s a won paddies. And soon to bet. On drums of bliss. With hapsalap troth, hip-salewd prudity, hopesalot honnessy, hoopsaloop luck. After when from midnights unwards the fourposter harp quartette. (Kiskiviikko, Kalastus. Torstaj, tanssia. Perjantaj, peleja. Lavantaj ja Sunnuntaj, christianismus kirjallisuus, kirjallisuus christianismus.) Whilesd this pellover his finnisch.
— Comither, ahorace, thou mighty man of valour, elderman adaptive of Capel Ysnod, and tsay-fong tsei-foun a laun bricksnumber till I’ve fined you a faulter-in-law, to become your son-to-be, gentlemens tealer, generalman seelord, gosse and bosse, hunguest and horasa, jonjemsums both in sails-manship, szed the head marines talebearer, then sayd the ship’s gospfather in the scat story to the husband’s capture, and either you does or he musts and this moment same, sayd he, so let laid pacts be being betving ye, he sayd, by my main makeshift, he sayd, one fisk and one flesk, as flat as, Aestmand Aedmundson you, you’re iron slides and so hompety domp as Paddley MacNamara here he’s a hardy canooter, for the two breasts of Banba are her soilers and her toilers, if thou wilt serve Idyall as thou hast sayld. Brothers Boathes, brothers Coathes, ye have swallen blooders’ oathes. And Gophar sayd unto Glideon and sayd he to the nowwedding captain, the rude hunnerable Humphrey, who was praying god of clothildies by the seven bosses of his trunktarge he would save bucklesome when she wooed belove on him, comeether, sayd he, my merrytime marelupe, you wutan whaal, sayd he, into the shipfolds of our quadruped island, bless madhugh, mardyk, luusk and cong! Blass Neddos bray! And no more of your maimed acts after this with your kowtows and criados to every tome, thick and heavy, and our onliness of his revelance to your ultitude The Illfollowable staying in wate for you with the winning word put into his mouth or be the hooley tabell, as Horrocks Toler hath most cares to call it, I’ll rehearse your comeundermends and first mardhyr you entirely. As puck as that Paddeus picked the pun and left the lollies off the foiled. A Trinity judge will crux your boom. Pat is the man for thy. Ay ay!
And he pured him beheild of the ouishguss, mingling a sign of the cruisk.
— I popetithes thee, Ocean, sayd he, Oscarvaughther, sayd he, Erievikkingr, sayd he, intra trifum triforium trifoliorum, sayd he, onconditionally, forfor furst of the gielgaulgulls and hero chief explunderer of the clansakiltic, sayd he, the steamerer’s mastress to the sea aasse cuddycoalman’s, and let this douche for you as a wholly apuzzler’s and for all the pukkeleens to the wakes of you, sayd he, out of the hellsinky of the howtheners and be danned to ye, sayd he, into our roomyo connellic relation, sayd he, from which our this pledge is given, Tera truly ternatrine if not son towards thousand like expect chrisanathems to which I osker your godhsbattaring, saelir, for as you gott kvold whereafter a gooden diggin and with gooder enscue from osion backfared agen fairioes feuded hailsohame til Edar in that the loyd mave hercy on your sael! Anomyn an awer. Spickinusand.
— Nansense, you snorsted? He was haltid considerable agenst all religions overtrow so hworefore the thokkurs pokker the bigbug miklamanded stor-store exploder would he be whulesalesolde daadaaped by Priest Gudfadren of the sacredhaunt suit in Diaeblen-Balkley at Domnkirk Saint Petricksburg? But, ear this!
— And here, aaherra, my rere admirable peadar poulsen, sayd he, consistently, to the secondnamed sutor, my lately lamented sponsorship, comesend round that wine and lift your horn, sayd he, to show you’re a skolar for, winter you liker or not, we brought your summer with us and, tomkin about your lief eurekason and his undishcovery of americle, be the rolling forties, he sayd, and on my sopper crappidamn, as Harris himself says, to let you in on some crismion dottrin, here is the ninethest pork of a man whisk swimmies in Dybblin water from Ballscodden easthmost till Thyrston’s Lickslip and, sayd he (whiles the heart of Lukky Swayn laughed in his icebox for to think of all the soorts of smukklers he would behave in juteyfrieze being forelooped to her), praties peel two hour goodsend Brandonius, filius of a Cara, spouse to Fynlogue, he has the nicesth pert of a nittlewoman in the house, la chito, la chato, la Charmadouiro, Tina-bat-Talur, cif for your fob and a tesoura astore for you, eslucilamp aswhen the surge seas sombren, that he daughts upon of anny livving plusquebelle, to child and foster, that’s the lippeyear’s wonder of Tottygo Newschool, two titty too at win winnie won, tramity trimming and funnity fare, with a grit as hard as the trent of the thimes but a touch as saft as the dee in flooing, and never a Hyderow Jenny the like of her lightness at look-and-you-leap, rheadoromanscing long evnans invairn about little Anny Roners and all the Lavinias of ester yours and pleding for them to herself in the periglus glatsch hangs over her trickle bed, it’s a piz of fortune if it never falls from the stuffel, and, when that mallaura’s over till next time, and all the prim rossies are out dressparading and the tubas tuot tuot for the glowry of their god, making every Dinny dingle after her down the Dargul dale and (wait awhile, blusterbuss, you’re marchadant too forte and don’t start furlan your ladins till you’ve learned the lie of her landuage!), when it’s summwer calding and she can hear the pianutunar beyant the bayondes in Combria sleepytalking to the Wiltsh muntons, titting out through her droemer window for the flyend of a touchman over the wishtas of English Strand, when Kilbarrack bell pings saksalaisance that Concessas with Sinbads may (pong!), where our dollimonde sees the phantom shape of Mr Fortunatus Wright since winksome Miss Bulkeley made loe to her wrecker and he took her to be a rover, O, and playing house of ivary dower of gould and gift you soil me peepat my prize, which its a blue loogoont for her in a bleakeyed seusan if she can’t work her mireiclles and give Norgeyborgey good airish timers, while her fresh racy turf is kindly kindling up the lovver with the flu, with a roaryboaryellas would set an Eriweddyng on fire, let aloon an old Humpopolamos with the boomarpoorter on his brain, aidan bay seye and dye, aasbukividdy, twentynine to her dozen and coocoo him dildulcey dovely to his old cawcaws’ huggin and munin for his strict privatear which there’s no pure rube like an ool pool roober when your pullar beer turns out Bruin O’Luinn and beat his barge into a battering pram with her wattling way for cubblin and, be me fairy fay, sayd he, the marriage mixter, to Kersse, son of Joe Ashe, her coaxfonder, wiry eyes and winky hair, timkin abeat your Andraws Meltons and his lovsang of the short and shifty, I will turn my thinks to things alove and I will speak but threes ones, sayd he, my truest patrious goodfounter, poles a port and zones asunder, tie up in hates and repeat at luxure, you can better your tooblue prodestind arson, tyler bach, after roundsabouts and donochs and the volumed smoke, though the clonk in his stumble strikes warn, and were he laid out on that counter there like a Slavocrates amongst his skippies, when it comes to the ride onerable, sayd he, that’s to make plain Nanny Ni Sheeres a full Dinamarqueza, and all needed for the lay, from the husey on the montey with the room in herberge down to forkpiece and buckle-catch (Elding, my elding! and Lif, my lif!), in the pravacy of the pirma-nocturne, hap, sayd he, at that meet hour of night, and hop, sayd he, and the fyrsty annar everso thried (whiles the breath of Huppy Hullespond swumped in his seachest for to renumber all the mallymedears’ long roll and call of sweetheart emmas that every had a port in from Coxenhagen till the brottels on the Nile), while taylight is yet slipping under their pillow (ill omens on Kitty Cole if she’s spilling Paddy’s measure!) and before Sing Mattins in the Fields, ringsengd ringsengd, bings Heri the Concorant Erho and the Referinn Fuchs Gutmann gives us I’ll Bell the Welld or The Steeplepoy’s Revanger and all Thingavalley knows, for it’s never dawn in the dark but the deed comes to life, and raptist bride is aptest breed (tha lassy! tha lassy!), and, to buoy the hoop within us springing, ’tis no timbertar she’ll have then in her armsbrace to doll the dallydandle, our fiery quean, upon the night of the things of the night of the making to stand up the double tet of the oversear of the seize who cometh from the mighty deep and on the night of making Horuse to crihumph over his enemy, be the holp of me cope as so pluse the riches of the roedshields, with Elizabeliza blessing the bedpain at the willbedone of Yinko Jinko Randy, come Bastabasco and hippychip eggs, she will make a suomease pair and singlette, jodhpur smalls and tailerless, a copener’s cribful, leaf, bud and berry, the divlin’s own little mimmykin puss (hip, hip, horatia!), for my old comrhade Saltymar here, Briganteen-General Sir A. I. Magnus, the flappernooser, master of the good lifebark Ulivengrene of Onslought and the homespund of her hearth (Fuss his farther was the norse norse east and Muss his mother was a gluepot) and, gravydock or groovy anker, a hull-dread pursunk manowhood, who (with a chenchen for his delighttime and a bonzeye nappin through his doze) he is the bettest bluffy blondblubber of an olewidgeon what overspat a skettle in a skib.
Cawcaught. Coocaged.
And Dub did glow that night. In Fingal of victories. Cannmatha and Cathlin sang together. And the three shouters of glory-yelling halfviewed their harps. Surly Tuhal smiled upon drear Darthoola: and Roscranna’s bolgaboyo begirlified the daughter of Cormac. The soul of everyelsesbody rolled into its olesoleself. A doublemonth’s licence, lease on mirth, while hooneymoon and her flame went huneysuckling. Holyryssia, what boom of bells! What battle of bragues on Sandgate where Met the bobby mobbed his bibby mabbing through the ryce! Even Tombs left doss and dunnage down in Demidoff’s tomb and drew on the dournailed clogs that Morty Manning left him and legged in by Ghoststown Gate, like Pompei up to date, with a sprig of Whiteboys heather on his late Luke Elcock’s heirloom. And some say they seen old dummydeaf with a leaf of bronze on his cloak so grey, trooping his colour a pace to the reire. And as owfally posh with his halfcrown jool as if he was the Granjook Meckl or Paster de Grace on the Route de l’Epée. It was joobileejeu that All Sorts’ Jour. Freestouters and publicranks, hafts on glaives. You could hear them swearing threaties on the Cymylaya Mountains, man. And giving it out to the Ould Fathach and louthmouthing after the Healy Mealy with an enfysis to bring down the rain of Tarar. Nevertoletta! Evertomind! The grandest bethehailey seen or heard on earth’s conspectrum since Scape the Goat, that gafr, ate the Suenders bible. Hadn’t we heaven’s lamps to hide us? Yet every lane had its lively spark and every spark had his several spurtles and each spitfire spurtle had some trick of her trade, a tease for Ned, nook’s nestle for Fred and a peep at me mow for Peer Pol. So that Father Matt Hughes looked taytotally threbled. But Danno the Dane grimmed. Dune. ’Twere yeg will elsecare doatty lanv meet they dewscent hyemn to cannons’ roar and rifles’ peal vill shantey soloweys sang! For there were no more of Tyrrhanees for Laxembraghs was passthecupper to Our Lader’s. And it was dim upon the floods only and there was day on all the ground.
Thus street spins legends while wharves woves tales but some family fewds felt a nick in their name. Old Vickers sate down on their airs and straightened the points of their lace. Red Rowleys popped out of their lairs and asked what was wrong with the race. Mick na Murrough used dripping in layers to shave all the furze off his face. The Burke-Lees and Coyle-Finns paid full feines for their sinns when the Cap and Miss Coolie were roped.
Rolloraped.
With her banbax hoist from holder, zig for zag through pool and polder, cheap, cheap, cheap and Laughing Jack, all augurs scorenning, see the Bolche your pictures motion and Kitzy Kleinsuessmein eloping for that holm in Finn’s Hotel Fiord, Nova Norening. Where they pulled down the kuddle and they made fray and if thee don’t look homey, well, that Dook can eye Mae.
He goat a berth. And she cot a manege. And whoth’s gorse mundum ganna wedst.
Knock knock. War’s where! Which war? The twwinns. Knock knock. Woos without! Without what? An apple. Knock knock.
The kilder massed, one then and uhindred (harefoot, birdyhands, herring-abone, beesknees), and they barneydansked a kathareen round to know the who and to show the howsome. Why was you hiding, moder of moders? And where was hunty, poppa the gun? Pointing up to skyless heaven like the spoon out of sergeantmajor’s tay. Which was the worst of them phaymix cupplerts? He’s herd of hoarding and her faiths is altared. Becoming ungoing, their seeming sames for though that liamstone deaf do his part there’s a windtreetop whipples the damp off the mourning. But tellusit allasif well-asits end. And the lunger it takes the swooner they tumble two. He knows he’s just thrilling and she’s sure she’d squeam. The threelegged man and the tulippied dewydress. Lludd hillmythey, we’re brimming to hear! The durst he did and the first she ever? Peganeen Bushe, this isn’t the polkar, catch as you cancan when high land fling! And you, Tim Tommy Melooney, I’ll tittle your barents if you stick that pigpin upinto meh!
So, in the names of the balder and of the sol and of the hollichrost, ogso-wearit, trisexnone, and by way of letting the aandt out of her grosskropper and leading the mokes home by their gribes, whoopsabout a plabbaside of plobbicides, alaman alemon, poison kerls, on this mounden of Delude, and in the high places of Delude of Isreal, which is Haraharem and the diublin’s owld mounden, over against Vikens, from your tarns, thwaites and thorpes, withes, tofts and fosses, fells, haughs and shaws, lunds, garths and dales, mensuring the megnominous as so will is the littleyest, the myrioheartzed with toroidal coil, eira area round wantanajocky, fin above wave after duckydowndivvy, trader arm aslung beauty belt, the formor velican and nana karlikeena, sommerlad and cinderenda, Valtivar and Viv, and how Big Bil Brine Borumoter first took his gage at lil lolly lavvander waader since when capriole legs covets limbs of a crane and was it the twylyd or the mounth of the yare or the feint of her smell made the seomen assalt of her (in imageascene all: whimwhim whimwhim). To the laetification of disgeneration by neuhumourisation of our kristianiasation. As the last liar in the earth begeylywayled the first lady of the forest. Though Toot’s pardoosled sauve l’hummour! For the joy of the dew on the flower of the fleets on the fields of the foam of the waves of the seas of the wild main from Borneholm has jest come to crown.
Snip snap snoody. Noo err historyend goody. Of a lil trip trap and a big treeskooner for he put off the ketyl and they made three (for fie!) and if hec don’t love alpy then lad you annoy me. For hanigen with hunigen still haunt ahunt to finnd their hinnigen where Pappappapparrassannuaragheallachnatullaghmonganmacmacmacwhackfalltherdebblenonthedubblandaddydoodled and anruly person creeked a jest. Gestapose to parry off cheekars or frankfurters on the odor. Fine again, Cuoholson! Peace, O wiley!
Such was the act of goth stepping the tolk of Doolin, drain and plantage, wattle and daub, with you’ll peel as I’ll pale and we’ll pull the boath toground togutter, testies touchwood and shenstone (incooperated) unto pop and puma, calf and condor, under all the gaauspices, the chal and his chi, their roammerin over, gribgrobgrab reining trippetytrappety (so fore shalt thou flow, else thy cavern hair!) towhom she (anit likenand pleasethee!). Till sealump becalmedump to bumpslump a li∫ebed (altolà, allamarsch! O gué, O gué!). Kaemper Daemper to Jetty de Waarft, all the weight of that mons on his little ribbeunuch! Him that gronde old mand to be that haard of heering (afore said) and her the petty tondur with the fix in her changeable eye (which see). Me lord, me lad, he goes with blow-bierd. Leedy, plasheous stream. But before that his loudship was converted to a landshop there was a little theogamyjig incidence that hoppy-go-jumpy Junuary morn, when he colluded with the cad out on the beg amudst the fionnaregal gaames of those oathmassed fenians for whome he’s forcecaused a bridge of the piers, at Inverleffy, mating pontine of their engagement, synnbildising graters and things, eke ysendt? O nilly, not all, here’s the first cataraction! As if ever she cared an assuan damm about her harpoons sticking all out of him whet between phoenix his calipers and that psourdonome sheath. Sdrats ye, Gus Paudheen! Kenny’s thought ye, Dinny Oozle! While the cit was leaking asphalt like a suburbiaurealis in his rure was tucking to him like old booths, booths, booths, booths.
Enterruption. Check or slowback. Dvershen.
Why, wonder of wenchalows, what o szeszame open, v doer s t doing? V door s being. But how theng thingajarry miens but this being becoming n z doer? K? Ano. It is ne not him what foots like a glove, shoehandschiner Pad Podomkin. Sooftly, anni slavey, szszuszchee is slowjaneska.
The aged crafty nummifeed confusionary overinsured everlapsing accentuated katekattershin clopped, clopped, clopped, darsey dobrey, back and along the danzing corridor, as she was going to pimpim him, way boy wally, not without her complement of cavarnan men, between the two death-dealing allied divisions and the lines of readypresent fire of the corked-agains’ upstored, taken in giving the saloot, band your hands going in, bind your heads coming out, and remoltked to herselp in her serf ’s alown, a weerpovy willowy dreevy drawly and the patter of so familiars, farabroads and behomeans, as she shure sknows, boof for a booby, boo: new uses in their mewseyfume. The jammesons is a cook in his hair. And the juinnesses is a rapin his hind. And the Bullingdong caught the wind up. Dip.
And (lead us not into reformication with the poors in your thingdom of gory, O moan!) the message she braught belaw from the missus she bragged abouve that had her agony stays outsize her sari chemise, blancking her shifts for to keep up the fascion since the king of all dronnings kissed her beeswixed hand (fang me, hunky, I’m full of meunders!), her fize like a tub-tail of mondayne clothes, fed to the chaps with working medicals, and her birthright pang that would split an atam like the forty pins in her hood, was to fader huncher a howdydowdy, to mountainy mots in her amnest plein language, from his fain a wan, his hot and tot lass, to pierce his rope-loop ear, how, Podushka be prayhasd, now the sowns of his loins were awinking and waking and his dorter of the hush lillabilla lullaby, once after males, nonce at a time, with them Murphy’s puffs she dursted with gnockmeggs and the bramborry cake for dour dorty dompling, obayre Mottom Beettom and epsut the pfot, and if he was whishtful to licture her caudal with chesty chach from his daubery den and noviny news from Naul or toplots talks from morrienbaths or a parrotsprate’s cure for ensevelised lethurgies, spick’s my spoon and the veriblest spoon, ’twas her hour for the chamber’s ensallycopodium with love to melost Panny Kostello from X. Y. Zid for to folly billybobbis gibits porzy punzy and she was a wanton for De Marera to take her genial glow to bed.
— This is time for my tubble, reflected Mr “Gladstone Browne” in the toll hut (it was choractoristic from that “man of Delgany”). Dip.
— This is me vulcanite smoking, profused Mr “Bonaparte Nolan” under the natecup (one feels how one may hereby reekignites the “ground old mahonagyan”). Dip.
— And this is defender of defeater of defaulter of deformer of the funst man in Danelagh, willingtoned in with this glance dowon his browen and that born appalled noodlum the panellite pair’s cummal delimitator, odding: Oliver White, he’s as tiff as shee’s tight. And thisens his speak quite hoarse. Dip.
In reverence to her midgetsy the lady of the comeallyous as madgestoo our own one’s goff stature. Prosim, prosit, to the krk n yr nck!
O rum it is the chomicalest thing how it pickles up the punchey and the jude. If you’ll gimmy your thing to me I will gamey a sing to thee. Stay where you’re dummy! To get her to go ther. He banged the scoop and she bagged the sugar while the whole pub’s pobbel done a stare. On the mizzatint wall. With its chromo for all. Crimm crimms. Showing holdmenag’s asses sat by Allmeneck’s men, canins to ride with em, canins that lept at em, woollied and flundered.
So the katey’s came and the katey’s game. As so gangs sludgenose. And that henchwench what hopped it dunneth there duft the. Duras.
[Silents]
Yes, we’ve conned thon print in its gloss so gay how it came from Finndlader’s Yule to the day and it’s Hey Tallaght Hoe on the king’s highway with his hounds on the home at a turning. To Donnicoombe Fairing. Millikin’s Pass. When visiting at Izd-la-Chapelle taste the life of the waters from Carlowman’s Cup.
It tellyhows its story to their six of hearts, a twelve-eyed man, for whom has modjestky who since is dyed drown reign before the izba.
Au! Au! Aue! Ha! Heish!
As stage to set by ritual rote for the grimm grimm tale of the four of hyacinths, the deafeeled carp and the bugler’s dozen of leagues-in-amour or how Holispolis went to Parkland with mabby and sammy and sonny and sissy and mop’s varlet de shambles and all to find the right place for it by peep o’ skirt or pipe a skirl when the hundt called a halt on the chivvy-chace of the ground sloper at that lightning lovemaker’s thender apeal till, between wandering weather and stable wind, vastelend hosteilend, neuziel and oltriggersome, Bullyclubber burgherly shut the rush in general.
Let us propel us for the frey of the fray! Us, us, beraddy!
Ko Niutirenis hauru leish! A lala! Ko Niutirenis haururu laleish! Ala lala! The Wullingthund sturm is breaking. The sound of maormaoring. The Wellingthund sturm waxes fuercilier. The whackawhacks of the sturm. Katu te ihis ihis! Katu te wana wana! The strength of the rawshorn generand is known throughout the world. Let us say if we may what a weeny wukeleen can do.
Au! Au! Aue! Ha! Heish! A lala!
— Paud the roosky, weren’t they all of them then each in his different way of saying calling on the one in the same time hibernian knights underthaner that was having, half for the laugh of the bliss it sint barbaras another doesend end once tale of a tublin wished on to him with its olives ocolombs and its hills owns ravings and Tutty his tour in his Nowhare’s yarcht. It was before when Aimée stood for Arthurduke for the figger in profane and fell from grace so madlley for fill the flatter fellows. (They were saying.) And it was the lang in the shirt in the green of the wood, where obelisk rises when odalisks fall, between major threft on the make and jollyjacques spindthrift on the merry. (O Mr Mathurin, they were calling, what a topheavy hat you’re in! And there aramy maeud, they were saying, these so pioupious!) And it was cyclums cyclorums after he made design on the corse and he want to mess on him (enterellbo add all taller Danis), back, seater and sides, and he applied (I’m amazingly sorracer!) the wholed bould shoulderedboy’s width for fullness, measures for messieurs, messer’s massed (they were saycalling again and agone and all over agun, the louthly meathers, the loudly meaders, the lously measlers, six to one, bar ones).
And they pled him beheighten the firing. Dope.
Maltomeetim, alltomatetam, when a tale tarries shome shunter shove on. Fore auld they wauld to pree.
Pray.
Of this Mr A (tillalaric) and these wasch woman (dapplehued), fhronehflord and feeofeeds, who had issue keen and able and a spindlesong aside, nothing more is told until now, his awebrume hour, her sere Sahara of sad oakleaves. And then. Be old. The next thing is. We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch.
So the truce, the old truce and nattonbuff the truce, boys. Drouth is stronger than faction. Slant. Shinshin. Shinshin.
— It was of The Grant, old gartener, qua golden meddlist, Publius Manlius, fuderal private (his place is his poster, sure, they said, and we’re going to mark it, sore, they said, with a carbon caustick manner), bequothed the liberaloider at his petty corporelezzo that hung caughtnapping from his baited breath, it was of him, my wife and I thinks, to feel to every of the younging fruits, tenderosed like an atalantic’s breastswells, or, on a second wreathing, a bright tauth bight shimmeryshaking for the welt of his plow. And where the peckadillies at his wristsends meetings be loving so lightly dovesoiled the candidacy, me wipin eye sinks, of his softboiled bosom should be apparient even to our illicterate of nullatenenties.
All to which not a lot snapped The Nolan of the Calabashes at his whilom eweheart photognomist who by this sum taken was as much incensed by Saint Bruno as that what he had consummed was his own panegoric, and wot a lout about it if it was only a pippappoff pigeon shoot that gracesold getrunner, the man of centuries, was bowled out by judge, jury and umpire at batman’s biff like a witchbefooled legate. Dupe.
His almonence being alaterelly in dispensation with his three oldher patrons’ aid, providencer’s divine cow to milkfeeding mleckman, bonafacies to solafides, what matter what all his frendzay or who holds his hat to harm him, let hutch just keep on under at being a vanished consinent and let annapal livibel prettily prattle a lude all her own. And, be that semeliminal salmon solemonly angled, ingate and outgate, a truce to lovecalls, dulled in warclothes, maleybags, things and bleakhusen. Leave the letter that never begins to go, find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed at night.
Simply. As says the mug in the middle, nay brian nay noel, ney billy ney boney.
Imagine twee cweamy wosen. Suppwose you get a beautiful thought and cull them sylvias sub silence. Then immaggin a stotterer. You may suppoutre him to been one biggermaster Omnibil. Then lustily (tutu the font and tritt on the bokswoods like gay feeters’s dance) immengine up to three longly lurking lobstarts. Fair instents the Will Woolsley Wellaslayers. Pet her, pink him, play pranks with them. She will nod amproperly smile. He may seem to appraisiate it. They are as piractical jukersmen sure to paltipsypote. Feel the wollies drippeling out of your fingathumbs. Says two youssilves (floweers have ears, heahear!) solowly: Sooh these ease Budlim! How do, dainty daulimbs? So peached to pick on you in this way, prue and simple, pritt and spry! Heyday too, Malster Faunagon, and hopes your hahiti-tahiti licks the mankey nuts! And oodlum hoodlum doodlum to yes, Donn, Teague and Hurleg, who the bullocks brought you here and how the hillocks are ye?
We want Bud. We want Bud Budderly. We want Bud Budderly boddily. There he is in his Borrisalooner. The man that shunned the rucks on Gereland. The man that won the bettlle of the bawll. And tough. Order, order, order, order! We call on Tancred Artaxerxes Flavin to compeer with Barnabas Ulick Dunne. Order, order, order! Milster Malster in the chair. We’ve heard it sinse sung thousandtimes. How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon. For Ehren, boys, gobrawl!
[A public plouse. Citizen soldiers.]
TAFF (a smart boy, of the peat freers, thirty two eleven, looking through the roof towards a relevution of the karmalife order privious to his hoisting of an emergency umberolum in byway of paraguastical solation to the rhyttel in his hedd): All was flashning and krashning blurty moriartsky blutcherudd? What see, buttywalch? Tell ever so often?
BUTT (mottledged youth, clergical appealance, who, as his pied friar, is supposing to motto the sorry dejester in tifftaff toffiness or to be digarced from ever and a daye in his accounts): But da. But dada, mwilshsuni. Till even so aften. Sea vaast a pool!
TAFF (porumptly helping himself out by the cesspull with a yellup yurrup, puts up his furry furzed hare): Butly bitly! Humme to our mounthings. Conscribe him tillusk, unt, in his jubalant tubalence, the ground-sapper, with his soilday site out on his moulday side in. The gubernier-gerenal in laut-lievtonant of Baltiskeeamore, amaltheouse for leporty hole! Endues paramilintary langdwage. The saillils of the yellavs nocadont palignol urdlesh. Shelltoss and welltass and telltuss aghom! Sling Stranaslang, how Malorazzias spikes her, coining a speak a spake! Not the Setanik stuff that slimed soft Siranouche! The good old gunshop monowards for manosymples. Tincurs tammit! They did oak hay doe fou Chang-li-meng when that man d’airain was big top tom saw tip side bum boss pageant-filler. Ajaculate! All lea light! Rassamble the glowrings of Bruyant the Bref when the Mollies Makehalpence took his leg for his thumb. And may he be too an intrepidation of our dreams which we foregot at wiking when the morn hath razed our limpalove and the bleak-frost chilled our ravery! Pook. Sing ching lew mang! Upgo, bobby-cop! Lets hear in remember the braise of. Hold!
BUTT (drawling forth from his blousom whereis meditabound of his minkerstary, switches on his gorsecopper’s fling weitoheito langthorn, fed up the grain oils of Aerin, while his laugh neighs banck as that flashermind’s rays and his lipponease longuewedge wambles): Ullahbluh! Sehyoh narar, pokehole sann! Manhead very dirty by am anoyato. Like old Dolldy Icon when he cooked up his iggs in bicon. He gatovit and me gotafit and Oalgoak’s cheloven gut a fudden. Povar old pitschobed! Molodeztious of metchennacht belaburt that pentschmyaso! Bog carsse and dam mat, sar, gam cant! Limbers affront of him, lumbers behund. While the bucks bite his dos his hart bides the ros till the bounds of his bays bell the warning. Sobaiter, sobarkar. He was enmivallupped. Chromean fastion. With all his cannoball wappents. In his raglanrock and his malakoiffed bulbsbyg and his varnashed roscians and his cardigan’s blousejagged and his scarlett manchokuffs and his treecoloured camiflags and his perikopendulous gaelstorms. Here weeks hire pulchers! Obriania’s beromst! From Karrs and Polikoff’s, the men’s confessioners. Seval shimars pleasant time payings. Mousoumeselles buckwoulds look. Tenter and likelings.
TAFF (all Perssiasterssias shookatnaratatattar at his waggonhorchers, his bulgeglarying stargapers razzledazzlingly full of eyes, full of balls, full of holes, full of buttons, full of stains, full of medals, full of blickblackblobs): Grozarktic! Toadlebens! Some garmentguy! Insects appalling, low hum clang sin! A cheap decoy! Too deep destroy! Say mangraphique, may say nay par daguerre!
BUTT if that he hids foregodden has nate of glozery farused ameet the florahs of the follest, his spent fish’s livid smile giving allasundery the bumfit of the doped): Come alleyou jupes of Wymmingtown that graze the calves of Man! A bear raigning in his heavenspawn consomation robes. Rent, outraged, yewleaved, grained, ballooned, hindergored and voluant. Erminia’s capecloaked hoodoodman! First he s st steppes. Then he st stoo stoopt. Lookt.
TAFF (strich struch strangling like a leal lusky Lubliner to merubmer by the cycl of the cruize who strungled Attahilloupa with what empoisoned El Monte de Zuma and failing wilnaynilnay that he was pallups barn in the minkst of the Krumlin befodt he was popsoused into the monkst of the vatercan, makes the holypolygon of the emt on the greaseshaper, a little farther, a little soon, a letteracettera, oukraydoubray): Scutterer of guld! He is retourious on every roadery! The lyewdsky so so sewn of a fitchid! With his walshbrushup. And his boney bogey braggs.
BUTT (after his tongues in his cheeks, with pinkpoker pointing out in rutene to impassible abjects beyond the mistomist towards Lissnaluhy such as the Djublian Alps and the Hoofd Ribeiro as where he and his trulock may ever make a game): The field of karnags and that bloasted tree. Forget not the felled! For the lomondations of Oghrem! Warful doons bothem. Here furry glunn. Nye? Their feery pass. Tak! With guerillaman aspear aspoor to prink the pranks of prinkissies. And the buddies behide in the byre. Allahblah!
TAFF (a blackseer, he stroves to regulect all the straggles for wife in the rut of the past through the widnows in effigies keening after the blank sheets in their faminy to the relix of old decency from over draught): Oh, day of rath! Ah, murther of mines! Eh, selo moy! Uh, zulu luy! Beirnesson MacMahahon from Osro bearing nose easger for sweeth prolettas on his swooth prowl!
BUTT (back to his peatrol and paump: swee Gee’s wee rest: no more applehooley: dodewodedook): Bruinoboroff, the hooneymoonger, and the grizzliest manmichal in Meideveide! Whose annal livves the hoiest! For he devoused the lelias on the fiend and he conforted samp, tramp and marchint out of the drumbume of a narse. Guards, serf Finnland, serve we all!
TAFF (illcertain, between his bulchrichudes and the roshashanaral, whatwidth the psychophannies at the font and whetwadth the psuckofumbers beholden the fair, where he sees Bishop Ribboncake plus his pollex prized going forth on his visitations of mirrage or Miss Horizon, justso all our fannacies daintied her, on the curve of the camber unsheathing a showlaced limbaloft to the great consternations): Divulge! Hyededye, kittyls, and howdedoh, pan! Poshbott and pulbuties. See that we soll, dargman, or let thee be luna as strait a way as your ant’s folly me line while ye post is goang from Piping Pubwirth to Haunted Hillborough on his Mujiksy’s Zaravence, the Riss, the Ross, the sur of all Russers, as my farst is near to hear and my sackend is meet to sedon while my whole’s a peer’s aureolies. We should say you dones the polecad. Bang on the booche, gurg in the gorge, rap on the roof and your flap is unbu …
BUTT (at the signal of his act which seems to sharpnel his innermalls menody, playing the spool of the little brown jog round the wheel of her whang goes the millner): Buckily buckily, blodestained boyne! Bimbambombumb! His snapper was shot in the Rumjar Journaral. Why the gigls he lubbed beeyed him.
TAFF (obliges with a two stop yogacoga symphothy on the bones for ivory girl and ebony boy): The balacleivka! Trovatarovitch! I trumble!
BUTT (with the sickle of a scygthe but the humour of a hummer, O, howorodies through his cholaroguled, fumfing to fullfrength with this wallowing ol-fact): Mortar martar, tartar wartar! May his boules grow wider so his skittles gets worse! The aged monad making a venture out of the murder of investment. I seen him acting surgent what betwinks the scimitar star and the ashen moon. By their lights shalthow throw him! Piffpaff for puffpuff and my pife for his cgar! The mlachy way for gambling.
[Up to this curkscraw bind an admirable verbivocovisual presentment of the world-renownced Caerholme Event has been being given by The Irish Race and World. The huddled and aliven stablecrashers have shared fleetfooted enthusiasm with the paddocks dare and ditches tare while the mews was combing ground. Hippohopparray! Helioscope flashed winsor places as the gates might see. Meusdeus! That was (with burning briar) Mr Twomass Nohoholan for their common contribe satisfunction in the purports of amusedment telling the Verily Roverend Father Epiphanes, shrineshriver, of Saint Dhorough’s (in browne bomler) how (assuary as there’s a bonum in your osstheology!) Backlegs shirked the racing kenneldar. The saintly scholarist’s roastering guffalawd of nupersaturals holler at this metanoic excomologosis tells of the chestnut’s (once again, Wittyngtom!) absolutionally romptyhompty successfulness. A lots of lasses and lads without damas or dads, but fresh and blued with collecting boxes. One aught spare ones triflets, to be shut: it is Coppingers for the Children. Slippery Sam hard by them, physically present howsomedever morally absent, was slooching about in his knavish diamonds asking Gmax, Knox and the Dmuggies (a pinnance for your toughts, turffers!) to deck the ace of duds. Tomtinker Tim, howbeit, his unremitting retainer (the seers are the seers of Samael but the heers are the heers of Timoth), is in Boozer’s Gloom, soalken steady in his sulken tents. Baldawl the curse, baledale the day! And the frocks of shick sheeples in their shummering insamples! You see: a chiefsmith, semperal scandal stinkmakers, a middineat from the Casabianca and, of course, Mr Fry. Barass! Pardon the inquisition, causas es quostas? It is Da Valorem’s Dominical Brayers. Why coif that weird hood? Because among nosoever circusdances is to be apprehended the dustungwashed poltronage of the lost Gabbarnaur-Jaggarnath. Pamjab! Gross Jumpiter, whud was thud? Luckluckluckluckluckluckluck! It is the Thousand to One Guinea-Gooseberry’s Lipperfull Slipver Cup. Hold hard, titelittle ridesiddle Pitsy Riley! Gurragrunch, gurragrunch! They are at the turn of the fourth of the hurdles. By the hross of Xristos! Holophullopopulace is a shote of excramation! Bumchub! Emancipator, the Cremean hunter (Major Hermyn C. Entwhistle), with dramatic effect reproducing the form of famous sires on the scene of the formers’ triumphs, is showing the eagle’s way to Mr Whaytehayte’s three buy geldings, Homo Made Ink, Bailey Beacon and Ratatuohy, while Furstin II and The Other Girl (Mrs “Boss” Waters, Leavybrink), too early spring dabbles, are showing a clean pairof hids to Immensipater. Sinkathinks to oppen here! To this virgin’s tuft, on this golden of evens! I never sought of sinkathink. Our lorkmakor he is proformly annuysed. He is shinkly thinkly shaking in his schayns. Sat will be off follteedee! This eeridreme has being effered you by Bett and Tipp. Tipp and Bett, our swapstick quack-chancers, in From Topphole to Bottom of The Irish Race and World.]
TAFF (awary that the first sports report of Loundin Reginald has now been afterthoughtfully colliberated by a saggind spurts flash, takes the dipperend direction and, for tasting the tiomor of malaise after the pognency of orangultonia, orients by way of Sagittarius towards Draco on the Lour): And you collier carsst on him, the corsar, with Boyle, Burke and Campbell, I’ll gogemble on Strangbones tomb. You had just been cerberating a camp camp camp to Saint Sepulchre’s march through the armeemonds retreat with the boys all marshalled, scattering giant’s hail over the curseway, fellowed along the rout by the stenchions of the corpse. Tell the coldspell’s terroth! If you please, commeylad! Perfedes Albionias! Think some ingain think, as Teakortairer sate over the Galwegian caftan forewhen Orops and Aasas were chooldrengs and micramacrees! A forward movement, Miles na Bogaleen, and despatch!
BUTT (slinking his coatsleeves surdout over his squad mutton shoulder so as to loop more life the jauntlyman as he scents the anggreget yup behound their whole scoopchina’s desparate noys’ totalage and explaining aposteriorly how awstooloo was valdesombre belowes hero and he was in a greak esthate phophiar an erixion on the soseptuple side of him made spoil apriopi his popoporportiums): Yass, zotnyzor, I don’t think I did not, pojr. Never you brother me for I scout it, thunk you! Ichts nichts on nichts! Greetest Schtschuptar! Me fol the rawlawdy in the schpirrt of a schkrepz. Of all the quirasses and all the qwehrmin in the tragedoes of those antiants their grandoper, that soun of a gunnong, with his sabaothsopolettes, smooking his scandleloose at botthends of him! Foinn duhans! I grandthinked after his obras after another time about the itch in his egondoom he was legging boldylugged from some pulversporochs and lyoking for a stooleazy for to nemesisplotsch allafranka and for to salubrate himself with an ultradungs heavenly mass at his base by a suprime pompship chorams the perished popes, the reverend and allaverred cromlecks, and when I heard his lewdbrogue reciping his cheap cheateary gospeds to sintry and santry and sentry and suntry I thought he was only haftara having afterhis brokeforths but be the homely Churopodvas I no sooner seen aghist of his frighteousness then I was bibbering with vear a few versets off, fooling for fiorg for my fifth foot. Of manifest ’tis obedience and the. Flute!
TAFF (though the unglucksarsoun is ginning for to get him, jotning in, hoghly ligious, hapagodlap, like a soldiery sap, with a pique at his cue and a tyr in his eye and a bond of his back and a croak in his cry as did jolly well harm lean o’er him): Is not athug who would. Weepon, weeponder, song of sorrowmon! Which goatheye and sheepskeer they damnty well know. Papaist! Gambanman! Take the cawraidd’s blow! Yia! Your partridge’s last!
BUTT (giving his scimmianised twinge in aknuckledownedgment of this cumulikick, strafe from the firetrench, studenly drobs led, satoniseels ouchyotchy, he changecors induniforms as he is lefting the gat out of the big: his face glows green, his hair greys white, his bleyes bcome broon to suite his cultic twalette): But when I seeing him in his oneship fetch along within hail, that tourrible tall with his nitshnykkopfgoknob, and attempting like a brandylogged rudeman cathargic, lugging up and laiding down his livepelts so cruschinly like Mebbuck at Messar and expousing his old skinful self tailtottom by manurevring in open ordure to renewmurature with the cowruads in their airish pleasantry, I thanked he was recovering breadth from some herdsquatters beyond the carcasses and I couldn’t erver nerver to tell a liard story not of I knew the prize if from lead or alimoney. But when I got inoccupation of a full view of his old basemiddelism, in ackshan, pagne pogne, by the veereyed lights of the stormtrooping clouds and in the sheenflare of the battleaxes of the heroim and mid the shieldfails awail of the bitteraccents of the sorafim, and caught the pfierce tsmell of his aurals, orankastank, a saphead setrapped, like Peder the Graste, altipaltar, my bill it forsooks allegiance (gut bull it!) and, no lie is this, I was babbering and yetaghain bubbering bibbelboy, me marrues me shkewers me gnaas me fiet, tob tob tob beat it, solongopatom. Clummensy if ever misused, must used you’s now! But, meac Coolp, Aram of Eirzerum, as I love our Deer Dirouchy, I confesses withould pridejealice when I looked upon the Saur of all the Haurousians with the weight of his arge fullin upon him from the travaillings of his tommuck and rueckenased the fates of a bosser there was fear on me the sons of Nuad for him and it was heavy he was for me then the way I immingled my Irmenial hairmairians ammongled his Gospolis fomiliours till, achaura moucreas, I adn’t the arts to.
TAFF (as a marrer off act, prepensing how such waldmanns from Burnias seduced country clowns, he is preposing barangaparang after going knowing what he is doing after to see him pluggy well moidered as a murder effect, you bet your blowie knife, before he doze soze, sopprused though he is): Grot Zot! You hidn’t the hurts? Vott Fonn!
BUTT (hearing somrother sudly give tworthree peevish sniff snuff snoores like govalise falseleep he waitawhishts to see might he stirs and then goes on kuldrum like without asking for pepeace or anysing a soul): Merzmard! I met with whom it was too late. My fate! O hate! Fairwail! Fear-wealing of the groan! And think of that when you smugs to bagot!
TAFF (who meanwhilome at yarn’s length so as to put a nodje in the poestcher, by wile of stoccan his hand and of rooma makin ber getting umptyums gatherumed off the skattert, had been lavishing, lagan on lighthouse, words of silentgolden power, susu glouglou biribiri gongos, upon the repleted speechsalver’s innkeeping right which, thanks giveme and naperied norms nonobstaclant, there can be little doubt, have resulted in a momstchance ministring of another guidness, my good, to see): Bompromifazzio! Shumpum for Pa-li-di and oukosouso for the nipper dandy! Trink off this scup and be bladdy orafferteed! To bug at?
BUTT (he whipedoff’s his chimbley phot as, lips lovecurling to the tongueopener, he takecups the communion of sense at the hands of the foregiver of trosstpassers and thereinofter centellinates, that potifex miximhost with haruspical hospedariaty proferring into his pauses somewhog salt bacon): Theres scares knud in this gnarld warld a fully so svend as dilates for the improvement of our foerses of nature by your very ample solvent of referacting upon me like is boesen fiennd.
[The other foregottheneds aboosd in the Mullingaria are during this swishingsight teilweisioned. How the fictionable world in Fruzian Creamtartery is loading off heavy furses and affubling themselves with muckinstushes. The Neatschknee Novgolosh. How the spinach ruddocks are being tatoovatted up for the second comings of antigreenst. Hebeneros for Aromal Peace. How Alibey Ibrahim wisheths Bella Suora to a holy cryptmahs while the Arumbian Knives Riders axecutes devilances round the jehumispheure. Learn the Nunsturk. How Old Yales boys is making rebolutions for the cunning New Yirls, never elding, still begidding, never to mate to lend, never to ate selleries and never to add soulleries and never to ant sulleries and never to aid silleries with sucharow with sotchyouroff as Burkeley’s Show’s a ructiongetherall. Phone for Phineal toomellow aftermorn and your phumeral’s a roselixion.]
TAFF (now as he has been past the buckthurnstock from Peadhar the Piper of Colliguchuna, whiles they all are bealting pots to dubrin din for old daddam dombstom to tomb and wamb humbs lumbs agamb, glimpse agam, glance agen, rise up road and hive up hill, and find your pollyvoulley foncey pitchin ingles in the parler): Since you are on for versing-rhetorish, say your piece! How Buccleuch shocked the rosing girnirilles. A ballet of Gatsy Power. A hov and a zov and off like a gow! And don’t live out the sad of tearfs, piddyawhick! Not offgott affsang is you, buthbach? Ath yetheredayth noth endeth, thay? Vaersegood! Buckle to! Sayyessik, Ballygarry! The fourscore soculums are watchyoumaycodding to cooll the skoopgoods blooff. Harkabuddy, feign! Thingman placeyear howed wholst somwom shimwhir tinkledinkledelled. Shinfine deed in the myrtle of the bog tway fainmain stod op to slog, free bond men lay lurkin on. Tuan about whattinghim! Fore sneezturmdrappen! ’Twill be a rpnice pschange, arrah, sir? Can you come it, budd?
BUTT (who in the cushlows of his goodsforseeking hoarth, ever fondlinger of his pimple spurk, is a niallist of the ninth homestages, the babybell in his baggutstract upper going off allatwanst, begad, lest he should challenge himself, bygoad, till angush): Horrasure, toff! As said as would. It was Colporal Phailinx first. Hittit was of another time, a white horsday where the midril met the bulg, sbogom, roughnow along about the first equinarx in the cholonder, on the plain of Khorason as thou goest from the mount of Bekel, Steep Nemorn, elve hundred and therety and to years how the krow flees end in deed, after a power of skimiskes, blodidens and godinats of them, when we sight the beats (hegheg whatlk of wraimy wetter!), moist moonful date man ever held dymsdzey death with, and higheye was in the Reilly Oirish Krzerszonese Milesia, asundurst Sirdarthar Woolwich-leagues, good tomkeys years somewhile in Crimealian wall same-where in Ayerland, during me weeping stillstumms over the fresh-prosts of Eastchept and the dangling garters of Marrowbone and daring my wapping stiltstunts on Bostion Moss, old stile and new style and heave a lep onwards. And winn again, blaguadargoos, or lues the day, plays goat, the banshee pealer, if moskats knows whoss whizz, the great day and the druidful day come San Patrisky and the grand day, the excellent fine splendorous long agreeable toast-worthy cylindrical day, go Sixt of the Ninth, the heptahundread annam dammias that Hajizfijjiz tells me is and will and was be till the timelag is in it that’s told in the Bok of Alam to columnkill all the prefacies of Erin gone brugk. But I cantenue. And incommixtion. We was lowsome like till we’d took out after the dead beats. So I begin to study and I soon show them day’s reasons how to give the cold shake to they blighty perishers and lay one over the beats. All feller he look he call all feller come longa villa finish. Toumbalo, how was I acclapadad! From them banjopeddlars on the raid. Gidding up me anti vanillas and getting off the stissas me aunties. Boxerising and coxerusing. And swiping a johnnydann sweept for to exercitise myself neverwithstanding the topkats and his roaming cartridges orussheying and patronning out all over Crummwilliam wall. Be the why it was me who haw haw.
TAFF (all for letting his tinder and lighting be put to beheiss in the feuer and, while durblinly obasiant to the felicias of the skivis, still smolking his fulvurite turf kish in the rooking pressance of laddios): Yaa hoo how how, col? Whom battles joined no bottles sever! Worn’t you aid a comp?
BUTT (in his difficoltous tresdobremient, he feels a bitvalike a baddlefall of staot but falls a batforlake a borrlefull of bare): And me awlphul omegrims! Between me rassociations in the postleadeny past and me disconnections with aplombpervious futules I’ve a boodle full of maimeries in me buzzim and medears runs sloze, bleime, as I now with platoonic leave recoil in (how the thickens they come back to one to rust!) me misenary post for all them old boyars that’s now boomaringing in waulholler, me alma marthyrs. I dring to them, bycorn spirits fuselaiding and you cullies adjutant, even where its contentsed wody, with absents wehrmuth. Junglemen in agleement, I give thee our greatly swooren, Theoccupant that Rueandredful, the Thronefollower and all our royal devouts with the arrest of the whole inhibitance of Neuilands! One brief mouth. And a velligoolapnow! Meould attashees, the currgans (if they could get a kick at this time for all that’s hapenced to us!), Cedric said Gormleyson and Danno O’Dunnochoo and Conno O’Cannochar it is these were their names, for we were all under that manner barracksers in Kong Gores Wood together, thurkmen three, with those khakireinettes, our miladies in their toileries, the twum plumyumnietcies (Vjeras Vjenaskayas) of old Djadja Uncken who was a great mark for jinking and junking, to the palposes of womth and wamth, we war, and the charme of their lyse brocade. For lispias harth a burm in eye but whem it bames fire norone screeneth. Hulp, hulp, huzzars! Raise ras tryracy! Freetime’s free! Up Lancesters! Anathem!
TAFF (who still senses that heavinscent houroines that entertrained him who they were sinuorivals from the sunny Espionia but plied wopsy with his wallets in thatthack of the bustle of Bakerloo (11.32), passing the uninational truthbosh in smoothing irony over the multinotcheralled infructuosities of his grinner set): The rib, the rib, the quean of oldbyrdes! Sinya Sonyavitches! Your Rhoda Cockardes that are raday to embrase our ruddy inflamtry world! In their Khosililesvienne biribarbebeway. Till they’ve kinks in their tringers and boils on their taws. Whor dor the pene lie, Mer Pencho? Ist dramhead countmortial or gonorrhal stab? Mind your pughs and keoghs now, if you piggots, marsh! Do the nut, dingbut! Be a dag! For zahur and zimmerminnes! Sing the chorias to the ethur!
[In the heliotropical noughttime following a fade of transformed Tuff and, pending its viseversion, a metenergic reglow of beaming Batt, the bairdboard bombardment screen of tastefully taut guranium satin tends to teleframe and step up to the charge of a light barricade. Down the photoslope in syncopanc pulses, with the bitts bugtwug their teffs, the missledhropes glitteraglatteraglutt, borne by their carnier walve. A spraygun rakes and splits them from a double focus: grenadite, damnymite, alextronite, nichilite: and the scanning firespot of the sgunners traverses the rutilanced illustred sunksundered lines. Shlossh! A gaspel truce leaks out over the caeseine coatings. Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there caoculates through the iconoscope stealdily a still, the figure of a fellowchap in the wohly ghast, Popey O’Donoshough, the jesuneral of the russuates. The idolon exhibisces the seals of his orders: the stare of the Son of Heaven, the girtle of Izodella the Calottica, the crosse of Mikelides Apaleologos, the latchet of Jan of Nepomuk, the puffpuff and pompom of Powther and Pall, the great belt, band and bucklings of the Martyrology of Gorman. It is for the castomercies mudwake surveice. The victar. Pleace to notnoys speach above your dreadths, please to doughboys. Hll, smthngs gnwrng wthth sprsncswtch! He blanks his oggles because he confesses to all his tellavicious nieces. He blocks his nosoes because that he confesses to everywheres he was always putting up his latest faengers. He wollops his mouther with a sword of tusk in as because that he confesses how opten he used be obening her and howonton he used be undering her. He boundles alltogodder his manucupes with his pedarrests inasmuch as because that he confesses before all his handcomplishies and behind all his comfoderacies. And (hereis cant came back saying he codant steal no lunger, yessis, catz come buck beqeues he caudant stail awake) he touched upon this tree of livings in the middenst of the garerden for inasmuch as because that he confessed to it on Hillel and down Dalem and in the places which the leopards inhabit and in the place of the stones and in pontofert, jusfuggadding amoret, now he come to think of it, jolly well ruttengenerously olyovyover the ole blucky shop. Pugger old Pumpey O’Dungaschiff! There will be a hen collection of him after avensung on the field of Hanar. Dumble down, looties and gengstlermen! Dtin dtin, dtin dtin!]
BUTT (with a gisture expansive of Mr Lhugewhite Cadderpollard with sunflawered beautonhole pulled up point blanck by mailbag mundaynism at Oldbally Court though the hissindensity backfar of his melovelance tells how when he was fast marking his first lord for cremation the whyfe of his bothem was the very lad’s thing to elter his mehind): Prostatates, pujealousties! Dovolnoisers, prayshyous! Defense in every circumstancias of deboutcheries no the chaste daffs! Packpickets, pioghs and kughs to be palseyputred! Be at the peme, prease, of not forgetting or mere betoken yourself to hother prace! Correct me, pleatze commando, for cossakes but I abjure of it. No more basquibezigues for this pole aprican! With askormiles’ eskermillas. I had my billyfell of duckish delights the whole pukny time on rawmeots and juliannes with their lambstoels in my kiddeneys and my ramsbutter in their sassenacher ribs, knee her, do her and trey her, when th’osirian cumb dumb like the whalf on the fiord and we preying players and pinching peacesmokes, troupkers tomiatskyns all, for Father Petrie Spence of Parishmoslattary to go and leave us and the crimsend daun to shellalite on the darkumen (scene as signed, Slobabogue), feeding and sleeping on the huguenottes (the snuggest spalniel’s where the lieon’s tame!) and raiding revolations over the allbegeneses (sand us and saint us and sound as agun!). Yet still in all, spit for spat, like we chantied on Sunda schoon, every warson wearrier kaddies a komnate in his schnapsack and unlist I am getting foegutfulls of the rugiments of savaliged wildfire I was gamefellow willmate and send us victorias with nowells and brownings, dumm, sneak and curry, and all the fun I had in that fanagan’s week. A strange man wearing abarrel. And here’s a gift of meggs and teggs. And as I live by chipping nortons. And ’tis iron fits the farmer, ay. Arcdesedo! Renborumba! Them were the hellscyown days for our fellows, the loyal leibsters, and we was the redugout rawrecruitioners, praddies three and prettish too, a wheeze we has in our wayndward islands, wee engrish, one long blue streak, jisty and pithy af durck rosolun, with hand to hand as Homard Kayenne was always jiggilyjugging about in his wendowed courage when our woos with the wenches went wined for a song, tsingirillies’ zyngarettes, while Woodbine Willie, so popiular with the popprossies, our Chorney Choplain, blued the air. Sczlanthas! Banzaine! Bissbasses! S. Pivorandbowl! And we all tuned in to hear the topmast noviality. Up the revels, drown the rinks and almistips all round! Paddy Bonhamme he vives! Encore! And tig for tag. Togatogtug. My droomodose days I loved you abover all thistrest. Blowhole brasshat and boy with his boots off and the butch of our bunch and all. It was buckoo bonzer, beleeme. I was a bare prive without my doglegs but I did not give to one humpenny dump, wingh or wangh, touching those thusengaged slavey generales of Tanah Kornalls, the meelisha’s deelishas, pronouncing their very flank movemens in sunpictorsbosk. Baghus the whatwar! I could always take good cover of myself. And, eyedulls or earwakers, preyers for rain or comminations, I did not care three tanker’s hoots (sham! hem! or chaffit!) for any feelings from my lifeprivates on their reptrograd leanins because I have Their Honours booth my respectables soeurs assistershood off Lyndhurst Terrace, the puttih Misses Celana Dalems, and she in vinting her angurr can belle the troth on her alliance and I know His Heriness, my respeaktoble medams culonelle on Mellay Street, Lightnints Gundhur Sawabs, and they would never as the aimees of servation let me down. Not on your bludger life, touters! No peeping, pimpadoors! And, by Jova, I never went wrong nor let him doom till, risky wark rasky wolk, at the head of the wake, up come stumblebum (ye olde cottemptable!), his urssian gemenal, in his scutt’s rudes unreformed and he went before him in that nemcon enchelonce with the same old domstoole story and his upleave the fallener as is greatly to be petted (whitesides do his beard!) and I seen his brichashert’s offensive and his boortholomas vadnhammaggs vise a vise them scharlot runners and how they gave love to him and how he took the ward from us (odious! the fly fly flurtation of his him and hers! just mairmaid maddeling it was it he was!) and, my oreland for a rolvever, sord, by the splunthers of colt and bung goes the enemay, the Percy rally got me, messger (as true as theirs an Almagnian Gothabobus!) to blow the grand off his aceupper. Thistake, it’s meest! And after meath the dulwich. We insurrectioned and, be the procuratress of the hory synnotts, before he could tell pullyirragun to parrylewis, I shuttm, missus, like a wide sleever! Hump to dump! Tumbleheaver!
TAFF (camelsensing that sonce they have given bron a nuhlan the volkar boastsung is heading to sea vermelhion but too wellbred not to ignore the unzemlianess of his rifal’s preceedings, in an effort towards autosotorisation effaces himself in favour of the idiology alwise behounding his lumpy hump off homosodalism which means that if he has lain amain to lolly his liking—cabronne!—he may pops lilly a young one to his herth—combrune!): Oholy rasher, I’m believer! And Oho bullyclaver of ye, bragadore-gunneral! The grand ohold spider! It is a name to call to him. Umsturdum Vonn! Ah, you were shutter reshottus and sieger besieged. Aha race of fiercemarchands counterination oho of shorpshoopers.
BUTT (miraculising into the Dann Deafir warcry, his bigotes bristling, as, jittinju triggity shittery pet, he shouts his thump and feeh fauh foul finngures up the heighohs of their ahs!): Bluddymuddymuzzle! The buckbeshottered! He’ll umbozzle no more graves nor horne nor haunder, lou garou, for gayl geselles in dead men’s hills! Kaptan (backsights to his bared!), His Cumbulent Embulence, the frustrate fourstar Russkakruscan, Dom Allaf O’Khorwan, connundurumchuff.
TAFF (who, asbestas can, wiz the healps of gosh and his bluzzid maikar, has been sulphuring to himsalves all the pungataries of sin praktice in failing to furrow theogonies of the dommed): Trisseme, the mangoat! And the name of the Most Marsiful, the Aweghost, the Gragious One! In sobber sooth and in souber civiles? And to the dirtiment of the curtailment of his all of man? Notshoh?
BUTT (maoment scoffin, but apoxyomenously deturbaned but thems bleachin banes will be after making a bashman’s haloday out of the euphorious hagiohygiecynicism of his die and be diademmed): Yastsar! In sabre tooth and sobre saviles! Senonnevero! That he leaves nyet is my grafe. He deared me to it and he dared me do it and bedattle I didaredonit as Cocksnark of Killtork can tell and Ussur Ursussen of the viktaurious onrush with all the rattles in his arctic! As bold and as madhouse a bull in a meadows. Knout Kittrick Kinkypeard! Olefoh, the sourd of foemoe times! Unknun! For when meseemim, and tolfoklokken rolland allover ourloud’s lande, beheaving up that sob of tunf for to claimhis, for to wollpimsolff, puddywhuck. Ay, and intuoning his culophone in an exitous erseroyal Deo Jupto. At that instullt to Igorladns! Prronto! I gave one dobblenotch and I ups with my crozzier. Mirrdo! With my bow on armer and hits leg an arrow cockshock rockrogn. Sparro!
[The abnihilisation of the etym by the grisning of the grosning of the grinder of the grunder of the first lord of Hurtreford expolodotonates through Parsuralia with an ivanmorinthorrorumble fragoromboassity amidwhiches generaluttermosts confussion are perceirable moletons skaping with mulicules while coventry plumpkins fairlygosmotherthemselves in the Landaunelegants of Pinkadindy. Similar scenatas are projectilised from Hullolullu, Bawlawayo, empyreal Raum and mordern Atems. They were precisely the twelves of clocks, noon minutes, none seconds. At someseat of Oldanelang’s Konguerrig, by dawnybreak in Aira.]
TAFF (skimperskamper, his wools gatherings all over cromlin what with the birstol boys artheynes and is it her tour and the crackery of the fullfour fivefirearms and the crockery of their damdam domdom chumbers): Wathall thubulbs uptheaires? Shattamovick?
BUTT (pulling alast stark daniel with alest doog at doorak while, too greater than pardon, painfully, the issue of his mouth diminuendoing, vility of vilities, he becomes, allasvitally, faint): Shurenoff! Like Faun MacGhoul!
BUTT and TAFF (desprot slave wager and foeman feodal unsheckled, now one and the same person, their fight upheld to right for a wee while being baffled and tottered, umbraged by the shadow of Old Erssia’s magisquammythical mulattomilitiaman, the living by owning over the surfers of the glebe whose sway craven minnions had caused to revile, as, too foul for hell, under boiling Mauses’ burning brand, he falls by Goll’s gillie, but keenheartened by the circuminsistence of the Parkes O’Rarelys in a hurdly gurdly Cicilian concertone of their fonnafeena barneybrawl, shaken everybothy’s hands, while S. E. Morehampton makes leave to E. N. Sheilmartin after Meetinghouse Lanigan has embaraced Vergemont Hall, and, without falter or mormor or blatherhoot of sophsterliness, pugnate the pledge of fiannaship, dook to dook, with a commonturn oatchd of fest man and best man in which astoutsalliesemoutioun palms it off like commodity tokens against a cococancancacacauotioun): When old the wormd was a gadden and Anthea first unfoiled her limbs wanderloot was the way the wood wagged where opter and apter were samuraised twimbs. They had their mutthering ivies and their murdhering idies and their mouldhering iries in that muskat grove but there’ll be bright plinnyflowers in Calomella’s cool bowers when the magpyre’s babbletowers scorching and screeching from the ravenindove. If thees lobed the sex of his head and mees ates the seep of his traublers he’s dancing figgies to the spittle side and shoving outs the soord. And he’ll be buying buys and go gulling gells with his flossim and jessim of carm, silk and honey while myandthys playing lancifer lucifug and what’s duff as a bettle for usses makes coy cosyn corollanes’ moues weeter to wee. So till butagain budly shoots thon rising germinal let bodley chow the fatt of his anger and badley bide the toil of his tubb.
[The pump and pipe pingers are ideally reconstituted. The putther and bowls are peterpacked up. All the presents are determining as regards for the future the howabouts of their past absences which they might see on at hearing could they once smell of tastes from touch. To ought find a values for. The must overlistingness. When ex what is ungiven. As ad where. Stillhead. Blunk.]
Shutmup. And bud did doom well right. And if he sung dumb in his glass darkly speech lit face to face on all around.
Vociferagitant. Viceversounding. Namely, Abdul Abulbul Amir or Ivan Slavansky Slavar. In alldconfusalem. As to whom the major guiltfeather pertained it was Hercushiccups’ care to educe. Beauty’s bath she’s bound to bind beholders and Pride, his purge, has place appoint in penance and the law’s own libel lifts and lames the low with the lofty. Be of the housed! While the Hersy Hunt they harrow the hill for to rout them rollicking rogues from, rule those racketeer romps from, rein their rockery rides from. Rambling.
Nightclothesed, arooned, the conquerods sway. After their battle thy fair bosom.
— That is too too true enough in Solidan’s Islamd as in Moltern Giaourmany and from the Amelakins off to date back to land of engined Egypsians, assented from his opening before his inlookers of where an oxmanstongue stalled stabled the wellnourished one, lord of the seven days, overlord of sats and suns, the sat of all the suns which are in the ring of his system of the sats of his sun, god of the scuffeldfallen skillfilledfelon, who (he contaimns) hangsters, who (he constrains) hersirrs, a gain changful, a mintage vaster, heavy on shirts, lucky with shifts, the topside humpy up stummock atween his showdows fellah, Misto Teewiley Spillitshops, who keepeth watch in Khummer-Phett, whose spouse is An-Lyph, the dog’s bladder, warmer of his couch in fore. We all, for whole men is lepers, have been nobbut wonterers in that chill childerness which is our true name after the allfaulters (mug’s luck to em!) and, bespeaking of love and lie detectors in venuvarities, whateither the drugs truth of it, was there an iota omicrone from the faust to the lost. And that is at most redoubtedly an overthrew of each and ilkermann of us, I persuade myself, before Gow, gentlemen, so true as this are my kopfinpot astrode on these is my boardsoldereds.
It sollecited, grobbling hummley, his roundhouse of seven orofaces, of all, guiltshouters or crimemummers, to be sayd by, codnops, advices for, free of gracies, scamps encloded, competitioning them, if they had steadied Jura or when they had raced Messafissi, husbond of your wifebetter or bestman botchalover of you yourself, how comes ever a body in our taylorised world to selve out thishis, whither it gives a primeum nobilees for our notomise or naught, the farst wriggle from the ubivence, whereom is man, that old offender, nother man, wheile he is asame. And fullexampling. The pints in question. With some byspills. And sicsecs to provim hurtig. Soup’s on!
A time. And a find time. Whenin aye was a kiddling. And the tarikies held sowansopper. Let there beam a frishfrey. And they sodhe gudhe rudhe brodhe wedhe swedhe medhe in the kauddledrum.
— I have just (let us suppraise) been reading in a (suppressed) book. It is notwithstempting by meassures long and limited: the latterpress is eminently legligible and the paper, so he eagerly seized upon, has scarsely been buttered in works of previous publicity wholebeit in keener notcase would I turf aside for pastureuration. Packen paper paineth whomto is sacred scriptured sign. Who straps it scraps it that might, if ashed, have healped. Enough, however, have I read of it, like my good bedst friend, to augur in the hurry of the times that it will cocommend the widest circulation and a reputation coextensive with its merits when inthrusted into safe and pious hands upon so edifying a mission as it, I can see, as is his. It is ambullished with expurgative plates replete in information and accampaigning the action passim, slapbang, whizzcrash, boomarattling from burst to past, as I have just been seeing, with my wormest venerections, of a timmersome townside upthecountrylifer (Guard place the town!), allthose everwhalmed upon that preposterous blank seat, before the wordcraft of this early woodcutter, a master of vignettiennes and our findest grobsmid among all their orefices (and, shukar in chowdar, so splunderdly english!), Mr Aubeyron Birdslay. Chubgoodchob, arsoncheep and wellwillworth a triat! Bismilla-foulties. But the hasard you aks is justly behind his meddle throw! Those sad pour sad forengistanters, dastychappy dustyrust! Chaichairs. It is that something, awe, aurorbean in that fellow, hamid and damid (did he have but Hugh de Brassey’s beardslie his wear mine of ancient guised), which comequeers this anywhat perssian which we, owe, realisinus with purups a dard of pene. There is, among others pleasons whom I love and which are favourests to mind, one which I have pushed my finker in for the movement and, but for my sealring is none to hand I swear, she is highly catatheristic and there is another which I have fombly fongered freequuntly and, when my signet is on sign again I swear, she is deeply sangnificant. Culpo de Dido! Ars we say in the classies. Kunstful, we others said. What ravening shadow! What dovely line! Not the king of this age could richlier eyefeast in oreillental longuardness with alternate nightjoys of a thousand kinds but one kind. A shahrryar cobbler on me when I am lying! And whilst (when I doot my sliding panel and I hear cawcaw) I have been idylly turmbing over the loose looves leaflefts jaggled casuallty on the lamatory, as is my this is, as I must commit my lips to make misface for misfortune, often, so far as I can chance to recollect from them some farnights ago (so dimsweet is that selvischdischdienence of to not to be able to be obliged to have to hold further anything than a stone his throw’s fruit’s fall!), when I, if you will excuse for me this informal leading down of illexpressibles, enlivened toward the Author of Nature by the natural sins liggen gobelimned theirs before me (how differended with the manmade Eonochs Cunstuntonopolies!), weathered they be of a general golf stature, assasserted, or blossomly emblushing themselves underneed of some howthern folleys, am entrenched up contemplating of myself, wiz my naked I, for relieving purposes in our trurally virvir vergitabale (garden) I sometimes, maybe, what has justly said of old Flannagan, a wake from this or huntsfurwards, with some shock (shell I so render it?) have (when I ope my shylight window and I see coocoo) a notion quiet involuptary of that I am cadging hapsnots as at murmurrandoms of distend renations from ficsimilar phases or dugouts in the behindscenes of our earthwork (what rovining shudder! what deadly loom!), as this is, at no spatial time processly which regards to concrude chronology about which in fact, at spite of I having belittled myself to my gay giftname of insectarian, happy burgages abeyance would make homesweetstown hopeygoalucrey, my mottu propprior, as I claim, cad’s truck, I coined, I am highly pelaged and deeply gluttened to mind hindmost hearts to see by their loudest reports from my threespawn bottery parts (shsh!) that, columbophile and corvinophobe alike, when I have remassed me, my travelling self, as from Magellanic clouds, after my contractual expanditures, through the perofficies of merelimb, I, my good grief, I am, I am big alltoogooder.
He beached the bark of his tale; and set to husband and vine: and the harpermaster told all the living conservancy, know Meschiameschianah, how that win a gain was in again. Flying the Perseoroyal. Withal aboarder, padar and madar, hal and sal, the sens of Ere with the duchtars of Iran. Amick amack amock in a mucktub. With the tou loulous and the gryffygryffygryffs, at Fenegans Wick, the Wildemanns. Washed up whight and deliveried rhight. Loud lauds to his luckhump and bejetties on jonahs! And they winxed and wanxed like baillybeacons. Till we woksed up oldermen.
From whose plultibust preaggravated by baskatchairch theologies (there were nighn on thaurity herouns in that alraschil arthouducks draken), they were whoalike placed to say, in the matters of ducomans nonbar one, with bears’ respects to him and bulls’ acknowledgments (Come on now, girls! Lead off, O cara, whichever won of you wins! The two Gemuas and Jane Agrah and the Judy tomboys!), disassembling and taking him apart, the slammocks, with discrimination for his maypole and a rub in passing over his hump, drogueries inaddendance, frons, fesces and frithstool: 1) he hade to die it, the beetle, 2) he didhithim self, hod’s fush, 3) all ever the pelican huntered with truly fond bullpen backthought since hes toork human life where his personal low outhired his taratoryism, the orenore under the selfhide of his bessermettle, was forsake in his chiltern and lumbojumbo, 4) he was like Fintan fore flood and after sometimes too damned merely often on the saved side, saw he was, 5) regarding to prussyattes or quarzyverzing he wassand no better than he should have been before he could have been better than what he warrant after, 6) blood, musk or haschish, as coked, diamoned or penceloid, and bleaching him naclenude from all cohlorine matter, down to a boneash bittstoff, he’s, tink fors tank, the same old dust-amount on the same old tincoverdull bauble class, totstittywinktosser and bogusbagwindburster, whether fitting tyres onto Danelope boys or fluttering flaus for laurettas, whatever the bucket brigade and the plug party says, touchant Arser of the Rum Tipple and his camelottery and lyonesslooting but with a layaman’s brutstrenth, by Jacohob and Esahur and the all saults of sallies, but what we warms to hear, jeff, is the woods of chirpsies cries to singaloo sweecheeriode and sock him up, the old cant rogue.
Group A.
You have jest (a ham) beamed listening through (a ham pig) his haulted excerpt from John Whitton’s fiveaxled production, The Coach With The Six Insides, from the Tales of Yore of the times gone by before there was a hofdking or a hoovthing or a pinginapoke in Oreland, all souled. Goes Tory by Eeric Whiggs is To Become Tintinued in Fearson’s Nightly in the Lets All Wake Brickfaced In Lucan. Lhirondella, jaunty lhirondella! With tirra lirra rondinelles, atantivy we go!
Attention! Stand at!! Ease!!!
We are now diffusing among our lovers of this sequence (toyou! toyou!) the dewfolded song of the naughtingels (Alys! Alysaloe!) from their sheltered positions in rosescenery haydyng on the heather side of Waldalure, Mount Saint John’s, Jinnyland, whither our allies winged by duskfail from Mooreparque, swift sanctuary seeking, after Sunsink gong (Oiboe! Hitherzither! Almost dotty! I must dash!) to pour their peace in partial (floflo floreflorence), sweetishsad lightandgayle, twittwin twosingwoolow. Let everie sound of a pitch keep still in reasonance, jemcrow, jackdaw, prime and secund with their terce that whoe betwides them, now full theorb, now dulcifair, and when we press of pedal (sof!) pick out and vowalise your name. A mun. You pere Golazy, you mere Bare and you Bill Heeny, and you Smirky Dainty and, more beethoken, you whackfoolthenairyans with all your badchthumpered peanas! We are gluckglucky in our being so far fortunate that, bark and bay duol with Man Goodfox inchimings having ceased to the moment, so allow the clinkars of our nocturne field, night’s sweetmoztheart, their Carmen Sylvae, my quest, my queen. Lou must wail to cool me airly! Coil me curly, warbler dear! May song it flourish (in the underwood), in chorush, long make it flourish (in the Nut, in the Nut sky) till thorush! Secret hookup.
— Roguenaar Loudbrags, that soddy old samph! How hijh is vuile, vat? To which yes he did, capt, that was the answer.
— And his shartshort trooping its colours! We knows his ventruquulence. Which tuat tuat rang ripprippripplying.
— Bulbul, bulbulone! I will shally. Thou shalt willy. You wouldnt should as youd remesmer. I hypnot. ’Tis golden sickle’s hour. Holy moon priestess, we’d love our grappes of mistellose! Moths the matter? Pschtt! Tabarius comes. To fell our fairest. O gui, O gui! Salam, saluis salaum! Caroluis! O indeed and we ware! And hoody crow was ere. I soared from the peach and Missmolly showed her pear too, onto three and away. Whet the bee as to deflowret greendy grassies yellowhorse. Hematitis, cele our erdours! Did you aye, did you eye, did you everysee, suchaway, suchawhy, eeriewhigg airywhugger? Even to the extremity of the world? Dingoldell! The enormanous his, our littlest little! Wee wee, that long alancey one! Let sit on this anthill for our frilldress talk after this day of making blithe inveiled the heart before our groatsupper serves to us Panchomaster and let harleqwind play peeptomine up all our colombinations! Wins won is nought, twigs too is nil, tricks trees makes nix, fairs fears stoops at nothing. And till Arthur comes againus and sen peatrick’s he’s reformed we’ll pose him together a piece, a pace. Shares in guineases! There’s lovely the sight! Surey me, man weepful! Big Seat, you did hear? And teach him twisters in tongue irish. Pat lad may goh too. Quicken, aspen; ash and yew; willow, broom with oak for you. And move your tellabout. Not nice is that, limpet lady! Spose we try it promissly. Love all. Nay tellmeknot tennis! Taunt me treattening! But do now say to Mr Eustache! Ingean mingen has to hear. Whose joint is out of jealousy now? Why, heavilybody’s evillyboldy’s. Hopping Gracius, onthy ovful! O belessk me, what a nerve! How a mans in his armor we nurses know. Wingwong welly, pitty pretty Nelly! Some Poddy putted in, will anny petty pullet out? Call Kitty Kelly! Kissykitty, killykelly! What a nossowl buzzard! But what a neats ung gels!
Here all the leaves alift aloft, full o’ liefing, fell a-laughing over Ombrellone and his parasollieras with their black thornguards from the County Shillelagh. Ignorant invincibles, innocents immutand! Onzel grootvatter Lodewijk is onangonamed before the bridge of primerose and his twy Isas Boldmans is met the blueybells near Dandeliond. We think it’s a gorsedd shame, these godoms. A lark of limonladies! A lurk of orangetawneymen! You’re backley wounted, buckley mister, bester of the boyne!
And they leaved the most leavely of leaftimes and the most folliagenous till there came the marrer of mirth and the jangtherapper of all jocolarinas and they were as were they never ere. Yet had they laughtered, one on other, undo the end and enjoyed their laughings merry was the timeswhen so grant it High Hilarion us may too!
Cease, prayee, storywalkering around with gestare romanoverum he swinking about is they think and plan unrawil what.
Back to Droughty! The water of the face has flowed.
The all of them, the gowriegueuxers, blottyeyed boys, in that pig’s village smoke, a sixdigitarian legion on druid circle, the Clandibblon clam cartel, foursquared in condomnation of his totomptation and for the duration till his repepulation, then pulled out and came off and rally agreed, their roasted malts with mullable malmseys, upon old nollcromforemost ironsides, as cainnabel chieftain, since, as sammon trowed to explain to summon, seeing that, as he had contracted out of islands empire, he might as coolly have rolled to school call, tarponturboy, a grampurpoise, the manyfathom brinegroom with the fortyinch bride, out of the cuptin klanklord kettle auction like the soldr of a britsh he was bound to be and become till the sea got him whilask, from maker to misses and what he gave way as a pattern, he, that hun of a horde, is a finn as she, his tent wife, is a lap, at home on a steed, abroad by the fire (to say nothing of him having done whatyouknow howyousaw whenyouheard whereyouwot, the kenspeckled souckar, generose as cocke, greediguss with garzelle, uprighter of age and most umbrasive of yews all, under heaviest corpsus exemption), and whoasever spit her in howsoever’s profocation it was anybody’s beastness as usual and she was noboddy’s fondling saving her keepers that mould the bould she sould to hould the wine that wakes the barley, the peg in his pantry to hold the heavyache off his heart. The droll delight of deemsterhood, a win from the wood to bond. Like the bright lamp, Thamamahalla, yearin out yearin. Auspicably suspectable but in expectancy of respectableness. From dirty flock bedding, drip dropping through the ceiling, with two sisters of charities on the front steps and three evacuan cleansers at the back gaze, single box and pair of chairs (susceptible), occasionally and alternatively used by husband when having writing to do in connection with equitable druids and friendly or other societies through periods of dire want with comparative plenty (thunderburst, ravishment, dissolution and providentiality) to a sofa allbeit of hoarsehaar with Amodicum cloth, hired payono, still playing off, used by the youngsters for czurnying out oldstrums, three bedrooms upastairs, of which one with fireplace (aspectable), with greenhouse in prospect (particularly perspectable).
And you, when you kept at Dulby, were you always (for that time only) what we knew how when we (from that point solely) were you know where? There you are! And why? Why, hitch a cock eye, he was snapped on the sly upsadaisying coraspearls out of the pie when all the perts in princer street set up their tinker’s hymm (the rann, the rann, that keen of old bards) with them newnesboys pearcin screaming off their armsworths. The boss made dovesandraves out of his bucknesst while herself wears the bowler’s hat in her bath. Deductive Almayne Rogers disguides his voice, shelters behind hoax chestnote from exsessive. Heat wives rasing. They jest keeps rosing. He jumps leaps rising. Howlong!
You known that tom? I certainly know. Is their bann bothstiesed? Saddenly now. Has they bane reneemed? Soothinly low. Does they ought to buy the papelboy when he footles up their suit? He’s their mark to foil the flouter and they certainty owe.
He sprit in his phiz (baccon!). He salt to their biz (pudden!). He toockled her palam (so calam is solom!). And he suked their friends’ leave (bonnick lass, fair weal!).
— Guilty but fellows culpows! It was felt by me, sindecade, that submerged doughdoughty doubleface told waterside labourers. But since we for athome’s health have chanced all that, the wild whips, the wind ships, the wonderlost for world hips, unto their trust prayed in aid its plumptylump piteousness which, when it turtled around seeking a thud of surf, spoke to approach from inherdoff trisspass through minxmingled hair. Though I may have hawked it, said, and selled my how hot peas after theactrisscalls from my imprecurious position and though achance I could have emptied a pan of backslop down drain by whiles of dodging a rere from the middenprivet appurtenant thereof, salving the presents of the board of wumps and pumps, I am ever incalpable, where release of prisonals properly is concerned, of unlifting upfallen girls wherein dangered from them in thereopen out of unadulteratous bowery, with those hintering influences from an angelsexonism. It was merely my barely barley till their oh offs. Missaunderstaid. Meggy Guggy’s giggag. The code’s proof! The rebald danger with they who would bare whiteness against me I dismissem from the mind of good. He can tell such as story to the Twelfth Maligns that my first was a nurssmaid and her fellower’s a willbe perambulatrix. There are twingty to twangty too thews and leathermail coatschemes penparing to hostpost for it valinnteerily with my valued fofavour to the past puzzles deparkment with larch parchels of presents for future branch offercings. The green approve the raid! Shaum Baum’s bode he is amustering in the groves while his shool comes merging along! Want I put myself in their kirtlies I were ayearn to leap with them and show me too bisextine. Dear and lest I forget mergers and bow to you low, marchers! Attemption! What a mazing month of budsome misses they are making, so a wingtywish to flit beflore their kin! Attonsure! Ears to hears! The skall of a gall (for every dime he yawpens that momouth you could park your ford in it) who has papertreated him into captivities with his inside man by a hocksheat of starvision for an avragetopeace of parchment, cooking up his lenses to be my apoclogypst, the recreuter of conscraptions, let him be asservent to Kinahaun! For (peace peace perfectpeace!) I have abwaited me in a water of Elin and I have placed my reeds intectis before the Registower of the perception of tribute in the hall of the city of Analbe. How concerns any merryaunt and hworsoever gravesobbers it is perensempry sex of fun to halp a dazzle off the othour. What for Mucias and Gracias may the duvlin rape the handsomst! And the whole mad knightmayors’ nest! Punpother, prison and plotch! If I shoulden somewhat, well, I am able to owe it, hearth and chemney easy. They seeker for vannflamm all worldins merkins. I’ll eager make lyst turpidump undher arkens. Basast! And if my litigimate was well to wrenn tigtag cackling about it, like the sally berd she is, to abery ham in the Cutey Strict (I shall call upon my first among my lost of lyrars, a jingoobangoist, to overcast to her), dismissing mundamanu all the riflings of her victuum gleaner (my old chuck, she drakes me druck, turning out gay at ninety!) and well shoving off a boastonmess like lots wives does over her handpicked hunsbend, as she would be calling, well, for further oil mircles upon all her wayferer gods and reannouncing my deviltries as was I a locally person of caves until I got my purchase on her firmforhold I am, I like to think, by their sacreligion of daimond cap daimond, confessedly in my baron gentilhomme to the manhor bourne till ladiest day as panthoposopher, to have splet fort groont groont a peer of bellows like Bacchulus shakes a rousing guttural at any old cerpaintime by peaching (allsole we are not amusical) the warry warst against myself in the defile as a lieberretter sebaiscopal of these mispeachyites of the first virginial water who, without an auction of biasement from my part, with gladdyst tone ahquickyessed in it, overhowe and underwhere, the totty lolly poppy flossy conny dollymaukins! Though I heave a coald on my bauck and am could up to my eres hoven sametimes I used alltides to be aswarmer for the meekst and the graced. You are not going to not. You might be threeabreasted wholenosing at a whallhoarding from our Don Amir anent villayets prostatution precisingly kusckkars tarafs and it could be double densed uncounthest hour of allbleakest age with a bad of wind and a barran of rain, nompos mentis like Novus Elector, what with his Marx and their Groups, yet did a doubt, should a dare, were I to you, you would do and dhamnk me, shenker, dhumnk you. Skunk. And fare with me to share with me. Hinther and thonther, hant by hont. By where dauvening shedders down whose rovely lanes. As yose were and as yese is. Sure and you would, Mr MacGurk! Be sure and you would, Mr O’Duane! To be sure and you would so, Mr MacElligut! Wod you nods? Mom mom. No mum has the rod to pud a stub to the lurch of amotion. My little love apprencisses, the estelles, van Nessies von Nixies voon der pool, which I had a reyal devouts for (yet was it marly lowease or just a feel with these, which olderman K. K. Alwayswelly he is showing to the fullnights, for my palmspread was gav to a parsleysprig, the curliest weedeen old ocean coils around, so spruce a spice for salthorse, sonnies, and as tear to the thrusty as Taylor’s Spring), when aftabournes, when, as Beacher seath, she was look like a little cheayat chilled (Oh Sard! ah Mah!) by my tide impracing, and all the colories, my dears, fair fled from my folced cheeks! Popottes, where you canceal me you mayst forced guage my bribes. Wickedgapers, I appeal against the light! A nexistence of vividence! Panto, boys, is on a looser inloss; ballet, girls, suppline thrown tights. I have wanted to thank you such a long time now so much. Thank you. Sir, kindest of bottleholders and very dear friend, among our hearts of steel, froutiknaw, it will befor you, me dare beautiful young soldier, winninger nor anyour af rudimental moskats, before you go to mats, you who have watched your share with your sockboule sodalists on your bunted nogs at our love tennis squats regatts, suckpump, when on with the balls did disserve the fain, my goldrush gainst her silvernetss, to say, biguidd, for the love of goddess and perthanow as you reveres your one mothers, mitsch for matsch, and while I reveal thus my deepseep daughter which was bourne up pridely out of medsdreams unclouthed when I was pillowing in my brime (of Saturnay Eve, how now, weren’t we’t?), to see, I say, whoahoa, in stay of execution in re Milcho Melekmans, increaminated, what you feel, oddrabbit, upon every strong ground you have ever taken up, by bitterstiff work or battonstaff play, with assault of turk against a barrakraval of grakeshoots, e’en tho’ Jambuwel’s defecalties is Terry Shimmyrag’s upperturnity, if that is grace for the grass what is balm for the bramblers, as it is as it is, that I am the catasthmatic old ruffin sippahsedly improctor to be seducing trovatellas, the dire dafty damedeaconesses, like (why sighs the soothesinger) the lilliths oft I feldt, and when booboob brutals and cautiouses only aims at the oggog hogs in the humans, then (Houtes, Blymey and Torrenation, upkurts and scotchem!) I’ll tall tale tell croon paysecurers, sowill nuggets and nippers, that thash on me stumpen blows the gaff off mombition and thit thides of marse makes a good dayle to be shattat. Fall stuff.
His rote in ere, afstef, was.
And dong wonged Magongty till the bombtomb of the warr, thrusshed in his whole soort of cloose.
Whisht who wooed in Weald, bays of Bawshaw binding. The desire of Miriam is the despair of Marian as John Joseph’s beauty is Jacq Jacob’s grief. Brow, tell nun; eye, feign sad; mouth, sing mim. Look at Lokman! Whatbetween the cupgirls and the platterboys. And he grew back into his grossery baseness: and, for all his grand remonstrance, there you are.
Here endeth chinchinatibus with have speak finish. With a haygue for a halt on a pouncefoot pause. Pink, pleas pink, two pleas pink, how two pleas pink.
Punk.
Mask one. Mask two. Mask three. Mask four.
Up.
— Look about you, Tutty Comyn!
— Remember and recall, Kullykeg!
— When visiting Dan Leary try the corner house for thee.
— I’ll gie ye credit for sixmence more if ye’ll be lymphing our four avunculusts.
And, since threestory sorratelling was much too many, they maddened and they morgued and they lungd and they jowld. Synopticked on the word. Till the Juke done it.
Down.
Like Jukoleon, the seagoer, when he bore down in his pyrryboat he had raised a slide and shipped his orders and seized his pullets and primed their plumages, the fionnling and dubhlet, the dun and the fire, and, sending them one by other to fare fore forn, he had beheld the residuance of a delugion: the foggy doze still going strong, the old thalassocrats of invinsible empores, maskers of the waterworld, facing one way to another way and this way on that way, from severalled their four dimmansions. Where the lighning leaps from the numbulous; where coold by cawld breide lieth langwid; the bounds whereinbourne our solied bodies all attomed attaim arrest: appoint, that’s all. But see what follows. Wringlings upon wronglings among incomputables about an uncomeoutable (an angel prophetethis? kingcorrier of beheasts? the calif in his halifskin? that eyriewinging one?) and the voids bubbily vode’s dodos across the which the boomomouths from their dupest dupes were in envery and anononously blowing great.
Guns.
Keep backwards, please, because there was no good to gundy running up again. Guns. And it was written up in big capital. Guns. Saying never underrupt greatgrandgosterfosters! Guns. And whatever one did they said, the fourlings, that on noahcounts you were not to. Guns.
Not to pad them behaunt in the fear. Not to go, tonnerwatter, and bungley well chute the rishing gianerant. Not to wandly be woking around jerumsalendo at small hours about the murketplots, smelling okey boney, this little figgy and arraky belloky this little pink into porker but, porkodirto, to let the gentleman pedestarolies out of the Monabella culculpuration live his own left leave, cullebuone, by perperusual of the petpubblicities without inwoking his also’s between (sic) the arraky bone and (suc) the okey bellock. And not to not be always, hemmer and hummer, treeing unselves up with one exite but not to never be caving nicely, precisely, quicely, rebustly, tendrolly, unremarkably, forsakenly, haltedly, reputedly, firstly, somewhatly yesayenolly about the back excits. Never to weaken up in placed of the broths. Never to vvollusslleepp in the pleece of the poots. And, allerthings, never to ate the sour deans if they weren’t having anysin on their consients. And, when in Zumschloss, to never, narks, cease till the finely ending was consummated by the completion of accomplishment.
And thus within the tavern’s secret booth The wisehight ones who sip the tested sooth Bestir them as the Just has bid to jab The punch of quaram on the mug of truth.
K.C. jowls, they’re sodden in the secret. K.C. jowls, they sure are wise. K.C. jowls, the justicest jobbers, for they’ll find another faller if their ruse won’t rise. Whooley the Whooper.
There is to see. Squarish large face with the atlas jacket, brights brownie eyes in bluesackin shoeings. Peaky booky nose over a lousiany shirt. Ruddy stackle hair besides a strawcamel belt. Namely. Gregorovitch, Leonocopolos, Tarpinacci and Duggelduggel. And was theys stare all atime? Yea but they was. Andoring the games, induring the studies, undaring the stories, end all. Ned? Only snugged then and cosied after one percepted nought while tuffbettle outraged the waywords and meansigns of their hinterhand suppliesdemands. And be they gone to splane splication? That host that hast one on the hoose when backturns when he facefronts none none in the house his geust has guest. You bet they is. And nose well down.
With however what sublation of compensation in the radification of interpretation by the byeboys? Being they. Mr G. B. D. Ashburner, S. Bruno’s Toboggan Drive, Mr Faixgood Bellchimbers, Carolan Crescent, Mr J. J. Chattaway, Hilly Gape, Poplar Park, Mr Q. P. Dieudonney, The View, Gazey Peer, Mr T. T. Erchdeakin, Multiple Lodge, Jiff Exby Rode, Mr W. K. Ferris-Fender, Fert Fort, Woovil Doon Botham ontowhom adding the tout that pumped the stout that linked the lank that sold the sandy that nextdoored the rotter that rooked the rhymer that lapped at the hoose that Joax pilled.
They had heard or had heard said or had heard said written.
Fidelisat.
That there first a rudrik kingcomed to an inn court; and the seight of that yard was a perchypole with a loovahgloovah on it; last mannarks maketh man when wandshift winneth womans: so how would it hum, whoson of a which, if someof aswas to start to stunt the story on?
So many needles to ponk out to as many noodles as are company, they noddling all about it tutti to tempo, decumans numbered too, (a) well, that the secretary bird, better known as Pandoria Paullabucca, whom they thought was more like a solicitor general, indiscriminatingly made belief mid authorsuggestions from Schelm the Pelman to write somewords to Senders about her chilikin puck, laughing that Poulebec would be the death of her, (b) that, well, that Madges Tighe, the postulate auditressee, when her daremood’s a grownian, is always on the who goes where, hoping to Michael for the latter to turn up with a cupital tea before her ephumeral comes off without any much father which is parting parcel of the same gourneral’s postoppage, it being lookwhyse on the whence blows wheather, helping mickle to mickle so that the loiter end of that leader may twaddle out after a cubital lull with a hopes soon to ear, comprong? (c) becakes the goatsman on question, or whatever the hen the bumbler was, feeling not up to scratch bekicks of whatever the kiddings Payne Inge and Popper meant for him, thoughy onced at a throughlove, true grievingfrue danger, as a nirshe persent to his minstress, devourced the pair of them Mather Caray’s chucklings, pante blanche, and skittered his litters like the cavaliery man in Cobra Park for ungeborn yenkelmen, Jeremy Trouvers or Kefin O’Keepers, any old howe and any old then and when around Dix Dearthy Dungbin, remarking scenically with laddylike lassitude upon what he finally postscrapped, (d) after it’s so long till I thanked you but I do so much now thank you so very much as you introduced me to forks. (e) will, these remind to be sane? (f) Fool, step!
Aletheometry? Or just zoot doon floon?
Nut it out, peeby eye! Onamassofmancynaves.
But. Top.
You were in that same boat of yourselves too, Getobodoff or Treamplasurin; and you receptionated the most diliskious of milisk; which it all flowowered your drooplin dunlearies: but dribble a drob went down your rothole. Meaning Kelly, Grimes, Phelan, Mullanny, O’Brien, MacAlister, Sealy, Coyle, Hynes-Foynes, Naylor-Traynor, Courcy de Courcy and Gilligan-Goll.
Stunner of oddstodds on bluebleeding boarhorse! What soresen’s head subrises thustous out of rumpumplikum oak with, well, we cannot say whom we are looking like through his nowface? It is of Noggens whilk dusts the bothsides of the seats of the bigslaps of the bogchaps of the porlarbaar of the marringaar of the Lochlunn gonnlannludder of the feof of the foef of farfummed Ship-le-Zoyd.
Boumce! It is polisignstunter. The Sockerson boy. To pump the fire of the lewd into those soulths of bauchees, havsousedovers, tillfellthey deadwar knootvindict. An whele time he was rancing there smutsy flaskons nodunder ycholerd for their poopishers, ahull onem! Fyre maynoother endnow! Shatten up ship! Bouououmce! Nomo clandoilskins cheakinlevers! All ashored for Capolic Gizzards! Stowlaway there, glutany of stainks! Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters! Oooom oooom!
As these vitupetards in his boasum he did strongleholder, bushbrows, nobblynape, swinglyswanglers, sunkentrunk, that from tin of this clucken hadded runced slapottleslup. For him had hord from fard a piping. As? Of ?
Dour Douchy was a sieguldson. He cooed that loud nor he was young. He cud bad caw nor he was gray Like wather parted from the say.
Ostia, lift it! Lift at it, Ostia! From the say! Away from the say!
Himhim. Himhim.
Hearhasting he, himmed, reromembered all the chubbs, chipps, chaffs, chuckinpucks and chayney chimebells That he had mistributed in port, pub, park, pantry and poultryhouse, While they, thered, the others, that are, were most emulously concerned to cupturing the last dropes of summour down through their grooves of blarneying. Ere the sockson locked at the dure. Which he would, shuttinshure. And lave them to sture.
For be all rules of sport ’tis right That youth bedower’d to charm the night Whilst age is dumped to mind the day When wather parted from the say.
The humming, it’s coming. Insway onsway.
Fingool MacKishguard Obesume Burgeurse Benefice, He was bowen hem and scrapin him in recolcitrantament to the rightabout And these probonopubblicoes clamatising for an extinsion on his hostillery With his chargehand bombing their eres. Tide, genmen, plays, she been goin shoother aff allmaynoother onawares.
You here nort farwellens rouster? Ashiffle ashuffle the wayve they.
From Dancingtree till Suttonstone There’s lads no lie would filch a crown To mull their sack and brew their tay With wather parted from the say.
Lelong Awaindhoo’s a selverbourne enrouted to Rochelle Lane and liberties those Mullinguard minstrelsers are marshalsing, par tunepiped road, under where, perked on hollowy hill, that poor man of Lyones, good Dook Weltington, hugon come errindwards, had hircomed to the belles’ bows and been catattrapped by the mausers. Now is it town again, londmear of Dublin! And off coursse the toller, ples the dotter of his eyes with her: Moke the Wanst, whye doe we aime alike a pose of poeter peaced? While the dumb he shoots the shopper rope. And they all pour forth. Sans butly Tuppeter Sowyer, the rouged engenerand, a barttler of the beauyne, still our benjamin liefest, sometime frankling to thise citye, whereas bigrented him a piers half subporters for his arms, Josiah Pipkin, Amos Love, Raoul Le Febber, Blaize Taboutot, Jeremy Yopp, Francist de Loomis, Hardy Smith and Sequin Pettit followed by the snug saloon seanad of our Café Béranger. The scenictutors.
Because they wonted to get out by the goatweigh afore the sheep was looset for to wish the Wobbleton Whiteleg Welshers kaillykailly kellykekkle and savebeck to Brownhazelwood from all the dinnasdoolins on the labious banks of their swensewn snewwesner, turned again weastinghome, by Danesbury Common, and they onely, duoly, thruely, fairly after rainydraining fountybuckets (chalkem up, hemptyempty!) till they caught the wind abroad (alley loafers passingjeering!) all the rockers on the roads and all the boots in the stretes.
Oh dere! Ah hoy!
Last ye, lundsmin, hasty hosty! For an anondation of mirification and the lutification of our paludination.
His bludgeon’s bruk, his drum is tore. For spuds we’ll keep the hat he wore And roll in clover on his clay By wather parted from the say.
Hray!
From Free Rogue Mountone till Dew Mild Well to corry awen and glowry! Are now met by Bawnaboy Fuinnuiguinn’s former for a lyncheon partyng of his burgherbooh. The Shanavan Wacht. Rantinroarin Batteries Dorans. And that whistling thief, O’Ryne O’Rann. With a catch of her cunning and nowhere a keener.
The fore olders were aspolootly at their wetsends in the moiling walters, trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! Because number one lived at Bothersby North and he was trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! And number two digged up Poors Coort, Soother, trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! And number three he sleeped with Lilly Tekkles at The Eats and he was trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! And the last with the sailalloyd donggie he was berthed on the Moherboher to the Washte and they were all trying to and baffling with the walters of, hoompsydoompsy walters of. High! Sink! High! Sink! Highohigh! Sinkasink!
Waves.
The gangstairs strain and anger’s up As Hoisty rares the can and cup To speed the bogre’s barque away O’er wather parted from the say.
Horkus chiefest ebblynuncies!
— He shook be ashaped of hempshelves, hiding that shepe in his goat. And for rassembling so bearfellsed the magreedy prince of Roger Thuthud. Heigh hohse, heigh hohse, our kindom from an orse! Bruni Lanno’s woollies on Brani Lonni’s hairyparts. And the hunk in his trunk it would be an insalt foul the matter of that cellaring to a pigstrough. Stop his laysense. Ink him! You would think him Alddaublin. Staking his lordsure like a gourd on puncheon. Deblinity devined! Wholehunting the pairk on a methylogical mission whenever theres imberillas! And calling Rina Roner Reinette Ronayne. To what mine answar is a lemans. Arderleys, beedles and postbillers heard him. Three points to one. Ericus Vericus corrupted into ware eggs. Dummy up, distillery! Broree aboo! Run him a johnsgate down jameseslane! Begetting a wife which begame his nieces by pouring her youngthings into skintighs. That was when he had dizzy spells. Till Gladstools Pillools made ride as the mall. Thanks to his huedobrass beerd. Lodebroke the Longman, now he canseels under veerious persons but is always that Rorke relly. On consideration for the musickers he ought to have down it. Pass out your cheeks, why daunt you? Penalty, please! Then you’ll know how warder barded the bollhead that parssed our alley. We just are upsidedown singing whatever the dimkims mummur allalilty she pulls inner out heads. This is not the end of this by no manners means. When you’ve bled till you’re bone it crops out in your flesh. To tell how your mead of, mard, is made of. All old Dadgerson’s dodges one conning one’s copying and that’s what wanderland’s wonderlad’ll flaunt to the fair. A trancedone boyscript with tittivits by. Ahem. You’ll read it tomorrow, morn, when the curds are on the table. A nigg for a nogg and a thrate for a throte. The auditor learns. Still pumping on Yorkenwhite. Radlump, Lencs. In preplay to Anonymay’s lefthinted palinode obviously inspiterabled by a sibspecious connexion. Note the notes of admiration! See the signs of suspicion! Count the hemisemidemicolons! Screamer caps and invented gommas, quoites puntlost, forced to farce! The pipette will say anything at all for a change. And you know what aglove means in the Murdrus dueluct? Fewer to feud and rompant culotticism, a fugle for the gleemen and save, sit and sew. And a pants outsizinned on the Doughertys’ duckboard pointing to peace at home. In some, lawanorder on lovinardor. Wait till we hear the Boy of Biskop reeling around your postoral lector! Epistlemadethemology for deep dorfy doubtlings. As we’ll lay till break of day in the bunk of basky, O! Our island, Rome and duty! Well tried, bucktiff! Batt in, boot! Sell him a breach contact, the vendoror, the buylawyer! One hyde sack, hic! Two stick holst, hucky! Finnish Make Goal! First you were Nomad, next you were Namar, now you’re Numah and it’s soon you’ll be Nomon. Hence counsels Ecclesiast. There’s every resumption. The forgein offils is on the shove to lay you out dossier. Darby’s in the yard, planning it on you, plot and edgings, the whispering peeler after Cooks wearing an illformation. The find of his kind! An artist, sir! And dirt cheap at a sovereign a skull! He knows his Finsbury Follies backwoods so you batter see to your regent refutation. Ascare winde is rifing again about nice boys going native. You know who was wrote about in the Orange Book of Estchapel? Basil and the two other men from King’s Avenance. Just press this cold brand against your brow for a mow. Cainfully! The sinus the curse. That’s it. Hung Chung Egglyfella now speak he tell numptywumpty topsawys belongahim pidgin. Secret things other persons place there covered not. How you fell from story to story like a sagasand to lie. Enfilming infirmity. On the because of you alleging to having a finger a fudding in pudding and pie. Then old Hunphydunphyville’ll be blasted to bumboards by the youthful herald who would once you were. He’d be our chosen one in the matter of Brittas more than anarthur. But we’ll wake and see. The wholes poors riches of ours hundreds of manhoods and womhoods. Two cents, two mills and two myrds. And here’s the witnesses. Glue on to him, Greevy! Bottom anker, Noordeece! And kick kick killykick for the house that Juke built! Wait till they send you to sleep, scowpow! By jurors’ cruces! And it’s all us rangers you’ll be facing in the box before the twelfth correctional. Like one man, gell? Between all the Misses Mountsackvilles in their halfmoon haemicycles, gasping to giddies to dye for the shame. Just hold hard till the one we leapt out gets her yearing! Hired in cameras, extra! With His Honour Surpacker on the binge. So yelp your guilt and kitz the buck. You’ll have loss of fame from Wimmegame’s fake. Forwards! One bully son growing the goff and his twinger read out by the Nazi Priers. You fought as how they’d never woxen up, did you, crucket? It will wecker your earse, that it will! When hives the court to exchequer ’tis the child which gives the sire away. Good for you, Richmond Rover! Scrum around, our side! Let him have another between the spindlers! A grand game! Dalymount’s decisive. Don Gouverneur Buckley’s in the Tara Tribune, sporting the insides of a Rhutian Jhanaral and little Mrs Ex-Skaerer-Sissers is bribing the halfpricers to pray for her widower in his gravest embazzlement. You on her, hosy jigses, that’ll be some nonstop marrimont! You in your stolen mace and anvil, Magnes, and her burrowed in Berkness cirrchus clouthses. Fummuccumul with a grauneen aveiled. Playing down the slavey touch. Much as she was when the fancy cutter out collecting milestones espied her aseesaw on a fern. So nimb, he said, a dat of dew. The smiling ever! If you pulls me over pay me, prhyse! Between Furr-y-Benn and Ferr-y-Bree. In this tear Vikloe vich he lofed. A talor would adapt his caulking trudgers on to any shape at see. Address deceitfold, of wovens weard. The wonder of the women of the world together, moya! And the lovablest Lima since Ineen MacCormick MacCoort MacConn O’Puckins MacKundred. Only but she’s a little width wider got. Be moving abog. You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx. Listun till you’ll hear the Mudquirt accent. This is a bulgen horesies, this is wollan indulgencies, this is a fflemsh. Tik. Scapulars, beads and a stump of a candle, Hubert was a Hunter, chemins de la croixes and Rosairette’s egg, all the trimmings off the tree that she picked up after the Clontarf voterloost when O’Bryan MacBruiser bet Norris Nobnut. Becracking his cucconut between his kknneess. Umpthump, Here Inkeeper, it’s the doatereen’s wednessmorn! Delphin dringing! Grusham undergang! And the Real Hymernians strenging strong at knocker knocker! Holy and massalltolled. Tik. You ought to tak a dos of frut, sauss. You’re getting hoovier, a twelve stone hoovier, fullends a twelve stone hoovier, in your corpus entis and it scurves you right, demnye! Aunt as unclish ams they make oom. But Nichtia you bound not to loose’s gone on Neffin since she clapped her charmer on him at Gormagareen. At the Gunting Munting Hunting Punting. The eitch is in her blood, arrah! For a frecklesome freshcheeky sweetworded lupsqueezer. And he shows how he’ll pick him the lock of her fancy. Poghue! Poghue! Poghue! And a good jump, Powell! Clean over all their heads. We could kiss him for that one, couddled we, Huggins? Sparkes is the footer to hance off nancies. Scaldhead, pursue! Before you bunkle-doodle down upon your birchentop again after them three blows from time, drink and hurry. The same three that nursed you, Skerry, Badbols and the Grey One. All of your own club too. With the fistful of burryberries were for the massus for to feed you living in dying. Buy bran biscuits and you’ll never say dog. And be in the finest of companies. Morialtay and Kniferope Walker and Rowley the Barrel. With Longbow of the lie, Slick of the trick and Blennercassel of the brogue. Clanruckard for ever! The Fenn, the Fenn, the kinn of all Fenns! Deaf to the winds when for Croonacreena. Fisht! And it’s not now saying how we are where who’s softing what rushes. Merry-virgin forbed! But if they never eat soulefreede they’re ating it now. With easter greeding. Angus! Angus! Angus! The keykeeper of the keys of the seven doors of the dreamadoory in the house of the household of Hecech saysaith. Whitmore, whatmore? Give it over, give it up! Mawgraw! Head of a helo, chesth of a champgnon, eye of a goll! What you’d if he’d. The groom is in the greenhouse, gattling out his. Gun! That lad’s the style for Lannigan’s ball! Now a drive on the naval! The Shallburn Shock. Never mind your gibbous. Slip on your ropen collar and draw the noosebag on your head. Nobody will know or heed you, Postumus, if you skip round schlymartin by the back and come front sloomutren to beg in one of the shavers’ sailorsuits. Three climbs threequickenthrees in the garb of nine. We’ll split to see you mouldem imparvious. A wing for oldboy Welsey Wandrer! Well spat, witty wagtail! Now piawn to bishop’s forthe! Moove! There’s Mumblesome Wadding Murch cranking up to the hornemoonium. Drawg us out Ivy Eve in the Hall of Alum! The finnecies of poetry wed music. Feeling the jitters? You’ll be as tight as Trivett when the knot’s knutted on. Now’s your never! Peena and Queena are duetting a giggle-for-giggle and the brideen Alannah is lost in her diamindwaiting. What a magnificent gesture you will show us this gallus day. Clean and easy, be the hooker! And a free for croaks after. Dovlen are out for it. So is Rathfinn. And, hike, here’s the hearse and four horses with the interprovincial crucifixioners throwing lots inside to know whose to be their gosson and whereas to brake the news to morhor. How our mysterbilder his fullen aslip. And who will wager but he’ll Shonny Bhoy be, the fleshlumpfleeter, from Poshtapengha and all he bares sobsconcious inklings shadowed on soulskin. Its segnet yores, the strake of a hin. Nup. Laying the cloth, to fore of them. And thanking the fish, in core of them. To pass the grace for Gard sake! Ahmohn. Mr Justician Matthews and Mr Justician Marks and Mr Justician Luk de Luc and Mr Justician Johnston-Johnson. And the aaskart, see, behind! Help, help, hurray! Allsup, allsop! Four ghools to nail! Cut it down, mates, look slippy! They’ve got a dathe with a swimminpull. Dang! Ding! Dong! Dung! Dinnin. Isn’t it great he is swaying above us for his good and ours. Fly your balloons, dannies and dennises! He’s doorknobs dead! And Annie Delap is free! Ones more. We could ate you, par Buccas, and imbabe through you, reassuranced in the wild lac of gotliness. One fledge, one brood till hulm culms evurdyburdy. Huh the throman! Huh the traidor. Huh the truh. Errorsure, he’s the mannork of Arrahland oversense he horrhorrd his name in thuthunder. Rrrwwwkkkrrr! And seen it rudden up in fusefiressence on the flashmurket. P.R.C.R.L.L. Royloy. Of the rollorrish rattillary. The lewdningbluebolteredallucktruckalltraumconductor! The unnamed non-irishblooder that becomes a Greenislender overnight! But we’re molting superstituettes out of his fulse thorotin guts. Tried mark, Easterlings. Sign, Sideric O’Cunnuc, Rix. Adversed ord, Magtmorken, Kovenhow. A die for due and Du for Dy. There’s a great conversion, myn! Coucous! Find his causcaus! From Motometusolum through Bulley and Cowlie and Diggery-diggerydock down to baseness’s usual. He’s alight there still, by Mike! Loose afore! Bung! Bring forth your deed! Bang! Till is the right time. Bang! Partick Thistle agen S. Megan’s versus Brystal Palace agus the Walsall! Putsch! Tiemore moretis tisturb badday! The playgue will be soon over, rats! Let sin! Geh tout! All we wants is to get peace for possession. We dinned unnerstunned why you sassad about thurteen to aloafen, sor, kindly repeat! Or ledn us alones of your lungorge, parsonifier propounde of our edelweissed idol worts! Shaw and Shea are lorning obsen so hurgle up, gandfarder, and gurgle me gurk. You can’t impose on frayshouters like os. Every tub here spucks his own fat. Hang coersion everyhow! And smotthermock Gramm’s laws! But we’re a drippindhrue gayleague all at ones. In the buginning is the woid, in the muddle is the sounddance and thoreinofter you’re in the unbewised again, vund vulsyvolsy. You talker dunsker’s brogue men we our souls speech obstruct hostery. Silence in thought! Spreach! Wear an artful of outer nocense! Pawpaw, wowwow! Momerry twelfths, noebroed! That was a good one, ha! So it will be quite a material what May farther be unvuloped for you, old Mighty, when it’s aped to foul a delfian in the Mahnung, ha ha! Talk of Paddybarke’s echo! Kick nuck, Knockcastle, Muck. And you’ll nose it, O you’ll nose it, without warnward from we. We don’t know the sendor towhome. But you’ll find Chiggenchugger’s taking the Treaclyshortcake with Bugle and the Bitch pairsadrawsing and Horssmayres Prosession tyghting up under the threes. Stop. Press stop. To press stop. All to press stop. And, be the seem talkin, wharabahts hosetanzies, dat sure is sullibrated word? Bing bong! Saxolooter! For congesters are salders’ prey. Snap it up in the loose, patchy the blank! Anyone can see you’re the son of a gunnell. Fellow him up too, Carlow! Woes to the wormquashed, aye, and wors to the winner! Think of Aerian’s Wall and the Fall of Toss. Give him another for to volleyholleydoodlem! His lights not all out yet, the liverpooser! Boohoohoo it oose! With seven hores always in the home of his thinkingthings, his nodsloddledome of his noiselisslesoughts. Two Idas, two Evas, two Nessies and Rubyjuby. Phook! No wonder, pipes as kirles, that he sthings like a rheinbok. One bed night he had the delysiums that they were all queens mobbing him. Feel stiff. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ah, he, he! Abedicate yourself! It just gegs our goad. He’ll be the deaf of us, pappappoppopcuddle, samblind daiyrudder. Yus, sord, fathe, you woll, putty our wraughther! What we waits be after? Whyfore we come agooding? None of you, cock icy! You keep that henayearn and her fortycantle glim lookbehinder. We might do with rubiny leeses. But of all your wanings send us out your peppydecked ales and you’ll not be such a bad lot. The rye is well for whose amind but the wheateny one is proper lovely. Beng! We sincerestly trust that Missus with the kiddies of sweet Gorteen has not B I N K to their very least tittles deranged if in B U N K and we greesiously augur for Your Meggers a B E N K B A N K B O N K to sloop in with all sorts of odceteras and adsaturas. It’s our last fight, Megantic, fear you will! The refergee’s took to hailing to time the pass. There goes the blackwatchwomen, all in white, flaxed up, burgad! Right toe, Armitage! Tem for Tam at Timmotty Hall! We’re been carried away. Beyond bournes and bowers. So we’ll leave it to Keyhoe, Danelly and Pykemhyme, the three muskrateers, at the end of this age that had it from Variants’ Katey Sherratt that had it from Variants’ Katey Sherratt’s man for the bonnefacies of Blashwhite and Blushred of the Aquasancta Liffey Patrol to wind up and to tells of all befells after that to Mocked Majesty in the Malincurred Mansion.
So you were saying, boys? Anyhow he what?
So anyhow, melumps and mumpos of the hoose uncommons, after that to wind up that longtobechronicled gettogether thanksbetogiving day at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle, the anniversary of his finst homy commulion, after that same barbecue beanfeast was all over poor old hospitable corn and eggfactor King Roderick O’Conor, the paramount chief polemarch and last preelectric king of all Ireland, who was anything you say yourself between fiftyodd and fiftyeven years of age at the time after the socalled last supper he greatly gave those maltknights and beerchurls in his umbrageous house of the hundred bottles, with the radio beamer tower and its hangars, chimbneys and equilines, or at least he wasn’t actually the then last king of all Ireland for the time being for the jolly good reason that he was still such as he was the eminent king of all Ireland himself after the last preeminent king of all Ireland, the whilom joky old top that went before him in the Taharan dynasty, King Arth Mockmorrow Koughenough of the leathered leggions, now of parts unknown (God guard his generous comicsongbook soul!), that put a poached fowl in the poor man’s pot before he took to his pallyass with the weeping eczema for better and worse until he went under the grass quilt on us nevertheless the year the sugar was scarce and we to lather and shave and frizzle him like a bald surging buoy and himself down to three cows that was meat and drink and dogs and washing to him, ’tis good cause we have to remember it, going through summersultryngs of snow and sleet with the widow Nolan’s goats and the Brownes girls neats, anyhow wait till I tell you what did he do, poor old Roderick O’Conor Rex, the auspicious waterproof monarch of all Ireland, when he found himself all alone by himself in his grand old handwedown pile after all of them had all gone off with themselves to their castles of mud, as best they cud, on footback, owing to the leak of McCarthy’s mare, in extended order, a tree’s length from the longest way out, down the switchbackward slidder of the landsown route of Hauburnea’s liveliest vinnage on the brain, the unimportant Parthalonians with the mouldy Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Danaan googs and the ramblers from Clane and all the rest of the notmuchers and other slygrogging suburbanites that he didn’t care the royal spit out of his ostensible mouth about, well, what do you think he did, sir, but, faix, he just went heeltapping through the winespilth and weevily popcorks that were kneedeep round his own right royal round rollicking topers’ table, with his old Roderick Random pullon hat at a Lanty Leary cant on him and Mike Brady’s shirt and Greene’s linnet collarbow and his Ghenter’s gaunts and his Macclefield’s swash and his readymade Reillys and his panprestuberian poncho, the body you’d pity him, the way the world is, poor he, the heart of Midleinster and the supereminent lord of them all, overwhelmed as he was with black ruin like a sponge out of water, allocutioning in bellcantos to his own oliverian society McGuiney’s Dreans of Ergen Adams and thrumming through all to himself with diversed tonguesed through his old tears and his ould plaised drawl, starkened by the most regal of belches, like a blurney Cashelmagh crooner, that larking Clare air, the blackbard’s ballad I’ve a terrible errible lot todue todie todue tootorribleday, well, what did he go and do at all His Most Exuberant Majesty King Roderick O’Conor but, arrah bedamnbut, he finalised by lowering his woolly throat with the wonderful midnight thirst was on him, as keen as mustard, he could not tell what he did ale, that bothered he was from head to tail, and, wishawishawish, leave it, what the Irish, boys, can do, if he didn’t go sliggyma-glooral reemyround and suck up, sure enough, like a Trojan, in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue, whatever surplus rotgut, sorra much, was left by the lazy lousers in the different bottoms of the various different replenquished drinking utensils left there behind them on the premises by that whole hogsheaded firkin family of departed honourable homegoers, such as it was, fall and fall about, to the brindishing of his charmed life, as toastified by his cheeriubicundenances, no matter whether it was chateaubottled Guinness’s or Phoenix brewery stout it was or John Jameson and Sons or Roob Coccola or, for the matter of that, O’Connell’s famous old Dublin ale that he wanted like hell, more than halibut oil or jesuits tea, as a fallback, of several different quantities and qualities amounting in all to, I should say, considerably more than the better part of a gill or naggin of imperial dry and liquid measure till, welcome be from us here, till the rising of the morn, till that hen of Kaven’s shows her beaconegg and Chapwellswendows stain our horyhistoricold and Father MacMichael stamps for aitch o’clerk mess and the Litvian Newestlatter is seen, sold and delivered and all’s set for restart after the silence, till like his ancestors to this day after him (that the blazings of their ouldmouldy gods may attend to them we pray!), overopposides the cowery lad in the corner and forenenst the staregaze of the cathering candled, that adornment of his album and folkenfather of familyans, he came acrash a crupper sort of a sate on accomondation and the very boxst in all his composs, whereuponce, behome the fore for cove and trawlers, heave hone, leave lone, Larry’s on the focse and Faugh MacHugh O’Bawlar at the wheel, one to do and one to dare, par by par, a peerless pair, ever here and over there, with his fol the dee oll the doo on the flure of his feats and the feels of the fumes in the wakes of his ears our wineman from Barleyhome he just slumped to throne.
So sailed the stout ship Nansy Hans. From Liff away. For Nattenlaender. As who has come returns. Farvel, farerne! Goodbark, goodbye!
Now follow we out by Starloe!
— Three quarks for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasn’t got much of a bark
And sure any he has it’s all beside the mark.
But, O Wreneagle Almighty, wouldn’t un be a sky of a lark
To see that old buzzard whooping about for uns shirt in the dark
And he hunting round for uns speckled trousers around by Palmerstown Park?
Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
You’re the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah’s ark
And you think you’re cock of the wark.
Fowls, up! Tristy’s the spry young spark
That’ll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
Without even winking the tail of a feather
And that’s how that chap’s going to make his money and mark!
That song sang seaswans. The winging ones, overhoved, shrillglee-screaming. Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercailzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde.
And there they were too, when it was dark, whiltes the wildcaps was circling, as slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne the fates, the wardorse moved, by courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau Dowbellow Kaempersally, listening in, as hard as they could, in Dubbeldorp, the donker, by the tourneyold of the wattarfialls, with their vuoxens and they kemin in so hattajocky (only a quarterbuck askull for the last acts) to the solans and the sycamores and the wild geese and the gannets and the migratories and the mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the rockbysuckerassousyoceanal sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening. Moykle ahoykling!
They were the big four, the four maaster waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together, right enough, bausnabeatha, in Miracle Squeer: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and, sure, thank God, there are no more of us: and, sure now, you wouldn’t go and forget and leave out the other fellow and old Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ’ sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish, repeating itself, after the interims of Augusburgh, for auld lang syne. And so there they were, with their palms in their hands, like the pulchrum’s proculs, spraining their ears, luistening and listening to the oceans of kissening, with their eyes glistening, all the four, when he was kiddling and cuddling and bunnyhugging scrumptious his colleen bawn and dinkum belle, an oscar sister, on the fifteen inch loveseat, behind the chieftainess stewardess’s cabin, the hero, of Gaelic champion, the onliest one of her choice, her bleaueyedeal of a girl’s friend, neither bigugly nor smallnice, meaning pretty much everything to her then, with his sinister dexterity, lightandrufthandling vicemversem her ragbags et assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and offsides, the brineburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was palpably wrong and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and kissing her, tootyfay charmaunt, in her ensemble of maidenna blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies, Isolamisola, and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three, and dissimulating themself, with his poghue like Arrahna-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four remembored Who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar era cuddling and kiddling her, after an oyster supper in Cullen’s barn, from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening, in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault, the elder, in Arrah-na-poghue, in the otherworld of the passing of the key of Twotongue Common, with Nush, the carrier of the word, and with Mesh, the cutter of the reed, in one of the farback pitchblack centuries when Who made the world, when they knew O’Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, neer the Nodderlands Nurskery, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of tim boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the sin was shining, with their slates and satchels, playing Florian’s fables and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum members, in the Queen’s Ultonian colleges, along with another fellow, a prime number, Totius Quotius, and paying a pot of tribluts to Boris O’Brien, the buttler of Clumpthump, two looves, two turnovers plus (one) crown, to see the mad dane ating his vitals. Wulf! Wulf! And throwing his tongue in the snakepit. Ah ho! The ladies have mercias! It brought the dear prehistoric scenes all back again, as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, natural born lovers of nature, in all her moves and senses, and after that now there he was, that mouth of mandibles vowed to pure beauty, and his Arrahna-poghue, when she murmurously, after she let a cough, gave her firm order, if he wouldn’t please mind, for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best favourite lyrical national blooms in Luvillicit, though not too much, reflecting on the situation, drinking in draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the great outdoors, before the four of them, in the fair fine night, whilst the stars shine bright, by she light of he moon, we longed to be spoon, before her honeyoldloon, the plaint effect being in point of fact there being in the whole a seatuition so shocking and scandalous and now, thank God, there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing like the Moreigner bowed his crusted hoed and Tilly the Tailor’s Tugged a Tar in the Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number and there they were, like a foremasters in the rolls, listening, to Rolando’s deepen darblun Ossian roll (Lady, it was just too gorgeous, that expense of a lovely tint, embellished by the charms of art and very well conducted and nicely mannered and all the horrid rudy noisies locked up in nasty cubbyhole!), as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering, along with the other fellow, so pass the poghue for Christ’ sake, Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering, all the four, the old connubial men of the sea, yambing around with their old pantometer, in duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall, and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times, the wald times and the fald times and the hempty times and the dempty times, for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash, with them, all four, listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water.
Johnny. Ah well, sure, that’s the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked awfully pretty and so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat, just now like the old Merquus of Pawerschoof, the determined old despot (quiescents in brage!), only for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer there dormont, in front of the place near O’Clery’s, at the darkumound numbur wan, beside that ancient Dame street, where the statue of Mrs Dana O’Connell, prostituent behind the Trinity College, that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Bootersbay Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters, the prumisceous creaters, that sells all the emancipated statues and flower-sports, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green, after he made the centuries, going to the tailturn horseshow, before the angler nomads flood, along with another fellow, active impalsive, and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and the barrancos and the cappunchers childerun, Jules, Franz, Xavies and Polidors, everyone, Gotopoxy, with the houghers on them, highstepping the fissure and fracture lines, seven five threes up, three five sevens down, to get out of his way, onasmuck as their withers conditions could not possibly have been improved upon (praisers be to deeseesee!), like hopolopocattls erumping oround their Fudgity Yaman, and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters, from the Curragh, and confusionaries and the authorities, Noord Amrikaans and Suid Aferican cattle-raiders (so they say) all over like a tiara dullfuoco, in his grey half a tall hat and his amber necklace and his crimson harness and his leathern jib and his cheapskein hairshirt and his scotobrit sash and his parapelagian gallow-glasses (how do you do, jaypee? Elevato!), forkbearded and bluetoothed and bellied and boneless, from Strathlyffe and Aylesbury and Northumberland Anglesey, to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? Get out of my way!), especially he being amphotically the right man in the right place, the whole yaghoodurt sweepstakings and all the horsepowers. But now, talking of hayastdanars and wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance (the explutor, his three ande-siters and the two pantellarias), that reminds me about the manausteriums of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now, listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore, long long ago in the olden times Momonian, throw darker hour sorrows, the princest day, when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem, and Lally in the rain, with the blank prints, now extincts, after the wreak of Wormans’ Noe, why the barmaisigheds, when my heart knew no care, and after that then there was the official landing of Lady Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S., and the christening of Queen Baltersby, the Fourth Buzzersbee, according to Her Grace the bishop, alderwoman J. P. Biskop, Senior, off the whate shape, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off the Erin Isles at that time, Suir knows, in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God, as Saman said, there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. The arzurian deeps o’er his humbodumbones sweeps. And his widdy the giddy is wreathing her murmoirs as her gracest triput to the Grocery Trader’s Manthly. Mind mand gunfree by Gladeys Rayburn! Runtable’s Reincorporated. The new world presses. Where the old conk cruised now croons the yunk. Exeonc throw a darras Kram of Llawnroc, ye gink guy, kirked into yord. Enterest attawonder Wehpen, luftcat revol, fairescapading in his natsirt. Tuesy tumbles. And mild aunt Liza is as loose as her neese. Fulfest withim inbrace behent. As gent would deem oncontinent. So mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin. Like the newcasters in their old plyable of A Royenne Devows. Jazzaphoney and Mirillovis and Nippy she nets best. Fing. Ay, ay! Sobbos. And so he was. Sabbus.
Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada, all scattered, and all officially drowned, there and then, on a lovely morning, after the universal flood, at about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the anabaptist, and Saint Kevin, the lacustrian, with toomuch of tolls and lottance of beggars, after converting Porterscout and Dona, our first marents, and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite hourse of Hunover, rising Clunkthurf over Cabinhogan, and all they remembored and then there was the Frankish floot of Noahsdovahs, from Hedalgoland, round about the freebutter year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so, disumbunking from under Motham-general Bonaboche (noo poopery!) in his half a grey traditional hat, alevoila come alevilla, and after that there he was, so terrestrial, like a Nailscissos, cuddling and poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, the maid, in single combat, under the sycamores, amid the bladderings from the boom, and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-poghue, so silvestrious, neer the Queen’s Colleges, in 1132 Brian or Bride street, behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest gloriaspanquost universal howldmoutherhibbert lectures on anarxaquy out of doxarchology (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard, with sexon grimmacticals, in the Latimer Roman history, of Latimer repeating himself, from the vicerine of Lord Hugh, the Lacytynant, till Bockley shuts the rahjahn gerachknell and regnumrockery roundup (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and sages and the Plymouth brethren, droning along, peanzanzangan, and nodding and sleeping away there, like forgetmenots, in her abijance service, round their twelve tables, per pioja at pulga bollas, in the four trinity colleges, for earnasyoulearning in Eringrowback, of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges supper the matther of Erryn, of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure, where their role was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo rolled round. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Janesdanes Lady Andersdaughter Universary, for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady, breathtaking beauty, Bambam’s bonniest, lived to a great age at or in or about the late No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary Round, that eredwellers’ afterliving, where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias, repeating herself, on which purposeth of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! O weep for the hower when eve aleaves bower! How it did but all come eddaying back to them, if they did but get gaze, gagagniagnian, to hear him there, kissing her and cuddling her, after the gouty old galahat, with his peer of quinnyfears and his troad of thirstuns, so nefarious, from his elevation of one yard one handard and thartytwo lines, before the four of us, in his Roman Catholic arms, while his deepseepeepers gazed and sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloon rodolling olosheen eyenbowls by the Cornelius Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. Umque. Napoo.
Queh? Quos?
Ah, dearo dearo dear! Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses gandered gamen. Mahazar ag Dod! It was so scalding sorry for all the whole twice two four of us, with their familiar, making the totem, and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and all belongings to him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and repeating himself and telling him now, for the seek of Senders Newslaters and the mossacre of Saint Brices, to forget the past, when the burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil, and contradicting all about Lally, the ballest master of Goaterstown, and his old fellow, the Lagener, in the Locklane Lighthouse, earing his wick with a pierce of railing, and liggen hig with his ladder up, and that oldtime turner and his sadderday erely cloudsing, the old croniony, Skelly, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts, full of lightweight beltts, and all the bald drakes or ever he had up in the bohereen, off Artsichekes Road, with Molls and Mahmullagh Mullarty, the man in the Oran mosque, and the old folks at home and Duignam and Lapole and the grand confarreation, as per the cabbangers richestore, of the filest archives, and he couldn’t stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers, all nangles, sangles, angles and wangles. And now, that reminds me, not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their Lumbag Walk, over old Battleshore and Deaddleconche, in their half a Roman hat, with an ancient Greek gloss on it, in Chichester College auction and, thank God, they were all summarily divorced, four years before, or so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands, in dear byword days, and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, per Nupiter Privius, only terpary, on the best of terms and be forgot, whilk was plainly foretolk by their old pilgrim cocklesong or they were singing through the wettest indies As I was going to Burrymecarott we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb so there was said thus That old fellow knows milk though he’s not used to it latterly. And so they parted. In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. As evil flaws so Ivel flows. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that’s the way. As the holymaid of Kunut said to the haryman of Koombe. For his humple pesition in odvices. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.
Lucas. And, O, so well they could remembore at that time, when Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland, Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman, foorsitter, in her fullbottom wig and beard (Erminia Reginia!), in or aring or around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1798 Y.W.C.A., at the Married Male Familyman’s Auctioneers’ court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of the Dougals, the poor Scuitsman (Hohannes!), nothing if not amorous, dinna forget, so frightened (zweep! zweep!) on account of her fullbottom (undullable attraxity!), that put the yearl of mercies on him, and the four maasters, in chors, with a hing behangd them, because he was so slow to borstel her schoon for her, when he was grooming her ladyship, instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper, like any old methodist, and all divorced and innasense interdict, in the middle of the temple, according to their dear faithful. Ah, now, it was too bad, too bad and stout entirely, all the missoccurs! And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, from the brownesberrow in nolandsland, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted with ally croaker by everybody he was, by decree absolute, through Herrinsilde, because he forgot himself, making wind and water, and made a Neptune’s mess of all of himself, sculling over the giamond’s courseway, and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old morning proxy paper, a writing in request to hersute herself, on stamped brownanoleum, from Roneo to Giliette, before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned too, poor Dion, before the world and her husband, because it was most improper and most wrong, when he attempted to (well, he was shocking poor in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him), because he (ah, well now, peaces pea to Wedmore and let not the song go dumb upon your Ire, as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and we won’t be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian), and after that, as red as a Rosse is, he made his last will and went to confession, like the general of the Berkeleyites, at the rim of the rom, on his two bare marrowbones, to Her Worship his Mother and Sister Evangelist Sweainey, on Cailcainnin widnight and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootybutton in the handsome cab and now, tell the truth, unfriends never (she was his first messes dogess and it was a very pretty peltry and there were faults on both sides), well, he attempted (or so they say), ah, now, forget and forgive (don’t we all?), and, sure, he was only funning, with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him, well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities, after eten a bad cramp in the rude ocean and, hevantonoze, sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!), her poor old divorced male, in the housepays for the daying at the Martyr Mrs MacCawley’s, where at the time he was taying, and toying to hold the nursetendered hand (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!
And where do you leave Matt Emeritus, the laychief of Abbotabishop? And eschullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt, in his saltwater hat, with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in folds—sure, he hadn’t the heart in her to pull them up—poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man (the porple blussing upon them!), sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground, for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause (who shall say?), in her beaver bonnet, the crapoppely billycoque back from Presscoatts and Dyars, like the king of the Caucuses, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening, with her ivyclad hood, and gripping an old pair of curling tongs, belonging to Mrs Duna O’Cannell, to blow his brains with, till the heights of Newhigherland heard the Bristolshut, with his can of tea and a purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton’s brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come. Gordon Heighland, when you think of it! The merthe dirther! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlourmen, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the smell of Shakeletin and Scratchman and his mouth watering, acid and alkolic, signs on the salt, and so now pass the loaf for Christ’ sake, Amen. And so. And all.
Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can’t be helped. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath! Ay, ay!
And still and all at that time of the dynast days of old konning Soteric Sulkinbored and Bargomuster Bart, when they struck coil and shock haunts, in old Hungerford-on-Mudway, where first I met thee oldpoetryck flied from may, and the Finnan haddies and the Noal Sharks and the muckstails turtles like an acoustic pottish and the griesouper bullyum and how he poled him up his boccat of vuotar and got big buzz for his name in the airweek’s honours from home, colonies and empire, they were always with assisting grace, thinking (up) and not forgetting about shims and shawls week, in auld lang syne (up) their four hosenbands, that were four (up) beautful sister misters, now happily married, unto old Gallstonebelly, and there they were always counting and contradicting every night ’tis early the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons, according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was, in the end, the deary, soldpowder and all, the beautfour sisters, and that was her mudhen republican name, right enough, from alum and oves, and they used to be getting up from under, in their tape and straw garlands, with all the worries awake in their hair, at the kookaburra bell ringring all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lousy louts!) so frightened, for the dthclangavore, like knockneeghs bumpsed by the fisterman’s straights (ys! ys!), at all hours every night, on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, to see was the Transton Postscript come, with their oerkussens under their armsaxters, all puddled and mythified, the way the wind wheeled the schooler round, when nobody wouldn’t even let them rusten, from playing their gastspiels, crossing their sleep by the shocking silence, when they were in dreams of yore, standing behind the door, or leaning out of the chair, or kneeling under the sofacover and sitting on the souptureen, and then getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown convibrational bed or they used to slumper under, when hope was there no more, and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, like svvollovving stickers, like the time they were dadging the talkeycook that chased them, look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool, to break fyre toy all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure’s evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bawneen and bath slippers and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be, flapping and cycling, and a dooing a doonloop, panementically, around the waists of the ships, in the wake of their good old Foehn again, as tyred as they were, at their windswidths in the wavelengths, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts and Roe of the fair cheats, exchanging fleas, from host to host, with arthroposophia, and he selling him before he forgot, issle issle, after having prealably dephlegmatised his gutterful of throatyfrogs, with a lungible fong in his suckmouth ear, while the dear invoked to the coolun dare by a palpebrows lift left no doubt in his minder, till he was instant and he was trustin, sister soul in brother hand, the subjects being their passion grand, that one fresh from the cow about Eithne Meithne married a mailde and that one too from Engrvakar saga abooth a gooth a gev a gotheny egg all out of his oldy head and the parkside pranks of quality queens, katte efter kinne, for Earl Hoovedsoon’s choosing and Huber and Harman orhowwhen theeuponthus (chchch!) eysolt of binnoculises memostinmust egotum sabcunsciously senses upers the deprofundity of multimathematical immaterialities wherebejubers in the pancosmic urge the allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone (hear, O hear, Caller Errin!) exteriorises on this ourherenow plane in disunited solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) perilwhitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited selfdom (murky whey, abstrews adim!) in the higherdiminsional selfless Allself, theemeeng Narsty meetheeng Idoless, and telling Jolly MacGolly, dear mester John, the belated dishevelled, hacking away at a parchment pie, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o’-war, and playing melia marmels in ocean ladies’ foursome, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety, duk, downalupping (how long tandem!) like a foreretyred schoonmasters, and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, like the narcolepts on the lakes of Coma, through the steamy windows, into the honeymoon cabins, on board the big steamadories, made by Fumadory, and the saloon ladies’ madorn toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and, hee hee, listening, qua committee, the poor old quakers, oben the dure, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies, serious me, a lass spring as you fancy, and sheets far from the lad, courting in blankets, enfamillias, and, shee shee, all improper, in a lovely mourning toilet, for the rosecrumpler, the thrilldriver, the sighinspirer, with that olive throb in his nude neck, and, swayin and thayin, thanks ever so much for the tiny quote, which sought of maid everythingling again so very much more delightafellay, and the perfidly suite of her, bootyfilly yours, under all their familarities, by preventing grace, forgetting to say their grace before chambadory, before going to boat with the verges of the chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema-Knatut, so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all, hee hee hee, quaking, so fright, and, shee shee, shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
For it was then a pretty thing happened of pure diversion mayhap, when her flattering hend, at the justright moment, like perchance some cook of corage might clip the lad on a poot of porage, handshut his duckhouse, the vivid girl, deaf with love (ah sure, you know her, our angel being, one of romance’s fadeless wonderwomen, and, sure now, we all know you dote on her even unto date!), with a queeleetlecree of joysis crisis she renulited their disunited, with ripy lepes to ropy lopes (the dear o’dears!) and the golden importunity of aloofer’s leavetime, when, as quick as greased pigskin, Amoricas Champias, with one aragan throast, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the bothlines of forwards (Eburnea’s down, boys!) rightjingbangshot into the goal of her gullet.
Alris!
And now, upright and add them! And plays be honest! And pullit into yourself, as on manowoman do another! Candidately, everybody! A mot for amot. Comong, meng, and douh! There was this, wellyoumaycallher, a strapping fine young modern old ancient Irish prisscess, so and so hands high, such and such paddock weight, in her madapolam smock, nothing under her hat but red hair and solid ivory (now you know it’s true in your hardup hearts!) and a firstclass pair of bedroom eyes of most unholy blue (how weak we are, one and all!), the charm of favour’s fond consent! Could you blame her, we’re saying, for one psocoldlogical moment? What would Ewe do? With that so tiresome old milkless a ram, with his tiresome duty peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old hairyg orangogran beaver, in his tiresome old twentysixandsixpenny sheopards plods drowsers and his thirtybobandninepenny tails plus toop! Hagakhroustioun! It were too exceeding really if one woulds to offer at sulk an oldivirdual a pinge of hinge hit. The mainest thing ever! Since Edem was in the boays noavy. No, no, the dear heaven knows, and the farther the from it, if the whole stole stale misbetold, whoever the gulpable, and whatever the pulpous was, the twooned togethered, and giving the mhost phassionable wheathers, they were doing a lally a lolly a dither a duther one lelly two dather three lilly four dother. And it was a fiveful moment for the poor old timetellers ticktacking, to tenk the count. Till the spark that plugged spared the chokee he gripped and (volatile volupty, how brieved are thy lunguings!) they could and they could hear like of a lisp lapsing, that was her knight of the Truths Thong plipping out of her chapellledeosy, after where he had gone and polped the questioned. Plop.
Ah now, it was tootwoly torrific, the mummurrlubejubes! And then after that they used to be so forgetful, counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu mouldern maiden name, for overflauwing, by the dream of woman the owneirist, in forty lands. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn asthore, as for days galore, of planxty Gregory. Egory. O bunket not Orwin! Ay, ay.
But, sure, that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be in lethargy’s love, at the end of it all, at that time (up) always, tired and all, after doing the mousework and making it up, over their community singing (up) the toploft of the voicebox of Mamalujo, like the senior follies at murther magrees, squatting round, two by two, the four confederates, with Caxon, the Coxswain, (up) the wet air register in Old Man’s House, Millenium Road, crowning themselves in lauraly branches, with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds, fast ovasleep, and all dolled up, for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and boterham clots, a potion apeace, a piece aportion, a lepel alip, alup a lap, for a cup of kindest yet, with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of ate, a lovely munkybown and for xmell and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to be not beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses but to pass the teeth for choke sake, Amensch, when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot, since the phlegmish hoopicough, for all a possabed, after ete a bad cramp and johnny magories, and backscrat the poor bedsores and the farthing dip, their caschal pandle of magmegnousioum, and read a letter or two every night, before going to dodo sleep atrance, with their catkins coifs, in the twilight, a capitaletter, for further auspices, on their old one page codex book of old year’s eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor, by his fellow girl, the Mrs Shemans, in her summerseal house onsample, with the caracul broadtail, her totam in tutu, final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta covers, uptenable from the orther, for to regul their reves by incubation, and Lally, through their gangrene spentacles, and all the good or they did in their time, the rigorists, for Roe and O’Mulconry a Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty MacGregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept and severalty, and one by one and sing a mamalujo. To the heroest champion of Eren and his braceoleanders and Gowan, Gawin and Gonne.
And after that now in the future, please God, after nonpenal death, all start repeating ourselves, in medios loquos, from where he got a useful arm busy on the touchline, due south of her western shoulder, down to death and the love embrace, with an interesting tallow complexion and all now united, sansfamillias, let us ran on to say oremus prayer and homeysweet homely, after fully realising the gratifying experience of highly continental evenements, for meter and peter to temple an eslaap, for auld acquaintance, to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine, for navigants et peregrinantibus, in all the old imperial and Fionnachan sea and for vogue awallow to sing a lovasteamadorion to Ladyseyes, here’s Tricks and Doelsy, delightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop and how she ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and awfully bucked, right glad we never shall forget, Miss Yiss, you fascinator, you, thoh the dayses gone still they loves young dreams, and old Luke with his kingly leer, so wellworth watching, and Senchus Mor, possessed of evident notoriety, and another more of the bigtimers, to name no others, of whom great things were expected in the fulmfilming department, for the lives of Lazarus and auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole Shanghai.
Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!
The Lambeg drum, the Lombog reed, the Lumbag fiferer, the Limbig brazenaze!
Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound sterling in the blueblack bowels of the bank of Ulster.
Braw bawbees and good gold pounds galore, my girleen, a Sunday’ll prank thee finely
And no damn lout’ll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy Ghost there’ll be murder!
O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride queen from Sybil surfriding
In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her.
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she’ll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bide with Sir Sloomysides or the grogram grey barnacle gander?
You won’t need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, but snore snug in my old Balbriggan surtout.
Wisha, won’t you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing (what?) as your own nursetender?
A power of highsteppers died game right enough—but who, acushla, ’ll beg coppers for you?
I tossed that one long before anyone.
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I’m given now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed picnic to follow.
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight from under me, Mick, Nick, or whatever the Maggot your name is, you’re the most likable lad that’s come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore.
Mattheehew, Markeehew, Lukeehew, Johnheehewheehew!
Haw!
And still a light moves long the river. And stiller the mermen ply their keg.
Its pith is full. The way is free. Their lot is cast.
So, to john for a john, johnajeams, led it be!
Hark!
Tolv two elf kater ten (it can’t be) sax.
Hork!
Pedwar pemp foify tray (it must be) twelve!
And low stole o’er the stillness the heartbeats of sleep.
White fogbow spans. The arch embattled. Mark has capsules. The nose of the man who was nought like the nasoes. It is selftinted, wrinkling, ruddled. His kep is a gorsecone. He am Gascon Titubante of Tegmine-sub-Fagi whose fixtures are mobiling so wobiling befear my remembrandts. She, exhibit next, his Anastashie. She has prayings in lowdelph. Zeehere green eggbrooms. What named blautoothdmand is yon who stares? Gugurtha! Gugurtha! He has becco of wild hindigan. Ho, he hath hornhide! And hvis now is for you. Pensée! The most beautiful of woman of the veilch veilchen veilde. She would kidds to my voult of my palace with obscidian lupas, her aal in her dhove’s suckling. Apagemonite! Come not nere! Black! Switch out!
Methought as I was dropping asleep somepart in nonland of where’s please (and it was when you and they were we) I heard at zero hour as ’twere the peal of vixen’s laughter among midnight’s chimes from out the belfry of the cute old speckled church tolling so faint a goodmantrue as nighthood’s unseen violet rendered all animated greatbritish and Irish objects nonviewable to human watchers save ’twere perchance anon some glistery gleam darkling adown surface of affluvial flowandflow as again might seem garments of laundry reposing a leasward close at hand in full expectation. And as I was jogging along in a dream as dozing I was dawdling, arrah, methought broadtone was heard and the creepers and the gliders and the flivvers of the earthbreath and the dancetongues of the woodfires and the hummers in their ground all vociferated, echoating, Shaun! Shaun! Post the post! with a high voice and, O, the higher on high the deeper and low. I heard him so! And lo, meseemed somewhat came of the noise and some-who might amove among allmurk. Now ’twas as clump, now mayhap. When, look, was light and now ’twas as flasher, now moren as the glaow. Ah, in unlitness ’twas in very similitude, bless me, ’twas his belted lamp! Whom we dreamt was a shaddo, sure he’s lightseyes, the laddo! Blessed momence, O romence, he’s growing to stay! Ay, he who so swayed a will of a wisp before me, hand prop to hand, prompt side to the pros, dressed like an earl in just the correct wear, in a classy mac Frieze o’coat of far suparior ruggedness, indigo braw, tracked and tramped, freeswinging from his shoulthern, and an Irish ferrier collar, and thick welted brogues on him with mereswine lacers hammered to suit the scotsmost public and climate, iron heels and sparable soles, and his jacket of providence wellprovided woollies with a softrolling lisp of a lapel to it and great sealingwax buttons, a good helping bigger than the slots for them, of twentytwo carrot krasnapoppsky’s red, and his invulnerable burlap whiskcoat and his popular choker, Tamagnum sette-and-forte, and his loudboheem toy and the damasker’s overshirt he sported inside, a starspangled zephyr with a decidedly surpliced crinklydoodle front with his motto through dear life embrothered over it in peas, rice and yeggyyolk, Or for royal, Am for Mail, R.M.D. hard cash on the nail, and the most successfully carried gigot turnups now you ever (what a pairfact crease! how amsolookly kersse!) breaking over the ankle and hugging the shoeheel, everything the best, was none other from (ah, then, may the turtle’s blessings of God and Mary and Haggispatrick and Huggisbrigid be souptumbling all over him!) other than (and may his hundred thousand welcome stewed letters, relayed and postchased, multiply, ay, faith, and plultiply!) Shaun himself.
What a picture primitive!
Had I the concordant wiseheads of Messrs Gregory and Lyons alongside of Dr Tarpey’s and, I dorsay, the reverend Mr MacDougall’s, but I, poor ass, am but as their fourpart tinckler’s dunkey. Yet methought Shaun (holy messenger angels be uninterruptedly nudging him among and along the winding ways of random ever!) Shaun in proper person (now may all the blue-backsliding constellations continue to shape his changeable timetable!) stood before me. And I pledge you my agricultural word, by the hundred and sixty odds rods and cones of this even’s vision, that young fellow looked the stuff, the Bel of Beaus’ Walk, a prime card if ever was! Pep? Now without deceit it is hardly too much to say he was looking grand, so fired smart, in much more than his usual health. No mistaking that beamish brow, those jehovial oyeglances! The heart of the roll! And hit the hencoop. There was one for you that ne’er would nunch with good Duke Humphrey but would aight through the months without a sign of an err in hem and then, otherwise rounding, fourale to the lees of Traroe. He was immense, topping swell, for he was after having a great time of it, a twentyfour hours every moment matters maltsight, in a porterhouse, scutfrank, if you want to know, Saint Lawzenge of Toole’s, the Wheel of Fortune, leave your clubs in the hall and wait on yourself, no chucks for walnut ketchups, Lazenby’s and Chutney graspis (the house the once queen of Bristol and Balrothery twice admired because her frumped door looked up Dacent Street), where in the sighed of lovely eyes, while his knives of hearts made havoc, he had recruited his strength by meals of spadefuls of mounded food, in anticipation of the faste of tablenapkins, constituting his threepartite pranzipal eatings plus a collation, his breakfast of, first, a bless us O blood and thirsthy orange, next, the half of a pint of bacon with newled googs and a segment of a rice plummy padding, met of sunder suigar, and some cold forsoaken steak peatrefired from the batblack night o’erflown, then, without prejuice to evectuals, came along merendally his stockpot dinner of a half a pound of round steak, very rare, Blong’s best from Portarlington’s Butchery, with a side of riceypeasy and Corkshire alla mellonge and bacon with (a little mar pliche!) a pair of chops and, thrown in from the silver grid by the proprietoress of the roastery who lives on a hill, and gaulusch gravy and pumpernickel to wolp up and a gorger’s bulby onion (Margareatar, Margareatar, Margarasticandeatar) and as well with second course and then, finally, after his avalunch o’clock snack at Appelredt’s or Kitzy Broten’s of saddlebag steak and a Botherhim with her old phoenix porter, jistr to gwen his gwistell, and praties sweet and Irish too and mock gurgle to whistle his way through for the swallying, swp by swp, and he getting his tongue around it and Boland’s broth broken into the bargain, to his regret his soupay avic nightcap, vitellusit, a carusal consistent with second course and eyers and bacon (the rich of) with broad beans, hig, steak, hag, pepper, the diamond bone, hotted up timmtomm and while ’twas after that he scoffed a drakeling snuggily stuffed following cold loin of veal more cabbage and, in their green free state, a clister of peas, suppositorily petty, last. P.S. But a fingerhot of rhein genever to give the Pax cum Spiritututu. Drily thankful. Burud and dulse and typureely jam, all free of charge, aman, and. And the best of wine avec. For his heart was as big as himself, so it was, ay, and bigger! While the loaves are aflowering and the nachtingale jugs. All St Jilian’s of Berry, hurrah there for tobies! Mavrodaphne, brown pride of our custard house quay, amiable with repastful, cheer us, graciously cheer us! Ever of thee, Anne Lynch, he’s deeply draiming! Houseanna! Tea is the Highest! For auld lang Ayternitay! Thus thicker will he grow now, grew new. And better and better on butter and butter. At the sign of Mesthress Vanhungrig. However! Mind you, nuckling down to nourritures, were they menuly some ham and jaffas, and I don’t mean to make the ingestion for the moment that he was guilbey of gulpable gluttony as regards chewable boltaballs, but, biestings be biestings, and upon the whole, when not off his oats, given prelove appetite and postlove pricing, goodcoup, goodcheap, were it thermidor oogst or floreal may while the whistling prairial roysters play, between gormandising and gourmeteering he grubbed his tuck all right, deah smorregos, every time he was for doing dirt to a meal or felt like a bottle of ardilaun alongwith a smag of a lecker biss of a welldressed taart or. Though his net intrants wight weighed nought but a flyblow to his gross and ganz exit’s afterduepoise. And he was so jarvey jaunty with a romp of a schoolgirl’s completion sitting pretty over his Oyster Monday printface and he was plainly out on the ramp and mash, as you might say, for he sproke.
Overture and beginners!
When lo (whish, O whish!) mesaw mestreamed, as the green to the grid was flew, was flown, through deafths of durkness greengrown deeper I heard a voice, the voce of Shaun, vote of the Irish, voice from afar (and, cert, no purer puer palestrine e’er chanted Panis Angelicus mid the clouds of Tu es Petrus, not Michaeleen Kelly, not Mara O’Mario, and, sure, what more numerose Italicuss ever rawsucked frish uov in urinal?), a brieze to Yverzone o’er the brozaozaozing sea, from Inchigeela call the way how it suspired (morepork! morepork!) to scented nightlife as softly as the loftly marconimasts from Clifden sough open tireless secrets (mauveport! mauveport!) to Nova Scotia’s listing sisterwands. Tubetube!
His handpalm lifted, his handshell cupped, his handsign pointed, his handheart mated, his handaxe risen, his handleaf fallen. Helpsome hand that halemost heals! What is het holy! It gested.
And it said:
— Alo, alass, aladdin, amobus! Does she lag soft fall means rest down?
Shaun yawned, as his general address rehearsal (that was antepropreviousday’s pigeons-in-a-pie with rough dough for the carrier and the hash-say-ugh of overgestern pluzz the ’stuesday’s shampain in his head with the memories of the past and the hicnuncs of the present embelliching the musics of the futures from Miccheruni’s band), addressing himself ex alto and complaining with vocal discontent it was so close as of the fact the rag was up and of the briefs and billpasses, a houseful of deadheads, of him to dye his paddycoats to morn his hesternmost, earning his board in the swealth of his fate as, having moistened his manducators upon the quiet and scooping molars and grinders clean with his two forefingers, he sank his hunk, dowanouet, to reszk at once, exhaust as winded hare, utterly spent, it was all he could do (disgusted with himself that the combined weight of his tons of iosals was a hundred men’s massed too much for him), upon the native heath he loved, covered kneehigh with virgin bush, for who who e’er trod sod of Erin could ever sleep off the turf!
— Well, I’m literally dished seeing myself in this trim! How all too unwordy am I, a mere mailman of peace, a poor loust hastehater of the first degree, the principot of Candia, no legs and a title, for such eminence, or unpro promenade rather, to be much more exact, as to be the bearer extraordinary of these postoomany missive on his majesty’s service, while me and yous and them we’re extending us after the pattern of reposiveness! Weh is me, yeh is ye! I, the mightif beam maircanny, which bit his mirth too early or met his birth too late! It should of been my other with his leickname for he’s the head and I’m an everdevoting fiend of his. I can seeze tomirror in tosdays of yer when we lofobsed os so ker. Those sembal simon pumpkel pieman yers! We shared the twin chamber and we winked on the one wench and what Sim sobs todie I’ll reeve tomorry, for ’twill be, I have hopes of, Sam Dizzier’s feedst. Tune in, tune on, old Tighe, high, high, high, I’m thine owelglass. Be old! He looks rather thin, imitating me. I’m very fond of that other of mine. Fish hands, Macsorley! Elien! Obsequies! Bonzeye! Isaac Egan’s Ass! We’re the musichall pair that won the swimmyease bladdhers at the Guinness gala in Badeniveagh. I ought not to laugh with him on this stage. But he’s such a game loser! I lift my disk to him. Brass and reeds, brace and ready! How is your napper, Handy, and hownow does she stand? First he was living to feel what the eldest daughter she was panseying and last he was dying to know what old Madre Patriack does be up to. Take this John’s Lane in your toasting-fourch. Shaunti and shaunti and shaunti again! And twelve coolinder moons! I am no helotwashipper but I revere her! For my own a coant! She has studied! Piscisvendolor! You’re grace! Futs drouk of Wouldndom! But, Gemini, he’s looking frightfully thin! I heard the man Shee shinging in the pantry bay. Down among the dustbins let him lie! Ear! Ear! Not aye! Eye! Eye! For I’m at the heart of it. Yet I cannot on my solemn merits as a recitativer recollect ever having done of anything of the kind to deserve of such. Not the phost of a nation! Nor by a long trollop! I just didn’t have the time to. Saint Anthony Guide!
— But have we until now ever besought you, dear Shaun, we remembered, who it was, good boy, out of symphony to begin with, who gave you the permit?
— Goodbye now, Shaun replied with a voice pure as a churchmode, in echo rightdainty, with a good catlick tug at his cocomoss candylock, a foretaste in time of his cabbageous brain’s curlyflower. Athiacaro! Comb his tar odd gee sing your mower O meeow? Greet thee Good! How are them columbuses? Lard have mustard on them! Fatiguing, very fatiguing. Hobos hornknees and the corveeture of my spine. Poumeerme! My heaviest crux and dairy lot it is, with a bed as hard as the thinkamuddles of the Greeks and a board as bare as a Roman altar. I’m off rabbited kitchens and relief porridgers. No later than a very few fortnichts since I was meeting on the Thinker’s Dam with a pair of men out of glasshouse whom I shuffled hands with named MacBlacks—I think their names is MacBlakes—from the Headfire Clump and they were informing me and making me beliek no five hour factory life with insufficient emollient and industrial diseases for them that day o’gratises. I have the highest gratification by anuncing how I have it from whowho but Hagios Colleenkiller’s prophecies. After suns and moons, dews and wettings, thunders and fires, comes sabotag. Solvitur palumballando! Tilvido! Adie!
— Then, we explained, salve a tour, ambly andy, you possibly might be so by order?
— Forgive me, Shaun repeated from his liquid lipes, not what I wants to do a strike of work but it was condemned on me premitially by Hireark Books and Chiefoverseer Cooks in their Eusebian Concordant Homilies, and there does be a power coming over me that is put upon me from on high out of the book of breedings and so as it is becoming hairydittary I have of coerce nothing in view to look forward at unless it is Swann and beating the blindquarters out of my oldfellow’s orologium oloss olorium. A bad attack of maggot it feels like. ’Tis trope, custodian said. Almost might I say of myself, while keeping out of crime, I am now becoming about fed up be going circulating about them new hikler’s highways like them nameless souls, ercked and skorned and grizzild all over, till it’s rusty October in this bleak forest and that is why I was veribally complussed by thinking of the crater of some noted volcano or the Dublin river or the catchalot trouth subsidity as a way out or to isolate i from my multiple Mes on the spits of Lumbage Island or bury meself, clogs, coolcellar and all, deep in my wineupon ponteen, unless Morrissey’s colt could help me or the gander maybe at 49, as it is a tithe fish so it is, this pig’s stomach business, and where on dearth or in the miraculous meddle of this expending umniverse to turn since it came into my hands I am hopeless off course to be doing anything concerning.
— We expect you are, honest Shaun, we agreed, but a whisper reaches us from franking machines, limricked, that in the end it may well turn out to be you, our belated, who will bear these open letter. Speak to us of Emailia.
— As, Shaun replied patly, with tootlepick tact too and a down of his dampers, to that I have the gumpower and, by the benison of Barbe, that is a lock to say with everything, my beloved.
— Would you mind telling us, Shaun honey, beg little big moreboy, we proposed to such a dear youth, where mostly are you able to work? Ah, you might! Whimper and we shall.
— Here! Shaun replied while he was fondling one of his cowheel cuffs. There’s no sabbath for nomads and I mostly was able to walk, being too soft for work proper, sixty odd eilish mires a week between three masses a morn and two chaplets at eve. I am always telling those pedestriasts, my answerers, Top, Sid and Hucky, how (and it is as veriest throth as the thieves’ rescension) it was foretold for me by brevet for my vacation in life, while possessing stout legs, to be disbarred after huily orders from unnecessary servile work of reckless walking of all sorts for the relics of my time, for otherwise by my so douching I would get into a blame there where sieves fall out. Excelsior tips the best. Weak stop work stop walk stop whoak. Go thou this island, one housesleep there, then go thou other island, two housesleep there, then catch one nightmaze, then home to dearies. Never back a woman you defend, never get quit of a friend on whom you depend, never make face to a foe till he’s rife, and never get stuck to another man’s pfife. His hungry will be done! On the continent as in Eironesia. But, believe me, in my simplicity I am awful good, I believe, so I am, at the root of me, praised be right cheek Discipline! And I can now truthfully declaret before my Geity’s Pantokreator, with my fleshfettered palums on the epizzles of the apossels, that I do my reasonabler’s best to recite my grocery beans for mummy mit dummy mot muthar mat bouzar regular, genuflections enclosed. Hek domov muy, there thou beest on the hummock, ghee up, ye dog, for your daggily broth, etc. Happy Maria and Glorious Patrick, etc., etc. In fact, always have, I believe. Greedo! Her’s me hongue! Amen, ptah!
— And it is the fullsoot of a tarabred. Yet one minute’s observation, dear dogmestic Shaun, as we point out how you have while away painted our town a wearing greenridinghued.
— O murder mere, how did you hear? Shaun replied, smoiling the ily way up his lampsleeve (it just seemed the natural thing to do), so shy of light was he then. Well, so be it! The gloom hath rays, her lump is love. And I will confess to have, yes. Your diogneses is anonest man’s. Thrubedore I did. Inditty I did. All lay I did. Down with the Saozon ruze! From Pontoffbellek till the Kisslemerched our ledan striz will be. And I am afraid it wouldn’t be my first coat’s wasting after striding on the vampire and blazing on the focoal. See! Blazing on the focoal. As see! Blazing upon the foe. Like the regular redshank I am. Impregnable as the mule himself. Somebody may perhaps hint at an aughter impression of I was wrong. No such a thing! You never made a more freudful mistake, excuse yourself! What’s pork to you means meat to me while you behold how I be eld. But it is grandiose, by my ways of thinking, from the prophecies. New worlds for all! And they were scotographically arranged for gentlemen only by a scripchewer in Whofoundland who finds he is a relative. And it was with my extravert davy. Like glue. Be through. Moyhard’s daynoight, tomthumb. Phwum!
— How mielodorous is thy bel chant, O songbird, and how exqueezit thine afterdraught! Buccinate in Emenia tuba insigni volumnitatis tuae. But do you mean, O phausdheen phewn, we gathered substantively, whether furniture would or verdure varnish?
— It is a confoundyous injective so to say, Shaun, the fiery boy, shouted, naturally incensed, as he shook the red pepper out of his auricles. And another time please confine your glaring intinuations to some other mordant body. What on the physiog of this furnaced planet would I be doing besides your verjuice? That is more than I can fix, for the teom bihan anyway. So let I and you now kindly drop that, angryman! That’s not French pastry! You can take it from me. Understand me when I tell you (and I will ask you not to whisple, cry golden or quoth mecback) that under the past purcell’s office, so deeply deplored by my erstwhile elder friend, Miss Enders, poachmistress and gay receiver ever for in particular to the Scotic Poor Men’s Thousand Gallon Cow Society (I was thinking of her in sthore), allbethey blessed with twentytwo thousand sorters out of a biggest poss of twentytwo thousand, mine’s won, too much privet stationery and safty quipu was ate up larchly by those nettlesome goats out of pension greed. Colpa di Becco, buon apartita! Proceding, I will say it is also one of my avowal’s intentions at some time, pease Pod pluse murthers of gout, when I am not prepaid to say, so apt as my pen is upt to scratch, to compound quite the makings of a verdigrease savingsbook in the form of a pair of scapesheep boxing gloves surrounding this matter of the Welsfusel mascoteers and their sindybuck that saved a city for my publickers, Nolaner and Browno, Nickil Hopstout, Christcross, so long as, thanks to force of destiny, my selary as a paykelt is propaired and there is a peg under me and there is a tum till me.
To the Very Honourable The Memory of Disgrace, the Most Noble, Sometime Sweepyard at the Service of the Writer. Salutem dicint. The just defunct Mrs Sanders who (the Loyd insure her!) I was shift and shuft too, with her shester Mrs Shunders, both mudical dauctors from highschoolhorse and aslyke as Easther’s leggs. She was the niceliest person of a wellteached nonparty woman that I ever acquired her letters, only too fat, used to babies and tottydean verbish, this is her entertermentdags for she shuk the bottle and tuk the medascene all times a day. She was well under ninety, poor late Mrs, and had tastes of the poetics, me having stood the pilgarlick a fresh at sea when the moon also was standing in a corner of sweet Standerson my ski. P.L.M. Mevrouw von Andersen was her who gave me a mutton brooch, stakkers, for her begfirst party. Honour thy farmer and my litters. This, my tears, is my last will intesticle wrote off in the strutforit about their absent female assauciations which I, or perhaps any other person what squat on a toffette, have the honour to have had with them upon their polite sophykussens in the real presence of devouted Mrs Grumby when her skin was exposed to the air. O, what must the grief of my mund be for two little ptpt coolies worth twenty thousand quad here witnessed with both’s Maddlemass wishes to Pepette for next match from their dearly beloved Roggers, M.D.D.O.D. May doubling drop of drooght! Writing.
— Hapsoloosely kidding you are totether with your cadenus and goat along nose how we shall complete that white paper. Two venusstas! Biggerstiff! Qweer but gaou! Be trouz and wholetrouz! Otherwise, frank Shaun, we pursued, what would be the autobiography of your softbodied fumiform?
— Hooraymost! None whomsoever, Shaun replied (he had intended and was peering now rather close to the paste of his rubiny winklering), though it ought to be more or less rawcawcaw romantical. Heavenly blank! By the wag, how is Mr Fry? All of it, I might say, in ex-voto, pay and perks and wooden halfpence (some rhino, rhine, O joyoust rhine!), was handled over spondaneously by me (and bundle end to my illwishers’ Miss Anders! she woor her wraith of ruins the night she lost I left!) in the ligname of Mr van Howten of Tredcastles, Clowntalkin, timbreman, among my prodigits nabobs and navious of every subscription, entitled the Bois in the Bosco or our evicted tenemants. What I say is, and I am noen roehorn or culkilt, permit me to tell you, if uninformed. I never spont it. Nor have I the ghuest of innation on me the way to. It is my rule so. It went anyway like hot pottagebake. And this brings me to my fresh point. Quoniam I am as plain as portable enveloped, inhowmuch you will now parably receive, care of one of Mooseyears Goonness’s registered andouterthus barrels. Quick take um whiffat andrainit. Now!
— So vi et! we responded. Song! Shaun, song! Have mood! Hold forth!
— I apologuise, Shaun began, but I would rather spinooze you one from the grimmgests of Jacko and Esaup, fable one, feeble too. Let us here consider the casus, my dear little cousis (husstenhasstencaffincoffntussemtossemdamandamnacosaghcusaghhobixhatouxpeswchbechoscashlcarcarcaract), of
THE ONDT AND THE GRACEHOPER
The Gracehoper was always jigging a jog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity (he had a partner pair of findlestilts to supplant him), or, if not, he was always making ungraceful overtures to Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla to play pupa-pupa and pulicy-pulicy and langtennas and pushpygyddyum and to commence insects with him, there mouthparts to his orefice and his gambills to there airy processes, even if only in chaste, ameng the everlistings, behold a waspering pot. He would of curse melissciously by his fore feelhers, flexors, contractors, depressors and extensors, lamely, harry me, marry me, bury me, bind me, till she was puce for shame and allso fourmish her in Spinner’s housery at the earthsbest schoppinhour so summery as his cottage, which was cald fourmillierly Tingsomingenting, groped up. Or, if he was not done doing that, improbably he was always striking up funny funereels with Besterfarther Zeuts, the Aged One, with all his wigeared corollas, albedinous and oldbuoyant, inscythe his elytrical wormcasket, and Dehlia and Peonia, his druping nymphs, bewheedling him, compound eyes on hornitosehead, and Auld Letty Plussiboots to scratch his cacumen and cackle his tramsitus, diva deborah (seven bolls of soap, a lick of lime, two spurts of fussfor, threefurts of sulph, a shake o’ shouker, doze grains of migniss and a mesfull of madcap pitchies: the whool of the whaal in the wheel of the whorl of the Boubou from Bourneum has thus come to taon!), and with tambarins and cantoridettes soturning around his eggshill rockcoach their dance McCaper in retrophœbia, beck from bulk, like fantastic disossed and jenny aprils, the ra, the ra, the ra, the ra, langsome heels and langsome toesies, attended to by a mutter and doffer duffmatt baxingmotch and a myrmidins of pszozlers pszinging Satyr’s Caudledayed Nice and Hombly, Dombly, Sod We Awhile but Ho, Time Timeagen, Wake! For if sciencium (what’s what) can mute uns nought, ’a thought, abought the Great Sommboddy within the Omniboss, perhops an artsaccord (hoot’s hoot) might sing ums tumtim abutt the Little Newbuddies that ring his panch. A high old tide for the barheated publics and the whole day as gratiis! Fudder and lighting for ally looty, any filly in a fog, for O’Cronione lags acrumbling in his sands but his sunsunsuns still tumble on. Erething above ground, as his Book of Breathings bid him, so as everwhy, sham or shunner, zeemliangly to kick time.
Grouscious me and scarab my sahul! What a bagateller it is! Libelulous! Inzanzarity! Pou! Pschla! Ptuh! What a zeit for the goths! vented the Ondt, who, not being a sommerfool, was thothfolly making chilly spaces at hisphex affront of the icinglass of his windhame, which was cold antitopically Nixnixundnix. We shall not come to that lopp’s party, he decided possibly, for he is not on our social list. Nor to Ba’s berial nether, thon sloghard, this oldeborre’s yaar, ablong as there’s a khul on a khat. Nefersenless, when he had safely looked up his ovipository, he loftet hails and prayed: May he me no voida water! Seekit Hatup! May no he me tile pig shed on! Suckit Hotup! As broad as Beppy’s realm shall flourish my reign shall flourish! As high as Heppy’s hevn shall flurrish my haine shall hurrish! Shall grow, shall flourish! Shall hurrish! Hummum.
The Ondt was a weltall fellow, raumybult and abelboobied, bynear saw altitudinous wee a schelling in kopfers. He was sair sair sullemn and chairmanlooking when he was not making spaces in his psyche, but (laus!) when he wore making spaces on his ikey he ware mouche mothst secred and muravyingly wisechairmanlooking. Now whim the sillybilly of a Gracehoper had jingled through a jungle of love and debts and jangled through a jumble of life in doubts afterworse, wetting with the bimblebeaks, drikking with nautonects, bilking with durrydunglecks and horing after ladybirdies (ichnehmon diagelegenaitoikon), he fell joust as sieck as a sexton and tantoo pooveroo quant a churchprince, and wheer the midges to wend hemsylph or vosch to sirch for grub for his corapusse or to find a hospes, alick, he wist gnit! Bruko dry! Fuko spint! Sultamont osa bare! And volomundo osi videvide! Nichtsnichtsundnichts! Not one pickopeck of muscowmoney to bag a tittlebits of beebread! Iomio! Iomio! Crick’s corbicule, which a plight! O moy Bog, he contrited with melanctholy, Me blizzered, him sluggered! I am heartily hungry!
He had eaten all the whilepaper, swallowed the lustres, devoured forty flights of styearcases, chewed up all the mensas and seccles, ronged the records, made mundballs of the ephemerids and vorasioused most glutinously with the very timeplace in the ternitary—not too dusty a cicada of neuteriment for a chittinous chip so mity. But when Chrysalmas was on the bare branches, off he went from Tingsomingenting. He took a round stroll and he took a stroll round and he took a round strollagain till the grillies in his head and the leivnits in his hair made him thought he had the Tossmania. Had he twicycled the sees of the deed and trestraversed their revermer? Was he come to hevre with his engiles or gone to hull with the poop? The June snows was flocking in thuckflues on the hegelstomes, millipeeds of it and myriopoods, and a lugly whizzling tournedos, the Boraborayellers, blohablasting tegolhuts up to tetties and ruching sleets off the coppeehouses, playing ragnowrock rignewreck, with an irritant, penetrant, siphonopterous spuk. Grausssssss! Opr! Grausssssss! Opr!
The Gracehoper, who, though blind as batflea, yet knew, not a leetle beetle, his good smetterling of entymology, asped nissunitimost lous nor liceens but promptly tossed himself in the vico, phthin and phthir, on top of his buzzer, tezzily wondering wheer would his aluck alight or boss of both appease, and the next time he makes the aquinatance of the Ondt after this they have met theirselves, these mouschical umsummables, it shall be motylucky if he will beheld not a world of differents. Behailed His Gross the Ondt, prostrandvorous upon his dhrone, in his Papylonian babooshkees, smolking a spatial beetler brunt of Hosana cigals, with unshrinkables farfalling from his unthinkables, swarming of himself in his sunnyroom, sated before his comfortumble phullupsuppy of a plate o’ monkynous and a confucion of minthe (for he was a conformed aceticist and aristotaller), as appi as a oneysucker or a baskerboy on the Libido, with Floh biting his big thigh and Luse lugging his luff leg and Bienie bussing him under his bonnet and Vespatilla blowing cosy fond tutties up the allabroad length of the large of his smalls. As entomate as intimate could pinchably be. Emmet and demmet and be jiltses crazed and be jadeses whipt! schneezed the Gracehoper, aguepe with ptchjelasys and at his wittol’s indts, What have eyeforsight!
The Ondt, that true and perfect host, a spiter aspinne, was making the greatest spass a body could with his queens laceswinging, for he was spizzing all over him like thingsumanything in formicolation, boundlessly blissfilled in an allallahbath of houris. He was ameising himself hugely at crabround and marypose, chasing Floh out of charity and tickling Luse, I hope too, and tackling Bienie, faith as well, and jucking Vespatilla jukely by the chimiche. Never did Dorsan from Dunshanagan dance it with more devilry! The veripatetic imago of the impossible Gracehoper on his odderkop in the myre, after his thrice ephemeral journeeys, sans mantis ne shoos, featherweighed animule, actually and presumptuably sinctifying chronic’s despair, was sufficiently and probably coocoo much for his chorous of gravitates. Let him be Artalone the Weeps with his parisites peeling off him, I’ll be Highfee the Crackasider. Flunkey Footle furloughed foul, writing off his phoney, but Conte Carme makes the melody that mints the money. Ad majorem l.s.d! Divi gloriam. A darkener of the threshold? Haru! Orimis, capsizer of his antboat, sekketh rede from Evil-it-is, lord of loaves in Amongded. Be it! So be it! Thou-who-thouart, the fleet-as-spindhrift, impfang thee of mine wideheight. Haru!
The thing pleased him andt, andt, andt
He larved onn he larved onn he merd such a nauses
The Gracehoper feared he would mixplace his fauces.
I forgive you, grondt Ondt, said the Gracehoper, weeping,
For their sakes of the sakes you are safe in whose keeping.
Teach Floh and Luse polkas, show Bienie where’s sweet
And be sure Vespatilla fines fat ones to heat.
As I once played the piper I must now pay the count
So saida to Moyhammlet and marhaba to your Mount!
Let who likes lump above so what flies be a full ’un;
I could not feel moregruggy if this was prompollen.
I pick up your reproof, the horsegift of a friend,
For the prize of your save is the price of my spend.
Can castwhores pulladeftkiss if oldpollocks forsake ’em
Or Culex feel etchy if Pulex don’t wake him?
A locus to loue, a term it t’embarrass,
These twain are the twins that tick Homo Vulgaris.
Has Aquileone nort winged to go syf
Since the Gwyfyn we were in his farrest drewbryf
And that Accident Man not beseeked where his story ends
Since longsephyring sighs sought heartseast for their orience?
We are Wastenot with Want, precondamned, two and true,
Till Nolans go volants and Bruneyes come blue.
Ere those gidflirts now gadding you quit your mocks for my gropes
An extense must impull, an elapse must elopes.
Of my tectucs takestock, tinktact, and ail’s weal;
As I view by your farlook hale yourself to my heal.
Partiprise my thinwhins whiles my blink points unbroken on
Your whole’s whereabroads with Tout’s tightyright token on.
My in risible universe youdly haud find
Sulch oxtrabeeforeness meat soveal behind.
Your feats end enormous, your volumes immense
(May the Graces I hoped for sing Your Ondtship song sense!),
Your genus its worldwide, your spacest sublime!
But, Holy Saltmartin, why can’t you beat time?
In the name of the former and of the latter and of their holocaust. Allmen.
— Now? How good you are in explosition! How farflung is your fokloire and how velktingeling your volupkabulary! Qui vive sparanto qua muore contanto. O foibler, O flip, you’ve that wandervogl wail withyin! It falls easily upon the earopen and goes down the friskly shortiest like treacling tumtim with its tingtingtaggle. The blarneyest blather in all Corneywall! But could you, of course, decent Lettrechaun (to change your name if not your nation), we knew, while still in the barrel, read the strangewrote anaglyptics of those Shemletters patent for His Christian’s Em?
— Greek! Hand it to me! Shaun replied plosively, pointing to the cinnamon quistoquill behind his acoustrolobe. I’m as afterdusk nobly Roman as pope and water could christen me. Look at that for a ridingpin! I am, thing Sing Larynx, letterpotent to play the sem backwards like Oscan wild or inshant Persse transluding from the Otherman or off the Toptic off the types of my finklers in the draught or with buttles, with my oyes thickshut and all. But, hellas, it is harrobrew bad on the corns and callouses. As far as that goes I associate myself with your remark just now from theodicy re furloined notepaper and quite agree in your prescriptions for indeed I am, pay Gay, in juxtaposition to say it is not a nice production. It is a pinch of scribble. Not worth a bottle of cabbis. Overdrawn! Puffedly offal tosh! Besides, it’s auctionable, all about crime and libel! Nothing beyond clerical horrors et omnibus to be entered for the foreign as secondclass matter. The fuellest filth ever fired since Charley Lucan’s! Flummery is what I would call it if you were to ask me to put it on a single dimension what pronounced opinion I might orally have about them bagses of trash which the mother and Mr Unmentionable (O, breed not his same!) has reduced to writing without making news out of my sootynemm. When she slipped under her couchman. And where he made a cat with a peep. How they wore two madges on the makewater. And why there were treefellers in the shruburbs. Then he hawks his handmud figgers from Francie to Fritzie down in the kookin. Phiz is me mother and Hair’s me father, Bauv Betty Famm and Pig Pig Pike. Their livetree (may it flourish!) by their ecotaph (let it stayne!). With balsinbal bimbies swarming tiltop. Comme bien! Comme bien! Feefeel! Feefeel! And the Dutches dyin loffin at his pon peck de Baree. And all the mound reared! Till he wot not wot to begin he should. An infant sailing eggshells on the floor of a wet day would have more sabby.
Letter, carried of Shaun, son of Hek, written of Shem, brother of Shaun, uttered for Alp, mother of Shem, for Hek, father of Shaun. Initialled. Gee. Gone. 29 Hardware Saint. Lendet till Laonun. Baile-Atha-Cliath. 31 Jan. 11.32 A.D. Here Commerces Enville. Tried Apposite House. 13 Fitzgibbets. Loco. Dangerous. Tax 9d. B. L. Guineys, esqueer. L.B. Not known at 1132 a. 12 Norse Richmound. Nave unlodgeable. Loved noa’s dress. Sinned, Jetty Pierrse. Noon sick parson. 92 Windsewer. Ave. No such no. Vale. Finn’s Hot. Exbelled from 1014 d. Pulldown. Fearview. Opened by Miss Take. 965 nighumpledansextiffits. Shout at Site. Roofloss. Fit Dunlop and Be Satisfied. Mr Domnall O’Domnally. Q.V. 8 Royal Terrors. None so strait. Shutter up. Dining with the Danes. Removed to Philip’s Burke. At sea. D.E.D. Place scent on. Clontalk. Father Jacob, Rice Factor. 3 Castlewoos. P.V. Arrusted. J.P. Converted to Hospitalism. Ere the March past of Civilisation. Once Bank of Ireland’s. Return to City Arms. 2 Milchbroke. Wrongly spilled. Traumcondraws. Now Bunk of England’s. Drowned in the Laffey. Here. The Reverest Adam Foundlitter. Shown geshotten. 7 Streetpetres. Since Cabrank. Seized of the Crownd. Well, Sir Arthur. Buy Patersen’s Matches. Unto his promisk hands. Blown up last Lemmas by Orchid Lodge. Search Unclaimed Male. House Condamned by Ediles. Back in Few Minutes. Closet for Repeers. 60 Shellburn. Key at Kate’s. Kiss. Isaac’s Butt, Poor Man. Dalicious arson. Caught. Missing. Justiciated. Kainly forewarred. Abraham Badly’s King, Park Bogey. Salved. All reddy berried. Hollow and eavy. Desert it. Overwayed. Understumped. Back to the P.O. Kaer of. Owns owe M.O. Too Let. To Be Soiled. Cohabited by Unfortunates. Lost all Licence. His Bouf Toe is Frozen Over. X, Y and Z, Ltd, Destinied Tears. A.B, ab, Sender. Boston (Mass). 31 Jun. 13.12 P.D. Razed. Lawyered. Vacant. Mined. Here’s the Bayleaffs. Step out to Hall out of that, Ereweaker, with your Bloody Big Bristol. Bung. Stop. Bung. Stop. Cumm Bumm. Stop. Came Baked to Auld Aireen. Stop.
— Kind Shaun, we all requested, much as we hate to say it, but since you rose to the use of money have you not, without suggesting for an instant, millions of moods used up slanguage tun times as words as the penmarks used out in sinscript with such hesitancy by your cerebrated brother—excuse me not mentioningahem?
— CelebrAted! Shaun replied under the sheltar of his broguish, vigorously rubbing his magic lantern to a glow of fullconsciousness. HeCitEncy! Your words grates on my ares. Notorious I rather would feel inclined to myself in the first place to describe Mr O’Shem the Draper with before letter as should I be accentually called upon for a dieoguinnsis to pass my opinions, properly spewing, into impulsory irelitz. But I would not care to be so unfruitful to my own part as to swear for the moment positively as to the views of Denmark. No, sah! But let me say my every belief before my high Gee is that I much doubt of it. I’ve no room for that fellow on my fagroaster. I just can’t. As I hourly learn from Rooters and Havers through Gilligan’s maypoles in a nice pathetic notice, he, the pixillated doodler, is on his last with illegible clergimanitis, boasting always of his ruddy complexious. She, the mammyfar, was put up to it by him, the iniquity, that ought to be depraved of his libertins, to be silenced, sackclothed and suspended, and placed in irons into some drapery institution off the antipopees for wordsharping only if he was klanver enough to pass the panel fleischcurers and the fieldpost censor. Gach! For that is a fullblown fact and well celibated before the four divorce courts and all the King’s paunches, how he has the solitary from seeing Scotch snakes and has a lowsense for the production of consumption and dalickeycyphalos on his brach premises where he can purge his contempt, dejeunerate into a skillyton and be thinking himself to death. Rot him! Flannelfeet! Flattyro! I will describe you in a word. Thou. (I beg your pardon.) Homo! Then putting his bedfellow on me! Like into mike and nick onto post. The criniman! I’ll give it to him for that! Making the lobbard change his stops, as we say in the long book. Is he on whosekeeping or are my? Obnoximost posthumust! With his unique hornbook and his prince of the apauper’s pride, blundering all over the two worlds! If he waits till I buy him a mosselman’s present! He’s nos halfcousin of mine, pigdish! Nor wants to! I’d famish with the cuistha first. A ham!
— May we petition you, Shaun illustrious, then, to put his prentis’ pride in your aproper’s purse and to unravel in your own sweet way with words of style to your very humble and most obsequient, we suggested, with yet an esiop’s foible, as to how?
— Well, it is partly my own, isn’t it, and you may, ought and welcome, Shaun replied, taking at the same time, as his hunger got the bitter of him, a hearty bite out of the honeycomb of his Braham and Melo’s edible hat, tryone, tryon and triune. Ann wunkum. Sure, I thunkum you knew all about that, Honoreys causes, through thelementary channels long agum. Sure, that is as old as the Baden bees of Saint Dominoc’s and as commonpleas now to allus pueblows and bunkum as Nelson his trifulgurayous pillar. However. Let me see, do. Beerman’s bluff was what begun it, Old Knoll and his barrowing. And then the lilies of the veldt, Nancy Nickies and Folletta Lajambe. Then mem and hem and the jaquejack. All about Wucherer and righting his name for him. I regret to announce, after laying out his litterery bed, for two days she kept squealing down for noisy priors and bawling out to her jameymock farceson in Shemish like a mouther of the incas with a garcielasso huw Ananymus pinched her tights and about the Balt with the markshaire parawag and his loyal divorces, when he feraxiously shed ovas in Alemaney, tse, tse, all the tell of the tud with the bourighevisien backclack; and him, the cribibber, like an ambitrickster, aspiring like the decan’s, fast aslooped in the intrance to his polthronechair with his sixth finger between his catseye and the index, making his pillgrimace of Child Horrid, engrossing to his ganderpan the idioglossary he invented under hicks hyssop! Hock! Ickick gave him that toock, imitator! And it was entirely theck latter to blame. Does he drink because I am sorely there shall be no more Kates and Nells? If you see him it took place then. It was given meeck, thank the Bench, to assist at the whole thing byck special chancery licence. As often as I think of that unbloody housewarmer, Shem Skrivenitch, always cutting my prhose to please his phrase, bigorror, I declare I get the jawache! Be me punting his reflection he’d begin his beogrefright in muddyass ribalds. Digteter! Grundtsagar! Swop beef! You know, he’s peculiar, that eggschicker, with the smell of old woman off him, to suck nothing of his switched-ups. M.D. made his ante mortem for him. He was grey at three like Sygnus the swan when he made his boo to the public and barnacled up to the eyes when he repented after seven. The alum that winters on his top is the stale of the staun that will soar when he stambles till that hag of the coombe rapes the pad off his lock. He was down with the whooping laugh at the age of the loss of reason the whopping first time he prediseased me. He’s weird, I tell you, and middayevil down to his vegetable soul. Never mind his falls feet and his tanbark complexion. That’s why he was forbidden tomate and was warmed off the ricecourse of marrimoney under the Helpless Corpses Enactment. I’m not at all surprised the saint kicked him whereby the sum taken Berkeley showed the reason genrously. Negas, negasti—negertop, negertoe, negertoby, negrunter! Then he was pusched out of Thingamuddy’s school by Miss Garterd for itching. Then he caught the europicolas and went into the society of jewses. With Bro Cahlls and Fran Czeschs and Bruda Pszths and Brat Slavos. One temp, when he foiled to be killed, the freak wanted to put his bilingual head intentionally through the Ikish Tames and go and join the clericy as a demonican skyterrier. Throwing dust in the eyes of the Hooley Fermers! He used to be avowdeed as he ought to be vitandust. For onced I squeaked by twyst I’ll squelch him. Then he went to Cecilia’s treat on his solo to pick up Galen. Asbestopoulos! Inkupot! He has encaust in the blood. Shim! I have the outmost contempt for. Prost bitten! Conshy! Tiberia is waiting on you, arestocrank! Chaka a seagull ticket at Gattabuia and Gabbiano’s! Go o’er the sea, haythen, from me, and leave your libber to T.C.D. Your puddin is cooked! You’re served, cram ye! Fatefully yaourth… Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.
— But for what, thrice truthful teller, Shaun of grace, weakly we went on to ask now of the gracious one. Vouchsafe to say. You will now, goodness, won’t you? Why?
— For his root language, if you ask me whys, footinmouther, which he picksticked into his lettruce invrention, Shaun replied as he blessed himself devotionally like a crawsbomb, making act of oblivion, what the thickuns else? Ullhodturdenweirmudgaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibau gimandodrerinsurtkrinmgernrackinarockar! Thor’s for you!
— The hundredlettered name again, lost word of perfect language. But you could come near it, we do suppose, strong Shaun O’, we foresupposed. How?
— Peax! Peax! Shaun replied in vealar penultimatum as he swigged a slug of Jon Jacobsen from his treestem sucker cane. ’Tis pebils before Sweeney’s. Mild but likesome! I might as well be talking to the four waves till Tibbs’ gray eve and the west’s asleep. Frost! Nope! No one in his seven senses could, as I have before said, only you missed my drift, for it’s being incendiary. Every dimmed letter in it is a copy and not a few of the silbils and wholly words I can show you in my Kingdom of Heaven. The lowquacity of him! With his threestar monothong! Thaw! The last word in stolentelling! And what’s more, rightdown lowbrown schisthematic robblemint! Yes. As he was rising my lather. Like you. And as I was plucking his goosybone. Like yea. He store the tale of me shur. Like yup. How’s that for Shemese?
— Still in a way, not to flatter you, we fancy you that are so strikingly brainy and well letterread on yourshelves as ever were the Shamous Shamonous, Limited, could use worse of yourself, ingenious Shaun, we still so fancied, if only you would take your time so and the trouble of so doing it. Upu now!
— Undoubtedly but that is show, Shaun replied, the muttermelk of his blood donor beginning to work, and while innocent of disseminating the foul emanation it would be a fall day I could not, sole, so you can keep your space, and by the power of blurry wards I am loyable to do it (I am convicted of it!) any time ever I cheesed to (bet ye fippence off me boot allowance!) with the allergrossest transfusiasm as, you see, while I can soloquise the Siamanish better than most, it is an openear secret, be it said, how I am extremely ingenuous at the clerking even with my badily left and, arrah go braz, I’d pinsel it with immenuensoes as easy as I’d perorate a chickerow of beans for the price of two maricles, and my trifolium librotto, the authordux Book of Lief, would, if given to daylight (I hold a most incredible faith about it), far exceed what that bogus bolshy of a shame, my soamheis brother, Gaoy Fecks, is conversant with in audible black and prink. Outragedy of poetscalds! Acomedy of letters! I have them all, tame, deep and harried, in my mine’s I. And one of these fine days, man dear, when the mood is on me, that I may cut my throat with my tongue tonight but I may willhap be ormuzd moved to take potlood in hand and introvent it Paatryk just like a work of merit, mark my words, and append to my mark twang, that will open your pucktricker’s ops for you, broather brooher, only for, as a papst and an immature and a nayophight and a spaciaman spaciosum and a hundred and eleven other things, I would never for anything take so much trouble of such doing. And why so? Because I am altogether a chap too fly and hairyman for to infradig the like of that ultravirulence. And by all I hold sacred on earth, clouds and in heaven I swear to you on my piop and oath by the awe of Shaun (and that’s a howl of a name!) that I will commission to the flames any incendiarist whosoever or ahriman howsoclever who would endeavour to set ever annyma roner moother of mine on fire. Rock me, Julie, but I will soho!
And, with that crickcrackcruck of his threelungged squool from which grief had usupped every smile, big hottempered husky fusky krenfy strenfy pugiliser such as he was, he virtually broke down on the mooherhead, getting quite jerry over her, overpowered by himself with the love of the tearsilver that he twined through her hair, for, sure, he was the soft semplgawn slob of the world with a heart like Montgomery’s in his showchest and harvey loads of feeling in him and as innocent and undesignful as the freshfallen calef. Still, grossly unselfish in sickself, he dished allarmes away and laughed it off with a wipe at his pudgies and a gulp apologetic, healing his tare be the smeyle of his oye, oogling aroond. Him belly no belong sollow mole pigeon. Ally bully. Fu Li’s gulpa. Mind you, now, that he was in the dumpest of earnest orthough him jawr war hoo hleepy hor halk urthing hurther. Moe. Like that only he stopped short and, in looking up up up-from his tideshackled wrists through the ghost of an ocean upon the wieds of pansiful heathvens of joepeter’s gaseytotum as they are telling not but were and will be, all told, scruting foreback into the fargoneahead to feel out what age in years tropical, ecclesiastic, civil or sidereal he might find by the sirious pointstand of Charley’s Wain (what betune the spheres sledding along the lacteal and the mansions of the blest turning on old times), as erewhile had he craved of thus, the dreamskhwindel necklassoed him, his thumbs fell into his fists and, lusosing the harmonical balance of his ballbearing extremities, by the holy kettle, like a flask of lightning over he careened (O the sons of the fathers!) by the mightyfine weight of his barrel (all that prevented the happening of, who, if not the asterisks betwink themselves, shall ever?) and, as the wisest postlude he could playact, collapsed in ensemble and rolled buoyantly backwards in less than a twinkling via Rattigan’s corner out of further earshot with his highly curious mode of slipashod motion, surefoot, sorefoot, slickfoot, slackfoot, linkman laizurely, lampman loungey, and by Killesther’s lapes and falls, with corks and staves and treeleaves and more bubbles to his keelrow, a fairish and easy way enough as the town cow cries behind the times in the direction of MacAuliffe’s, the crucethouse, Open the Door Softly, down in the valley, before he was really uprighted ere in a dip of the downs (uila!) he spoorlessly disappaled and vanesshed, like a popo down a papa, from circular circulatio. Ah, mean!
Gaogaogaone! Tapaa!
And the stellas were shinings. And the earthnight strewed aromatose. His pibrook creppt mong the donkness. A reek was waft on the luftstream. He was ours, all fragrance. And we were his for a lifetime. O dulcid dreamings, languidous! Taboccoo!
It was sharming! But scharmeng!
And the lamp went out as it couldn’t glow on burning, yep, the lmp wnt out for it couldn’t stay alight.
Well (how dire do we thee hours when thylike fades!), all’s dall and youllow and it is to bedowern that thou art passing hence, mine bruder, able Shaun, with a twhisting of the robe, ere the morning of light calms our hardest throes, from carnal relations and familiar faces, beyond cods’ cradle and porpoise plain, to the inds of Tuskland where the Oliphants scrum from, till the ousts of Amiracles where the toll stories grow proudest, more is the pity, but for all your deeds of goodness you were soo ooft and forever doing, manomano and myriamilia even to mulimuli, as our humbler classes, whose virtue is humility, can tell, it is hardly we in the country of the old, Sean Moy, can part you, for, oleypoe, you were the walking saint, you were, tootoo too stayer, the graced of gods and pittites and the salus of the wake. Countenance whose disparition afflictedly fond Fuinn feels. Winner of the gamings, primed at the studience, propredicted from the storybouts, the choice of ages wise! Spickspookspokesman of our specturesque silentiousness! Musha, beminded of us out there in Cockpit, poor twelve o’clock scholars, sometime or other anywhen you think the time. Wisha, becoming back to us way home in Biddyhouse one way or the other anywhere, we miss your smile. Palmwine breadfruit sweetmeat milksoup! Suasusupo! However! Our people here in Samoanesia will not be after forgetting you and the elders luking and marking the jornies, chalking up drizzle in drizzle out, on the four bare mats. How you would be thinking in your thoughts how the deepings did it all begin and how you would be scrimmaging through your scruples to collar a hold of an imperfection being committled. Sireland calls you. Mery Loye is saling moonlike. And Slyly Mamourneen is ladymaid at Gladshouse Lodge. Turn your coat, strong character, and tarry among us down the vale, yougander, only once more! And may the moss of prosperousness gather you rolling home! May foggy dews bediamondise your hooprings! May the fireplug of filiality reinsure your bunghole! May the barleywind behind glow luck to your bathershins! ’Tis well we know you were loth to leave us, winding your hobbledehorn, right royal post, but, aruah sure, pulse of our slumber, dreambookpoge, by the grace of Votre Dame, when the natural mourning of your nocturne blankmerges into the national morning of golden sunup and Don Leary gets his own back from old grog Georges Quartas as that goodship the Jonnyjoys takes the wind from waterloogged Erin’s king, you will skiff across the Moylendsea and round up in your own escapology some canonisator’s day or other, sack on back, alack, digging snow (not so?) like the good man you are, with your picture pockets turned knockside out in the rake of the rain for fresh remittances, and from that till this in any case, timus tenant, may the tussocks grow quickly under your trampthickets and the daisies trip lightly over your battercops.
Jaunty Jaun, as I was shortly before that made aware, next halted to fetch a breath, the first cothurminous leg of his nightstride being pulled through, and to loosen (let God’s son now be looking down on to the poor preambler!) both of his bruised brogues, that were plainly made a good bit before his hosen were, at the weir by Lazar’s Walk (for far and wide, as large as he was lively, was he noted for his humane treatment of any kind of abused footgear), a matter of maybe nine score or so barrelhours’ distance off, as truly he merited to do. He was there, you could planimetrically see, when I took a closer look at him, that was to say, amply (gracious helpings, at this rate of growing our cotted child of yestereve will soon fill space and burst in systems, so speeds the instant!) altered for the brighter though still the graven image of his squarer self as he was used to be, perspiring but happy notwithstanding his foot was still asleep on him, the way he thought, by the holy januarious, he had a bullock’s hoof in his buskin, with his halluxes so splendid, through Ireland untranscended, bigmouthed poesther, propped up, restant, against a butterblond warden of the peace, one comestabulish Sigurdsen (and where a better than such exsearfaceman to rest from roving the laddyown he bootblacked?), who, buried upright like the Osbornes, kozydozy, had tumbled slumbersomely on sleep at night duty behind the curing station, equilebriated amid the embracings of a monopolised bottle.
Now, there were as many as twentynine hedgedaughters out of Benent Saint Berched’s national nightschool (for they seemed to remember how it was still a once-upon-a-four year) learning their antemeridian lesson of life, under its tree, against its warning, beseated as they were upon the brinkspondy, attracted to the rarerust sight of the first human yellowstone landmark (the bear, the boer, the king of all boors, Sir Humphrey his knave we met on the moors!) while they paddled away, keeping time magnetically with their eight and fifty pedalettes, playing foolyfool jouay allo misto posto, O so Jaonickally, all barely in their typtap teens, describing a charming dactylogram of nocturnes though repelled by the snores of the log who looked stuck to the sod as ever and oft, when liquefied (vil!), he murmoaned abasourdly in his Dutchener’s native, visibly unmoved, over his treasure trove for the crown: Dotter dead bedstead mean diggy smuggy flasky!
Jaun (after he had in the first place doffed a hat with a reinforced crown and bowed to all the others in that chorus of praise of goodwill girls on their best beehiviour who all they were girls all rushing sowarmly for the post as buzzy as sie could bie to read his kisshands, kittering all about, rushing and making a tremendous girlsfuss over him pellmale, their jeune premier, and his rosyposy smile, mussing his frizzy hair and the gollywog curls of him, all but that one, Findrina’s fairest, done in loveletters like a trayful of cloudberry tartlets (ain’t they fine, mighty, mighty fine and honoured?) and smilingly smelling, pair and pair about, broad by bread and slender to slimmer, the nice perfumios that came cunvy apeeling off him (nice!) which was angelic simply, savouring of wild thyme and parsley jumbled with breadcrumbs (O nice!) asinging to his stamen and apetting of his pistil and feeling his full fat pouch for him so tactily and jingaling his jellybags, for though he looked a young chapplie of sixtine they could frole by his manhood that he was just the killingest ladykiller all by kindness, asking kindlily (hillo, missies!) after their howareyous at all with those of their dollybegs, and where’s Agatha’s lamb? and how are Bernadetta’s columbillas? and Julienna’s tubberbunnies? and Eulalina’s tuggerfunnies?) next went on (finefeelingfit!) to drop a few stray remarks anent their personal appearances and the contrary tastes displayed in their tight kittycasques and their smart frickyfrockies, asking coy one after sloy one had she read Irish legginds and gently reproving one that the ham of her hom could be seen below her hem and whispering another aside, as lavariant, that the hook of her hum was open a bittock at her back, to have a side-eye to that, hom, and all of course just to fill up a form out of pure human kindness and in a sprite of fun, for Jaun, by the way, was by way of becoming (I think, I hope he was) the most purely human being that ever was called man, loving all up and down the whole creation from Sampson’s tyke to Jones’s sprat and from the king of all Wrenns down to infewseries.
Jaun, after those few prelimbs, made out through his eroscope the apparition of his fond sister Izzy, for he knowed his love by her waves of splabashing and she showed him proof by her way of blubushing, nor could he forget her so tarnelly easy as all that since he was brotherbesides her benedict godfather and heaven knows he thought the world and his life of her sweet heart could buy (brao!), poor, good, true, Jaun!
— Sister dearest, Jaun delivered himself with express cordiality, marked by clearance of diction and general delivery, as he began to take leave of his scholastica at once so as to gain time with deep affection, we honestly believe you soeurly will miss us the moment we exit yet we feel as a martyr to the dischurch of all duty that it is about time, by Great Harry, we would shove off to stray on our long last journey and not be the load on ye. This is the gross proceeds of your teachings in which we were raised, you, Sis, that used to write to us the exceeding nice letters for presentation and would be telling us anun (full well do we wont to recall to mind) thy oldworld tales of homespinning and derringdo and dieobscure and daddyho, those tales which reliterately whisked oft our heart so narrated by thou, gesweest, to perfection, our pet pupil of the whole rhythmetic class and the mainsay of our erigenal house, the time we younkers twain were fairly tossing ourselves (O Phoebus! O Pollux!) in bed, having been laid up with Castor’s oil on the Parrish’s syrup (the night we well remember) for to share our hard suite of affections with thee.
I rise, O fair assemblage! Andcommincio. Now then, after this introit of exordium, my galaxy girls, quiproquo of directions to henservants I was asking his advice on the strict T.T. from Father Mike, P.P., my orational dominican and confessor doctor C.C.D.D. (buy the birds, as he yerked me under the ribs he was saying sermon in an offrand way and confidences petween pees like ourselves in so and so many nuncupiscent words about how he had just been confarreating teat-à-teat with two viragos intactas and what an awful life he led, poorish priced, uttering mass for a coppall of geldings and what a lawful day it was, there and then, for a consommation with an effusion and how, by all the manny larries ate pignatties, how, hell in tummies, he’d marry me flying any old buckling time as quick as he’d look at me), and I am giving youth now again in words of style, byaway of offertory, his and mikeadvice, an it place the person, as, ere he retook him to his cure, those verbs he said to me. From above. The most eminent bishop titular of Dubloonik to all his purtybusses in Dellabelliney. Come all ye dimsel damsels, siddle down and lissle all! Follow me close! Keep me in view! Understeady me saries! Which is to all practising massoeuses from a preaching freer and be a gentleman without a duster before a parlourmade without a spitch. Where the lisieuse are we and what’s the first sing to be sung? Is it rubrics, mandarimus, pasqualines or verdidads is in it or the bruiselivid indecores of estreme voyoulence and, for the lover of lithurgy, bekant or besant, where’s the fate’s to be wished for? Several sindays after whatsintime. I’ll sack that sick server the minute I bless him. That’s the mokst I can do for his grapce. Economy of movement, axe why said. I’ve a hopesome’s choice if I chouse of all the sinkts in the colander. From the common for Ignitious Purpalume to the proper of Francisco Ultramare, last of scorchers, third of snows, in terrorgammons howdydos. Here she’s is a belle, that’s wares in heaven, virginwhite, Undetrigesima, vikissy manonna. Doremous!
Now. During our brief apsence from this furtive feugtig season adhere to as many as probable of the ten commandments touching purgations and indulgences and in the long run they will prove for your better guidance along your path of right of way. The same or similar to be kindly observed within the affianced dietcess of Gay O’Toole and Gloamy Gwenn du Lake (Danish spoken!) from Manducare Monday up till farrier’s siesta in china dominos. Words taken in triumph, my sweet assistance, from the sufferant pen of our jocosus inkerman militant of the reed behind the ear.
Never miss your lostsomewhere mass for the couple in Myles you butrose to brideworship. Never hate mere pork which is bad for your knife of a good friday. Never let a hog of the howth trample underfoot your linen of Killiney. Never play lady’s game for the Lord’s stake. Never lose your heart away till you win his diamond back. Make a strong point of never kicking up your rumpus over the scroll end of sofas in the Dar Bey Coll Cafeteria by tootling risky apropos songs at commercial travellers’ smokers for their columbian nights entertainments the like of White limbs they never stop teasing or Minxy was a Manxmaid when Murry wore a Man. And, by the bun, is it you goes bisbuiting His Esaus and Cos and then throws them bag in the box? Why, the tin’s nearly empty. First, thou shalt not smile. Twice, thou shalt not love. Lust, thou shalt not commix idolatry. Hip confiners help compunction. Never park your brief stays in the men’s convenience. Never clean your buttoncups with your dirty pair of sassers. Never ask his first person where’s your quickest cut to our last place. Never let the promising hand usemake free of your oncemaid sacral. The soft side of the axe! A coil of cord, a colleen coy, a blush on a bush turned first man’s laughter into wailful moither. O foolish cuppled! Ah, dice’s error! Never dip in the ern while you’ve browsers on your suite. Never slip the silver key through your gate of golden age. Collide with man, collude with money. Ere you sail foreget my prize. When you truss be circumspicious and all ways look before you leak, dears. Never christen medlard apples till a swithin is in sight. Wet your thistle where a weed is and you’ll rue it, despyneedies. Especially beware, please, of being at a party to any demoralising home life. That saps a chap. Keep cool faith in the firm, have warm hoep in the house and begin frem athome to be chary of charity. Where it is nobler in the main to supper than the boys and errors of outrager’s virtue. Give back those stolen kisses; restaure those allcotten glooves. Recollect the yella perals that all too often beset green gerils, Rhidarhoda and Daradora, once they get hobbyhorsical, playing breeches parts for Bessy Sudlow in fleshcoloured pantos instead of earthing down in the coalhole trying to boil the big Gunne’s dinner. Leg-before-Wicked lags-behind-Wall where here Mr Whicker whacked a great fall. Femorafamilla feeled it a candleliked but Hayes, Conyngham and Erobinson sware it’s an egg. Forglim mick aye! Stay, forestand and tillgive it! Remember the biter’s bitters I shed the vigil I buried our Harlotte Quai from poor Mrs Mangain’s of Britain Court on the feast of Marie Maudlin. Ah, who would wipe her weeper dry and lead her to the haltar? Sold in her heyday, laid in the straw, bought for one puny petunia. Moral: if you can’t point a lily get to henna out of here! Put your swell foot foremost on foulardy pneumonia shertwaists, irriconcilible with true fiminin risirvition, and ribbons of lace, limenick’s disgrace. Sure, what is it on the whole only holes tied together and the merest transparent washingtones to make Languid Lola’s lingery longer? Scenta Clauthes stiffstuffs your hose and heartsies full of temptiness. Vanity flee and Verity fear! Diobell! Whalebones and buskbutts may hurt you (thwackaway thwuck!) but never lay bare your breast secret (dickette’s place!) to joy a Jonas in the Dolphin’s Barncar with your meetual fan, Doveyed Covetfilles, comepulsing paynattention spasms between the averthisment for Ulikah’s wine and a pair of pulldoons of the old cupiosity shape. There you’ll fix your eyes darkled on the autocart of the bringfast cable but here till you’re martimorphysed please sit still face to face. For if the shorth of your skorth falls down to his knees pray how wrong will he look till he rises? Not before Gravesend is commuted. But now reappears Autist Algy, the pulcherman and would-do performer, oleas Mr Smuth, stated by the vice crusaders to be well known to all the dallytaunties in and near the ciudad of Buellas Arias, taking you to the playguehouse to see the Smirchings of Venus, introducing you, left to right the party comprises, to hogarths and asking with whispered offers in a very low bearded voice, with a nice little tiny manner and in a very nice little tony way, won’t you be an artist’s moral and pose in your nudies as a local esthetic before voluble old masters like Bottisilly and Titteretto and Vergognese and Coraggio, with their extrahand Mazzaccio, plus the usual bilker’s dozen of dowdycameramen. And the volses of lewd Buylan, for innocence! And the phyllisophies of Bussup Bulkeley. O, the frecklessness of the giddies nouveau tays! There’s many’s the icepolled globetapper is haunted by the hottest spot under his equator like Ramrod, the meaty hunter, always jaeger for a thrust. The back beautiful, the undraped divine! And Suzy’s Moedl’s with their Blue Danuboyes! All blah! Viper’s vapid vilest! Put off the old man at the very font and get right on with the nutty sparker round the back. Slip your oval out of touch and let the paravis be your goal. Up leather, Prunella, convert your try! Stick wicks in your earshells when you hear the prompter’s voice. Look on a boa in his beauty and you’ll nevermore wear your strawberry leaves. Rely on the relic. What bondman ever you bind on earth I’ll be bound ’twas combined in hemel. Keep airly hores and the worm is yores. Dress the pussy for her nighty and follow her piggytails up their way to Winkyland. See little poupeep, she’s firsht ashleep. After having sat your poetries and you know what happens when chine throws over jupan. Go to doss with the poulterer, you understand, and shake up with the milchmand. The Sully van vultures are on the prowl. And the hailies fingring maries. Tobacco’s tabu and toboggan’s a backseat. Secret satieties and onanymous letters make the great unwatched as bad as their betters. Don’t on any account acquire a paunchon for that alltoocommon fagbutt habit of frequenting and chumming together with the braces of couples in Mr Tunnelly’s hallways (smash it), wriggling with lowcusses and cockchafers and vamps and rodants, in the end to commit acts of interstipital indecency as between twineties and tapegarters, fingerpats on fondlepets, under the couvrefeu act. It’s the thin end, wedge your steps! Your highpowered hefty hoyden thinks nothing of vamping through a whole suite of smokeless husbands. Three minutes, I’m counting you! Woooooon! No triching now! Give me that when I tell you! Ragazza ladra! And is that any place to be smuggling his madam’s apples up? Deceitful jade. Gee wedge! Begor, I like the way they’re half cooked. Hold, flay, grill, fire that laney feeling for kosenkissing dysgenically within the proscribed limits like Population Peg on a hint or twin clandestinely does be doing to Temptation Tom. Atkings questions in barely and snakking svarewords like a nursemagd. While there’s men-a’-war on the say there’ll be loves-o’-women on the do. Love through the usual channels, cisternbrothelly, when properly disinfected and taken neat in the generable way upon retiring to roost in the company of a husband-in-law or other respectable relative of an apposite sex, not love that leads by the nose as I foresmellt but canalised love, you understand, does a felon good, suspiciously if he has a slugger’s liver. But I cannot belabour the point too ardently (and after the lessions of experience I speak from inspiration) that fetid spirits is the thief of prurities, so none of your twenty rod cherrywhisks, me daughter, at the Cat and Coney or the Spotted Dog. When the night’s in May and the moon shines might. And at 2 bis Lot’s Road. When parties get tight for each other they lose all respect together. By the stench of her fizzle and the glib of her gab know the drunken draggletail Dublin drab. You’ll pay for each bally sorraday night every billing sumday morning. We won’t meeth in Navan till you try to give the Kellsfireclub the goby. Hill or hollow, Hull or Hague! And beware how you dare of wet cocktails in Kildare or the same may see your wedding driving home from your wake. Mades of ashens when you flirt spoil the lad but spare his shirt! Lay your lilylike long his shoulder but buck back if he butts bolder and just hep your homely hop and heed no horning. But if you’ve got some brainy notion to raise cancan and rouse commotion I’ll be apt to flail that tail for you till it’s borning. Let the lore you ladleliked at the lyc girde your gastricks in the gym. Nor must you omit to screw the lid firmly on that jazz jiggery, kick starts, bumping races on the flat and point to coint over obstacles. Ridewheeling that acclivisciously up windy Rutland Rise and insighting rebellious northers in the saunter of the city of Dunlob. Then breretonbiking on the free with your airs of gobe-dee and your heels upon the handlebars. Berrboell brazenness! No, before your corselage rib is decartilaged, that is to mean, if you have visceral ptosis, my point is, making allowances for the facts of your weak abdominal wall and your liver asprawl, vinvin, vinvin, or should you feel, in shorts, as though you needed healthy physicking exorcise to flush your kidneys, you understand, and move that twelfinger bowel and threadworm inhibitating it, lassy, and perspire freely, why, lict your lector in the lobby and out you go by the ostiary on to the dirt track and skip! Be a sportive. Deal with Nature, the great greengrocer, and pay regular by the monthlies. Your Punt’s Perfume’s only in the hatpinny shop beside the reek of the rawney. It’s more important than air—I mean than eats—air (oop, I never open momouth but I pack mefood in it) and promotes that natural emotion. Stamp out bad eggs. Why so many puddings prove disappointing, as Dietician says in Creature Comforts Causeries, and why so much soup is so muck slop. If we could fatten on the elizabeetons we wouldn’t have teeth like the hippopotamians. However. Likewise if I were in your unvelope shirt I’d keep my weathereye well cocked open for your furnished lodgers paying for their feed on tally with company and piano tunes. Only stuprifying yourself! The too friendly friend sort, Mazourikawitch or some other sukinsin of a vitch, who he’s kommen from olt Pannonia on this porpoise whom sue stooderin about the maul and femurl artickles and who mix himself so at home mid the musik and spanks the ivory so lovely, Mistro Melosiosus MacShine MacShane, may soon prove your undoing and bane through the succeeding years of rain should you, whilst Jaun is from home, get used to basking in his loverslowlap, inordinately clad, moustacheteasing, when closeheaded together behind locked doors, kissing steadily (malbongusta, it’s not the thing, you know!) with the calfloving selfseeker, under the influence of woman, inching up to you, disarranging your modesties and fumbling with his forte paws in your bodice after your billydoos twy as a first go-off (take care, would you stray and split on me!) and going on doing his idiot every time you gave him his chance to get thick and play pigglywiggly, making much of you, bilgetalking like a ditherer, gougouzoug, about your glad neck and the round globe and the white milk and the red raspberries (O horrifier!) and prying down furthermore to chance his lucky arm with his pregnant questions up to our past lives. What has that caught to sing with him? The next fling you’ll be squitting on the Tubber Nakel, pouring pitchers to the well for old Gloatsdane’s glorification and the postequities of the Black Watch, peeping private from the Bush and Rangers. And our local busybody, talker-go-bragk? Worse again! Off of that praying fan on to them priars! It would be a whorable state of affairs altogether for the red columnists of presswritten epics, Peter Paragraph and Paulus Puff (I’m keepsoaking them to cover my concerts), to get ahold of for their balloons and shoot you private by surprise, considering the marriage slump that’s on this oil age and pulexes three shillings a pint and wives at six and seven when domestic calamities belame par and newlaids bellow mar for the twenty two toosent time thwealthy took thousands in the slack march of civilisation, were you, becoming guilty of unleckylike intoxication, to have and to hold, to pig and to pay, direct connection, qua intervener, with a prominent married member of the vicereeking squad and, in consequence of the hereinunder subpenas, be flummoxed to the second degree by becoming a detestificated companykeeper on the dammymonde of Lucalamplight. Anything but that, for the fear and love of gold! Once and for all, I’ll have no college swankies (you see I am well voiced in love’s arsenal and all its overtures from collion boys to colleen bawns, so I have every reason to know that rogues’ gallery of nightbirds and bitchfanciers, lucky duffs and light lindsays, haughty hamiltons and gay gordons, dosed, doctored and otherwise, messing around skirts and what their fickling intentions look like, you make up your mind to that) trespassing on your danger zone in the dancer years. If ever I catch you at it, mind, it’s you that will cocottch it! I’ll tackle you to feel if you have a few devils in you. Holy gun, I’ll give it to you, hot, high and heavy, before you can say sedro! Or may the maledictions of Lousyfear fall like nettlerash on the white friar’s father that converted from moonshine the fostermother of the first nancy-free that ran off after the trumpadour that mangled Moore’s melodies and so upturned the tubshead of the stardaft journalwriter to inspire the prime finisher to fellhim the firtree out of which Cooper Funnymore planed the flat of the beerbarrel on which my grandydad’s lustiest sat his seat of unwisdom with my tante’s petted sister for the cause of his joy! Amine.
Poof! There’s puff for ye, begorra, and planxty of it, all abound me breadth! Glor galore and glory be! As broad as its lung and as long as a line! The valiantine vaux of Venerable Val Vousdem. If my jaws must brass away like the due drops on my lay. And the topnoted delivery you’d expected be me invoice! Theo Dunnohoo’s warning from Daddy O’Dowd. Whoo? What I’m wondering to myselfwhose for there’s a strong tendency, to put it mildly, by making me the medium. I feel spirts of itchery outching out from all over me and only for the sludgehummer’s force in my hand to hold them the darkens alone knows what’ll who’ll be saying of next. However. Now, before my upperotic rogister, something nice. Now? Dear sister, in perfect leave again I say take a brokerly advice and keep it to yourself that we, Jaun, first of our name, here now make all receptacles of, free of price. Easy, my dear, if they tingle you either say nothing or nod. No cheekacheek with chipperchapper, you and your last mashboy and the padre in the pulpbox enumerating you his nostrums. Be vacillant over those vigilant who would leave you to belave black on white. Close in for psychical hijinks as well but fight shy of mugpunters. I’d burn the books that grieve you and light an allassundrian bompyre that would suffragate Tome Plyfire or Zolfanerole. Perousse instate your Weakly Standerd, our verile organ that is ethelred by all pressdom. Apply your five wits to the four verilatest. The Arsdiken’s An Traitey on Miracula or Viewed to Death by a Priest Hunter is still first in the field despite the castle bar. William Archer’s a rompan good cathalogue and he’ll give you a riser on the route to our nazional labroury. Skim over Through Hell with the Papes (mostly boys) by the divine comic Denti Alligator (exsponging your index) and find a quip in a quire arisus aream from bastardtitle to fatherjohnson. Swear aloud by pious fiction the like of Lentil Lore by Carnival Cullen or that Percy Wynns of our S. J. Finn’s or Pease in Plenty by the Curer of Wars, the two best sells on the market this luckiest year, set up by Gill the father, put out by Gill the son and circulating disimally at Gillydehooly’s cost, licensed and censered by our most picturesque prelates, Their Graces of Linzen and Petitbois, bishops of the Hibernites, licet ut lebanus, for expansion on the promises. Strike up a nodding acquaintance for our doctrine with the works of old Mrs Trot, senior, and Manoel Canter, junior, and Loper de Figas, nates maximum. I used to follow Mary Liddlelambe’s flitsy tales, espicially with the scentaminted sauce. Sifted science will do your arts good. Egg Laid by Former Cock and With Flageolettes in Send Fanciesland. Chiefly girls. Trip over sacramental tea into the long lives of our saints and saucerdotes, with vignettes, cut short into instructual primers by those in authority for the bittermint of your soughts. Forget not the palsied. Light a match for poor old Contrabally and send some balmoil for the schizmatics. A hemd in need is aye a friendly deed. Remember, maid, thou must art powder but Cinderella thou dust return. (What are you rubbing her sleeve for, Ruby? And pull in your tongue, Polly!) Cog that out of your teen times, everyone! The lad who brooks no breaches lifts the lass that toffs a tailor. How dare ye be laughing out of your mouthshine at the lack of that? Keep cool your fresh chastity which is far, far better, far. Sooner than part with that vestalite emerald of the first importance, descended to me by far from our family, which you treasure up so closely in the sanctuary where your nether extremes meet, nay, morzed lesmended, rather let the whole ekumene universe belong to merry Hal and do whatever his Mary well likes. When the gong goes for hornets-to-nest marriage step into your harness and strip off that nullity suit. Faminy, hold back! For the race is to the rashest of, the romping, jomping rushes of. Haul Seton’s down, black, green and grey, and hoist Mikealy’s whey and sawdust. What’s overdressed if underclothed? Poposht forstake me knot where there’s white lets ope. Whisht! Blesht she that walked with good Jook Humprey for he made her happytight. Go! You can down all the dripping you can dumple to, and buffkid scouse too ad libidinum, in these lassitudes if you’ve parents and things to look after. That was what stuck to the Comtesse Cantilene while she was sticking out Mavis Toffeelips to feed her soprannated huspals and it is henceforth associated with her names. La Dreeping! Die Droopink! The inimitable in puresuet of the inevitable! There’s nothing to touch it, we are taucht, unless she’d care for a mouthpull of white pudding, for the wish is on her rose marine and the lunch-light in her eye. So when you pet the rollingpin write my name on the pie. Guard that gem, Sissy, rich and rare, ses he. In this cold old worold who’ll feel it? Hum! The jewel you’re all so cracked about there’s flitty few of them gets it, for there’s nothing now but the sable stoles and a runabout to match it. Sing him a ring. Touch me low. And I’ll lech ye so, my soandso. Show and show. Show on show. She. Shoe. Shone.
Divulge, sjuddenly jouted out hardworking Jaun, kicking the console to his double and braying aloud like Brahaam’s ass and, as his voixe humaner swelled to great, clenching his manlies, so highly strong was he, man, and gradually quite warming to her (there must have been a power of kinantics in that buel of gruel he gobed at bedgo), divorce unto me and say the curname in undress (if you get into trouble with a party you are not likely to forget his appearance either) of any lapwhelp or sleevemongrel who talks to you upon the road where he tuck you to be a roller, O, and (the goat-tanned saxopeeler upshotdown chigs peek of him!) volunteers to trifle with your roundlings for profferred glass and dough, the marrying hand that his leisure repents of, without taking out his proper password from the eligible ministriss for affairs with the black fremdling, that enemay of our country, in a cleanlooking light and (I don’t care a tongser’s tammany hang who the mucky is nor twoo hoots in the corner nor three shouts on a hill, were he even a constantineapolitan namesuch of my very own, Alltaboy Knowling, and like enoch to my townmajor ancestors, the two that are taking out their divorces in the Spooksbury courts circuits, Rere Uncle Remus, the Baas of Eboracum, and Old Father Ulissabon Knickerbocker, the lanky Sire of Wolverhampton, about their bristelings) as true as there’s a soke for sakes in Twoways Petersborough and sure as home we come to newsky prospeckt from west the wave on schedule time (if I came any quicker I’ll be right back before I left) from the land of breach of promise, with Brendan’s mantle whitening the Kerribrasilian sea and March’s pebbles spinning from beneath our footslips, to carry fire and sword, rest insured that as we value the very name Insister that as soon as we do possibly it will be a poor lookout for that insister. He’s a markt man from that hour. And why do we say that, you may query me? Quary? Guess! Call’st thou? Think and think and think, I urge on you. Muffed! The wrong porridge! You are an ignoratis! Because then probably we’ll dumb well soon show him what the Shaun way is like how we’ll go a long way towards breaking his outsider’s face for him for making up to you with his bringthee balm of Gaylad and his singthee songs of Arupee and chancerying my ward’s head into sanctuary before feeling with his two dimensions for your nuptial dito. Ohibow, if I was Blonderboss I’d gooandfrighthisdualman! Now, we’ll tell you what we’ll do to be sicker instead of compensation. We’ll he’ll burst our his mouth like Leary to the Leinsterface and reduce he’ll we’ll ournhisn liniments to a poolp. Open the door softly, somebody wants you, dear! You’ll hear him calling you, bump, like a blizz, in the muezzin of the turkest night. Come on now, pillarbox! I’ll stiffen your scribeall, broken reed! That’ll be it, grand operoar style, even should I, with my sleuts of hogpew and cheekas, have to coomb the brash of the libs round Close Saint Patrice to lay my louseboob on his behaitch like Toss. We are all eyes. I have his quoram of images all on my retinue, Mohomadhawn Mike. Brass up! Moreover, after that, bad manners to me if I don’t think strongly about giving the brotherkeeper into custody to the first police bubby cunstabless of Dora’s Diehards in the field I might chance to follopon. Or, for that matter, for your information, if I get the wind up what do you bet in the buckets of my wrath I mightn’t even take it into my progromme, as sweet course, to do a rash act and pitch in and swing for your perfect stranger in the meadow of heppiness and then wipe the street up with the clonmellian, pending my bringing proceedings verses the joyboy before a bunch of magistrafes and twelve good and gleeful men? Take warning! Filius nullius per fas et nefas. It should prove more or less of an event and show the widest federal in my cap. He’ll have pansements then for his pensamientos, howling for peace. Pretty knocks, I promise him, with plenty burkes for his shins. Dumnlimn wimn humn. In which case I’ll not be complete in fighting lust until I contrive to half kill your Charley you’re my darling for you and send him to Home Surgeon Hume, the algebrist, before his appointed time, particularly should he turn out to be a man in brown about town, Rollo the Gunger, wants a flurewaltzer to Arnolff’s, picking up ideas, of well over or about fiftysix or so, pithecoid proportions, with perhops five foot eight, the usual X Y Z type, R.C., Toc H, nothing but claret, not in the studbook by a long stretch, with a toothbrush moustache and jaw crockeries, alias grinner through collar, and of course no beard, meat and colmans suit, with tar’s baggy slacks obviously too roomy for him and springside boots, washing tie, Father Mathew’s bridge pin, sipping some Wheatley’s at Rhoss’s on a barstool with some pubpal of the Olaf Stout kidney, always trying to poorchase movables by hebdomedaries for to putt in a new house to loot, cigarette in his holder, with a good job and pension in Buinness’s, what about our trip to Normandy style of conversation, with an occasional they say that filmacoulored featured at the Mothrapurl skrene about Michan and his lost angeleens is corkyshows do moorvaloos, blueygreen eyes a bit scummy, developing a series of angry boils with certain references to the Deity, seeking relief in alcohol and so on, general omnibus character with a dash of railway brain, stale cough and an occasional twinge of claudication, having his favourite fecundclass family of upwards of a decade, both harefoot and loadenbrogued, to boot and buy off, Imean.
So let it be a knuckle or an elbow, I hereby admonish you! It may all be topping fun but it’s tip and run and touch and flow for every whack when Marie stopes Phil fluther’s game to go. Arms arome, side aside, face into the wall. To the tumble of the toss tot the trouble of the swaddled, O. And lest there be no misconception, Miss Forstowelsy, over who to fasten the plightforlifer on (threehundred and thirty three to one on Rue the Day!) when the nice little smellar squalls in his crydle what the dirty old bigger’ll be squealing through his coughin, you better keep in the gunbarrel straight around vokseburst as I recommence you to (you gypseyeyed baggage, do you hear what I’m praying?) or, Gash, without butthering my head to assortail whose stroke forced or which struck backly, I’ll be all over you myselx horizontally, as the straphanger said, for knocking me with my name and yourself and your babybag down at such a great sacrifice with a rap of the gavel to a third price cowhandler as cheap as the niggerd’s dirt (for sale!) or I’ll smack your fruitflavoured jujube lips well for you, so I will well for you, if you don’t keep a civil tongue in your pigeonhouse. The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime. I’ll have it in for you. I’ll teach you bed minners, tip for tap, not to be playing your oddaugghter tangotricks with micky dazzlers, if I find corsehairs on your riverfrock and the squirmside of your burberry lupitally covered with chiffchaff and shavings. Up Rosemiry Lean and Potanasty Rod you wos, wos you? I overstand you, you understand. Asking Annybettyelsas to carry your parcels and you dreaming of net glory. You’ll ging nae maer wi’ Wolf the Ganger! Cutting chapel, were you? And had dates with slickers in particular hotels, had we? Lonely went to play your mother, isod? You was wiffriends? Hay, dot’s a doll yarn! Mark mean then! I’ll homeseek you, Luperca, as sure as there’s a palatine in Limerick, and, in striped conference, here’s how, if you’re my rodeo gell. Nerbu de Bios! If yous twos goes to walk upon the railway, Gard, and I’ll goad to beat behind the bush! See to it! Snip! It’s up to you. I’ll be hatsnatching harrier to hiding huries hinder hedge. Snap! I’ll tear up your limpshades and lock all your trotters in a closet, I will, and cut your silkskin into garters. You’ll give up your ashand-brothel ways when I make you reely smart. So skelp your budd and kiss the hurt! I’ll have plenary sadisfaction, plays the bishop, for your partial’s indulgences. Fair man and foul suggestion. There’s a lot of lecit pleasure coming bangslanging your way, Miss Pimpernelly Satin. For your own good, you understand, for the man who lifts his pud to a woman is saving the way for kindness. You’ll rebmemer your mottob, Aveh Tiger Roma, mikely smarter the nickst time. For I’ll just draw my prancer and give you one splitpuck in the crupper, you understand, that will bring the poppy blush of shame to your peony hindmost till you yelp papapardon and radden your rhodatantarums to the beat of calorrubordolor, I am, I do and I suffer (do you hear me now, lickspoon, and stop looking at your bussycat bow in the slate!), that you won’t obliterate for the bulkier part of a running year, failing to give a good account of yourself, if you think I’m so tan cupid as all that. Lights out now (bouf!), tight and sleep on it! And that’s how I’ll bottle your greedypuss beautibus for ye, me bullin heifer, for ’tis I that have the peer of arrams that carry a wallop. Between them.
Unbeknownst to you would ire turn o’er see, a nuncio would I return here. How (from the sublime to the ridiculous) times out of oft, my future, shall we think with deepest of love and recollection by introspection of thee but me far away on the pillow, breathing fondly o’er my names all through the empties, whilst moidhered by the rattle of the doppeldoorknockers. Our homerole poet to Ostelinda, Fred Wetherly, puts it somewhys better. You’re sitting on me style, maybe, whereoft I helped yous ore. Littlegame rumilie from Liffaslidebankum (Toobliqueme!) but a big corner fill you do in this unadulterated seat of our affections. Aerwenger’s my breed so may we uncreepingly multipede like the sands on Amberham! Sevenheavens, O heaven! Iy waount yiou! Yore ways to melittleme were wonderful so Ick am purseproud in sending yum loveliest pansiful thoughts touching me dash in-you through wee dots Hyphen, the so pretty arched godkin of bedding-nights. If I’ve proved to your sallysfashion how I’m a man of Armor let me so, let me sue, let me see your isabellis. How I shall, should I survive, as, please the uniter of U.M.I. hearts, I am living in hopes to do, replacing mig wandering handsup in yawers, so yeager for mitch, positively cover the two pure chicks of your comely plumpchake with zuccherikissings, hong, kong, and so gong, that I’d scare the bats out of the ivfry one of those muggy mornings, honestly, by my rantandog and daddyoak, I will, become come coming when, upon the mingling of our meeting waters, wish to wisher, like massive mountains to part no more, you will there and then, in those happy moments of ouryour soft accord, rainkiss on me back, for full marks with shouldered arms, and in that united I.R.U. state when I come (touf! touf!) wildflier’s fox into my own green geese again, swap sweetened smugs, six of one for half a dozen of the other, till they’ll bet we’re the cuckoo derby when cherries next come back to Ealing as come they must, as they musted in their past, as they must for my pressing season, as hereinafter must they chirrywill immediately suant on my safe return to ignorance and bliss in my horseless Coppal Poor, through suirland and noreland, kings country and queens, with my ropes of pearls for gamey girls the way ye’ll hardly. Knowme.
Slim ye, come slum with me and rally rats’ roundup! ’Tis post purification we will, sales of work and social service, missus, completing our Abelite union by the adoptation of fosterlings. Embark for Euphonia! Up Murphy, Henson and O’Dwyer, the Warchester Warders! I’ll put in a shirt time if you’ll get through your shift and betwine us in our shared slaves, brace to brassiere and shouter to shunter, we’ll pull off our working programme. Come into the garden guild and be free of the gape athome! We’ll circumcivicise all Dublin country. Let us, the real Us, all ignite in our pre-purgatory grade as aposcals and be instrumental to utensilise our Jakeline sisters clean out the hogshole and generally ginger things up. Meliorism in massquantities, raffling receipts and sharing sweepstakes till navel, spokes and felloes hum like hymn. Burn only what’s Irish, accepting their coals. You will soothe the cokeblack bile that’s Anglia’s and touch Armourican’s iron core. Write me your essayest, my vocational scholars, but cursorily, dipping your nose in it, for Henrietta’s sake, on mortinatality or the life of jewries and the sludge of King’s at its height, running boulewards over the whole of it. I’d write it all by mownself if I only had here of my jolly young watermen. Bear in mind, by Michael, all the provincials’ bananas and elacock eggs making drawadust jubilee along Henry, Moore, Earl and Talbot Streets. Luke at all the memmer manning he’s dung for the prey of birds, our priest-mayor-king-merchant, strewing the Castleknock Road and drawing manure upon it till the first glimpse of Wales and from Ballses Breach Harshoe up to Dumping’s Corner with the Mirist fathers’ brothers versus White Friars elevens out on a rogation stag party. Compare them caponchin trowlers otiosely with the Bridges of Belches in Fairview, noreast Dublin’s favourite souwest wateringplatz, and ump as you lump it. What do you mean by Jno Citizen and how do you think of Jas Pagan? Compost liffe in Dufblin by Pierce Egan with the baugh in Baughkley of Fino Ralli. Explain why there is such a number of orders of religion in Asea! Why such an order number in preference to any other number? Why any number in any order at all? Now? Where is the greenest island off the black coats of Spaign? Overset into universal: I am perdrix and upon my pet ridge. Oralmus! Way, O way for the autointaxication of our town of the Fords in a huddle! Hailfellow some wellmet boneshaker or, to ascertain the facts for herself, run up your showeryweather once and trust and take the Drumgondola tram and, wearing the midlimb and vestee endorsed by the hierarchy fitted with ecclastics, bending your steps, pick a trail and stand on, say, Aston’s, at, suppose, the hoyth of number eleven, let us say, Kane or Keogh’s, along quayth a copy of the Seeds and Weeds Act, when you have procured one for yourself, and I advise you strongly to take a good longing gaze into any nearby shopswindow you may select and in the course of about thirtytwo minutes’ time proceed to turn aroundabout on your hee-hills towards the previous causeway and I shall be very cruelly mistaken indeed if you will not be jushed astonushed to see how you will be meanwhile durn well topcoated with kakes of slush occasioned by the mush jam of the cross and blockwalls traffic in transit. See Capels and then fly. Show me that complaint book here. Where’s Cowtends Kateclean, the woman with the muckrake? When will the W.D. face of our sow muckloved D’lin, the Troia of towns and Carmen of cities, crawling with mendiants in perforated clothing, get its wellbelavered whitewish like L’pool and M’chester? When’s that grandnational goldcapped dupsydurby houspill coming with its vomitories for our mothers-in-load and stretchers for their devitalised males? I am all of me for freedom of speed but who’ll disasperaguss Pope’s Avegnue or who’ll uproose the Opian Way? Who’ll brighton Brayhowth and bait the Bull Bailey and never despair of Lorcansby? The rampant royal commissioners! ’Tis an ill weed blows no poppy good. And this labour’s worthy of my higher. Oil for meed and toil for feed and a walk with the band for Job Loos. If I hope not charity what profiteers me? Nothing! My tippers of flags are knobs of hardshape for it isagrim tale, keeping the father of curls from the sport of oak. Do you know what, liddle giddles? One of those days I am advised by the smiling voteseeker who is now snoring elected to positively strike off hiking for good and all, as I bldy well bdly ought, until such temse loiter on as some mood is made under privy-sealed orders to get me an increase of automoboil and footwear for these poor discalced and a bourse from Bon Somewind for a cure at Bad Anyweir (though where it’s going to come from this time …) as I sartunly think now, honest to John, for an income plexus that that’s about the sanguine boundary limit. Amean.
Sis dearest, Jaun added with voise somewhit murky, what though still high fa luting, as he turned his dorse to her to pay court to it and ouver-leaved his booseys to give the note and score, phonoscopically incuriosited and melancholic this time, whiles, as on the fulmament he gaped in wulderment, his onsaturncast eyes in stellar attraction followed swift to an imaginary swellaw, O, the vanity of Vanissy! All ends vanishing! Pursonally, Grog help me, I am in no violent hurry. If time enough lost the ducks, walking easy found them. I’ll nose a blue fonx with any tristys blinking upon this earthlight of all them that pass by the way of the deerdrive, conconey’s run or wilfrid’s walk, but I’d turn back as lief as not if I could only spoonfind the nippy girl of my heart’s appointment, Mona Vera Toutou Ipostila, my lady of Lyons, to guide me by gastronomy under her safe conduct. That’s more in my line. I’d ask no kinder of fates than to stay where I am, with my tinny of brownie’s tea, under the invocation of Saint Jamas Hanway, servant of Gamp, lapidated, and Jacobus A’Pershawm, intercissous, for my thurifex, with Peter Roche, that frind of my boozum, leaning on my cubits, at this passing moment by localoption in the birds’ lodging, me pheasants among, where I’ll dreamt that I’ll dwealth mid warblers’ walls when throstles and choughs to my sigh hiehied, with me hares standing up well and me longlugs dittoes, where a maurdering row (the fox!) has broken at the coward sight, till well on into the beausome of the exhaling night, pinching stopandgo jewels out of the hedges and catching dimtop brilliants on the tip of my wagger, but for that owled clock (fast cease to it!) has just gone twoohoo the hour and yen breezes zipping round by Drumsally do be devils to play fleurt. I could sit on safe side till the bark of Saint Grouse’s for hoopoe’s hours, till heoll’s hoerrisings, laughing lazy at the sheep’s lightning, and turn a widamost ear dreamily to the drummling of snipers, hearing the wireless harps of sweet old Aerial and the mails across the nightriver (peepet! peepet!) and whippoorwilly in the woody (moor park! moor park!), as peacefed as a philopotamus, and crekking jugs at the grenoulls, leaving tealeaves for the trout and belleeks for the wary, till I’d followed through my upfielded neviewscope the rugaby moon cumuliously goarolling himself westasleep amuckst the cloud-scrums for to watch how carefully my nocturnal goosemother would lay her new golden sheegg for me down under in the shy orient. What wouldn’t I poach—the rent in my riverside, my otther shoes, my beavery, honest!—ay, and melt my belt, for a dace feast of grannom with the finny ones, those happy guppies in their minnowahaw, flashing down the swansway, leaps ahead of the Swift MacEels, the big Gillaroo redfellows and the pursewinded carpers, rearin antis rood perches astench of me, or, when I’d like own company best, with the help of a norange and bear, to be reclined on my logansome by the lasher, my g.b.d in my f.a.c.e, solfanelly in my shellyholders and lov’d Latakia, the benuvolent, for my nosethrills, with the jealosomines wilting away to their heart’s deelight and the king of saptimber letting down his humely odours for my consternation, dapping my griffeen, burning water in the spearlight or catching trophies of the king’s royal college of sturgeons by the armful for to bake pike and pie while, O twined me abower in L’Alouette’s Tower, all Adelaide’s naughtingerls juck-jucking benight me, I’d gamut my twittynice Dorian blackbudds the chthonic solphia off my singasongapiccolo to pipe musicall airs on numberous fairyaciodes. I give, a king, to me, she does, alone, up there, yes see, I double give, till the spinney all eclosed asong with them. Isn’t that lovely though? I give to me alone I trouble give! I may have no mind tamagnage the forte bits like the pianage but you can’t cadge me off the key. I’ve a voicical lilt too true. Nomario! And bemolley and jiesis! For I sport a whatyoumacormack in the latcher part of my throushers. And the lark that I let fly (olala!) is as cockful of funantics as it’s tune to my fork. Naturale you might lower register me as diskrecordant, but I’m athlone in the lilla-billing of killarnies. That’s flat. Yet ware the wold, you! What’s good for the gorse is a goad for the garden. Lethals lurk hemlocked in logans. Loathe laburnums. Dash the gaudy deathcup! Bryony O’Bryony, thy name is Belladama! But enough of greenwood gossip. Birdsnests is birdsnests. Thine to wait but mine to wage. And now play sharp to me. Doublefirst I’ll head foremost through all my exam hoops. And what sensitive coin I’d be possessed of at Latouche’s, begor, I’d sink it sumtotal, every dolly farting, in vestments of subdominal poteen at prime cost and I bait you my chancey oldcoat against the whole ounce you half on your backboard (if madamaud strips mesdamines may cold strafe illglands!) that I’m the gogetter that’d make it pay like cash registers as sure as there’s a pot on a pole. And, what with one man’s fisch and a dozen men’s poissons, sowing my wild plums to reap ripe plentihorns mead, lashings of erboale and hydromel and bragget, I’d come out with my magic fluke in close time, fair, free and frolicky, zooming tophole on the mart as a factor. And I tell you the Bectives wouldn’t hold me. By the unsleeping Solman Annadromous, ye god of little pescies, nothing would stop me. Not the Ulster Rifles and the Cork Milice and the Dublin Fusees and Connacht Rangers ensembled! For money makes multimony like the brogues and the kishes. I’d axe the channon and leip a liffey and drink annyblack water that rann on me way. Yip! How’s that for scats, mine shatz, for a lovebird? To funk is only peternatural, it’s daring feers divine. Bebold! Like Varian’s, balaying all behind me. And, zoom, before you knew where you weren’t, I stake my ignitial’s divy, cash-and-cash-can-again, I’d be staggering humanity and loyally rolling you over, my sow white spouse, in tons of red clover, nighty nigh to the metronome, fiehigh and fiehigher and fiehighest of all! Holy petter and pal, I’d spoil you altogether, my sumptuous Sheila! Mumm all to do but frull up fizz and unpop a few shortrusians or shake a pail of sparkling ice. Hear it swirl, happy girl! Not a spot of my hide but you’d love to seek and scan again! There’d be no standing me, I tell you. And, as gameboy as my pagan name K.C. is what it is, I’d never say let fly till we shot that blissup and swumped each other, manawife, into our sever nevers where I’d plant you, my Gizzygay, on the electric ottoman in the lap of lechery, simpringly stitchless with admiracion, among the most uxuriously furnished compartments with sybarate chambers, just as I’d run my shoestring into near a million or so of them as a firstclass dealer and everything. Only for one thing, that howover famiksed I would become I’d be awful anxious, you understand, about Shoepisser Pluvius and in assideration of the terrible luftsucks woabling around with the hedrolics in the coold amstophere till the bording that would perish the Dane and his chapter of accidents to be atramental to the better half of my alltoolyrical health, not considering my capsflap, and that’s the truth now out of the cackling bag, for truly sure for another thing I never could tell the leest falsehood that would truthfully give sotisfiction. I’m not talking apple sauce eithou. Or up in my hat. I earnst. Fschue!
Sissibis dearest, as I was reading to myself not very long ago in Tennis Flonnels MacCourther, his correspondence, besated upon my tripos, and just thinking like thauthor how long I’d like myself to be continued at Hothelizod, peeking into the fuocus and pecking at thumbnail reveries, pricking up ears to my phono on the ground and picking up airs from th’other over th’ether, ’tis tramsported with grief I am by this night sublime, as you may see by my size and my brow that’s all forehead, to go forth, frank and hoppy, to the tune the old plow tied off, from our nostorey house upon this benedictine errand, but it is historically the most glorious mission, secret or profund, through all the annals of our—as you so often term her—efferfreshpainted livy, in beautific repose, upon the silence of the dead, from Pharoph the nextfirst down to Ramescheckles the lastbust thing. The Vico road goes round and round to meet where terms begin. Still, onappealed to by the cycles and unappalled from by the recoursers, we feel all serene, never you fret, as regards our dutyful cask. Full of my breadth from pride I am (breezed be the healthy same!) for ’tis a grand thing (superb!) to be going to meet a king, not an everynight king, nenni, by gannies, but the overking of Hither-on-Thither Erin himself, pardee, I’m saying. Before there was a patch at all on Ireland there lived a lord at Lucan. We only wish everyone was as sure of anything in this watery world as we are of everything in the newlywet fellow that’s bound to follow. I’ll lay you a guinea for a hayseed now. Tell mother that. And tell her tell her old one. ’Twill amuse her.
Well, to the figends of Annamneses with the wholeabuelish business! For I declare to Jeshuam I’m beginning to get sunsick! I’m not half Norawain for nothing. The fine ice so temperate of our, alas, these times are not so far off as you might wish to be congealed. So now, I’ll ask of you, let ye create no scenes in my poor primmafore’s wake. I don’t want yous to be billowfighting your biddy moriarty duels, gobble gabble, over me till you spit stout, you understand, after soused mackerel, sniffling clambake to hering and imputent barney, braggart of blarney, nor your ugly lemoncholic gobs o’er the hobs in a sewing circle, stopping oddments in maids’ costumes at sweeping reductions, wearing out your ohs by sitting around on your ahs, making areekaransy round where I last put it, with the painters in too, curse me luck, with your rags up, exciting your mucuses, turning breakfarts into lost soupirs, nor your flabbies on your groaning chairs for flapjack and salonthay over Bollivar’s troubles of a bluemoondag, steaming your damp ossicles, praying Holy Prohibition and Jaun Dyspeptist while Ole Clo goes through the wood with Shep togather, touting in the chestnut burrs for Goodboy Sommers and Mistral Blownowse hugs his kindlings, when voiceyversey it’s my gala benefit, robbing leaves out of my taletold book. May my tunc fester if ever I see such a miry lot of maggalenes! Once upon a drunk and a fairly good drunk it was and the rest of your blatherumskite! Just a plain shays by the fire for absenter Sh the Po and I’ll make ye all an eastern hummingsphere of myself the moment that you name the way. Look in the slag scuttle and you’ll see me sailspread over the singing, and what do ye want trippings for when you’ve Paris inspire your hat? Sussumcordials all round, let ye alloyiss and ominies, while I stray and let ye not be getting grief out of it, though blighted troth be all bereft, on my poor headsake, even should we forfeit our life. Lo, improving ages wait ye! In the orchard of the bones. Some time very presently now when yon clouds are dissipated after their forty years’ shower, the odds are, we shall all be hooked and happy, communionistically, among the fieldnights elycean, élite of the elect, in the land of lost of time. Johannisburg’s a revelation! Deck the diamants that never die! So cut out the lonesome stuff! Drink it up, ladies, please, as smart as you can lower it! Out with lent! Clap hands, postillion! Fastintide is by. Your sole and myopper must hereupon part company. So for e’er now fare thee welt! Parting’s fun. Take thou, the wringle’s thine, love. This dime doth trost thee from mine alms. Goodbye, swisstart, goodbye! Laugh! Sure, treasures, a letterman does be often thought reading ye between lines that do have no sense at all. I sign myself. With much leg. Inflexibly yours. Ann Posht the Shorn. To be continued. Huck!
Something of a sidesplitting nature must have occurred to westminstrel Jaunathaun for a grand big blossy hearty stenorious laugh (even Drudge that lay doggo thought feathers fell) hopped out of his woolly’s throat like a ball lifted over the head of a deep field at the bare thought of how jolly they’d like to be trolling his whoop, and all of them truetotypes in missammen massness were just starting to spladher splodher with the jolly magorios, hicky hecky hock, huges huges huges, hughy hughy hughy, O Jaun (Thou pure! Our virgin! Thou holy! Our health! Thou strong! Our victory! O salutary! Sustain our firm solitude, thou who thou well strokest! Hear, hairy ones! We have sued thee but late. Beauty parlous!), so jokable and so geepy, O, when suddenly (how like a woman!), swifter as mercury, he wheels right round starnly on the Rizzies suddenly, with his gimlets blazing rather sternish (how black like thunder!), to see what’s loose. So they stood still and wondered. Till first he sighed (and how ill soufered!) and they nearly cried (the salt of the earth!) after which he pondered and finally he replied:
— There is something more. A word apparting and shall the heart’s tone be silent. Engagements, I’ll beseal you! Fare thee well, fairy well! All I can tell you is this, my sorellies. It’s prayers in layers all the thumping time, begor, the young gloria’s gang voices the old doxologers, in the suburrs of the heavenly gardens, once we shall have passed, after surceases, all serene, snug, neck and neck like Derby and June, through to our eternal retribution’s reward (the scorchhouse). Shunt us! Shunt us! Shunt us! If you want to be felixed come and be parked. Sacred ease there! The Seanad and pobbelqueue’s remainder. To it, to it! Seekit headup! No petty family squabbles Up There nor homemade hurricanes in our Cohortyard, no cupahurling nor apuckalips nor no puncheon jodelling nor no nothing. With the Byrns which is far better and eve for ever your idle be. You will hardly reconnaitre the old wife in the new bustle and the farmer shinner in his latterday paint. It’s the fulldress Toussaint’s wakeswalks experdition after a bail motion from the chamber of horrus. Saffron buns or sovran bonhams whichever you’re avider to like it and lump it, but give it a name. Eireny allover Irelands. And there’s food for refection when the whole flock’s at home. Hogmanny di’ye gut? Hogmanny di’ye smellygut? And hogmanny di’ye smellyspatterygut? You take Joe Hanny’s tip for it! Post Mortem is the goods. With Jollification a tight second. Toborrow and toburrow and tobarrow! That’s our crass, hairy and evergrim life, till one finel howdiedow Bouncer Naster raps on the bell with a bone and his stinkers stack behind him with the sceptre and the hourglass. We may come, touch and go, from atoms and ifs, but we’re presurely destined to be odd’s without ends. Here we moult in Moy Kain and flop on the seemy side, living sure of hardly a doorstep for a stopgap, with Whogoesthere and a live sandbag round the corner. But upmeyant, by the banks of our chlorified Amneslethea, you sprout all your abel and woof your wings, dead certain however of neuthing whatever to aye forever, while Hyam Huam’s in the chair. Ah, sure, pleasantries aside, in the tail of the cow what a humptydaum earth looks our miseryme heretoday as compared beside the Hereweareagain Gaieties of the Afterpiece when the Royal Revolver of the real globoes lets regally fire of his mio colpo for the chrisman’s pandemom to give over and the Harlequinade to begin properly SPQueaRking. Mark Time’s Finist Joke. Putting Allspace in a Notshall.
Well, the slice and veg joint’s well in its way and so is a ribroast and jackknife as sportan diet, but home cooking everytime. Mountain’s good mustard and, with the helpings of ladies’ lickfigs and gentlemen’s relish, I’ve eaten a griddle. But I fill twice as stewhard what I felt before when I’m after eating a few natives. The crisp of the crackling is in the chawing. Give us another cup of your scald! Santos Mozos! That was a damn good cup of scald. You could trot a mouse on it. I ingoyed your pick of hissing hot luncheon fine, I did, thanks awfully (sublime!). Tenderest bully ever I ate with the boiled protestants (allinoilia, allinoilia!) only for your peas again was a taste tooth psalty to carry flavour with my godown and hereby return with my best savioury condiments and a penny in the plate for the jemes. O.K. Oh Kosmos! Ah Ireland! A.I. And for kailkannonkabbis gimme Cincinnatis with Italian (but ci vuol poco!) ciccalick cheese. Haggis good, haggis strong, haggis never say die! For quid we have recipimus, recipe, O lout! And save that, Oliviero, for thy sunny day! Soupmeagre! Couldn’t look at it! But if you’ll buy me yon coat of the vairy furry best I’ll try and pullll it awn mee. It’s in fairly good order and no doubt ’twill sarve to turn. Remove this boardcloth! Next stage, tell the tabler, for a variety of Huguenot ligooms I’ll try my set on edges grapeling an aigrydoucks, grilled over birchenrods, with a few bloomancowls in albies. I want to get outside monasticism. Mass and meat mar no man’s journey. Eat a missal lest. Nuts for the nerves, a flitch for the flue and for to rejoice the chambers of the heart the spirits of the spice isles, curry and cinnamon, chutney and cloves. All the vitalmines is beginning to sozzle in chewn and the hormonies to clingleclangle, fudgem, kates and epas and naboc and erics and oinnos on kingclud and xoxxoxo and xooxox xxoxoxxoxxx till I’m fustfed like fung-stif and very presently from now posthaste it’s off yourll see me ryuoll on my usual rounds again to draw Terminus Lower and Killadown and Letternoosh, Letterspeak, Lettermuck to Littorananima and the roomiest house even in Ireland, if you can understamp that, and my next item’s platform it’s how I’ll try and collect my extraprofessional postages owing to me by Thaddeus Kellyesque Squire, dr, for nondesirable printed matter. The Jooks and the Kelly-Cooks have been milking turnkeys and sucking the blood out of the Marshalsea since the act of First Offenders. But I know what I’ll do. Great pains off him I’ll take and that’ll be your redletterday calendar, window machree! I’ll knock it out of him! I’ll stump it out of him! I’ll rattattatter it out of him before I’ll quit the doorstep of old Con Connolly’s residence! By the horn of twenty of both of the two Saint Collopys, blackmail him I will in arrears or my name’s not penitent Ferdinand! And it’s daily and hourly I’ll nurse him till he pays me fine fee. Ameal.
Well, here’s looking at ye! If I never leave you biddies till my stave is a bar I’d be tempted rigidly to become a passionate father. Me hunger’s weighed. Hungkung! Me anger’s suaged! Hangkang! Ye can stop as ye are, little lay mothers, and wait in wish and wish in vain till the grame reaper draws nigh, with the sickle of the sickles, as a blessing in disguise. Devil a curly hair I care! If any lightfoot Clod Dewvale was to try to hold me up, dicksturping me and marauding me of my rights to my onus, yan, tyan, tethera, methera, pimp, I’d let him have my best pair of galloper’s heels in his creamsourer. He will have better manners, I’m dished if he won’t! Console yourself, drawhure deelish! There’s a refond of eggsized coming to you out of me so mind you do me duty on me! Bruise your bulge below the belt till I blewblack beside you. And you’ll miss me more as the narrowing weeks wing by. Someday duly, Oneday truly, Twosday newly, till Whensday. Look for me always at my west and I will think to dine. A tear or two in time is all there’s toot. And then in a click of the clock, toot toot, and doff doff we pop with sinnerettes in silkettes lining longroutes for His Diligence Majesty, our longdistance laird that likes creation. To whoosh!
— Meesh, meesh! Yes, pet. We were too happy. I knew something would happen. I understand, but listen, drawher nearest, Tizzy intercepted, flushing but flashing from her dove and dart eyes as she tactilifully grabbed her male corrispondee to fluster sweet nunsongs in his quickturned ear. I know, benjamin brother, but listen, I want, girls palmassing, to whisper my whish. (She, like them like us, me and you, had thoud he n’er it would haltin so lithe when leased is tacitempust tongue.) Of course, engine dear, I’m ashamed for my life (I must clear my throttle) over this lost moment’s gift of memento nosepaper which I’m sorry, my precious, is allathome I with grief can call my own but all the same, listen, Jaunick, accept this witwee’s mite, though a jennyteeny witweeny piece torn in one place, from my hands in second place of a linenhall valentino with my fondest and much left to tutor. X.X.X.X. It was heavily balledicted for young Fr Ml, my pettest parriage priest, and you know who between us by your friend the pope, forty ways in forty nights, that’s the beauty of it, look, scene it, ratty. Too perfectly priceless for words. And, listen, now do enhance me, oblige my fiancy and bear it with you morn till life’s e’en and, of course, when never you make usage of it, listen, please kindly think galways, again or again, never forget, of one absendee, not sester Maggy. Ahim. That’s the stupidest little cough. Only be sure you don’t catch your cold and pass it on to us. And, since levret bounds and larks is soaring, don’t be all the night. And this, Joke, a sprig of blue speedwell, just a spell of floralora so you’ll mind your veronique. Of course, Jer, I know you know who sends it, presents that please, mercy, on the face of the waters like that film obote in the magginbottle. Awfully charming, of course, but it doesn’t do her justice, apart from her cattiness. Of course, please too write, won’t you, and leave your little bag of doubts, inquisitive, behind you, unto your utterly thine and, thank you, forward it back by return pigeon’s pneu to the loving in case I couldn’t think who it was or any funforall happens I’ll be so curiose to see in the Homesworth breakfast tablotts so as I’ll know etherways by pity bleu if it’s good for my system, what exquisite buttons, gorgiose, in case I don’t hope soon to hear from you. And thanks ever so many for the ten and the one with nothing at all on. I will tie a knot on my stringamejip to letter you with my silky paper, as I am given now to understand it will be worth my price in money one day, so don’t trouble to ans unless smthg special as I am getting his pay and wants for nothing so I can live simply and solely for my wonderful kinkless and its loops of loveliness. When I throw away my rollets there’s rings for all. Flea, a girl, says it is her colour. So does B and L and as for V! And listen to it, Cheveluir! So distant you’re always. Bow your boche! Absolutely perfect! I will pack my comb and mirror to praxis my oval owes and artless awes and it will follow you pulpicly as far as come back under all my eyes like my sapphire chaplets of ringarosary I will say for you to the Allmichael and solve quipu while the dovedoves pick my mouthbuds (msch! msch!) with nurse Madge, my linkingclass girl, she’s a fright, poor old dutch, in her sleeptalking when I paint the measles on her and mudstuskers to make her a man. We. We. Issy done that, I confesh! But you’ll love her for her hessians. What class she shows! And sickly black stockings, cleryng’s jumbles, salvadged from the Wash. Isn’t it the cat’s tonsils! Simply killing, how she tidies her hair! I call her Sosy because she’s sosiety for me and she says sossy while I say sassy and she says will you have some more scorns while I say won’t you take a few more schools and she talks about ithel dear while I simply never talk about athel darling. But she’s nice for enticing my friends and she loves your style, considering she breaks in me shoes for me when I’ve arch trouble, and she would kiss my white arms for me so gratefully but apart from that she’s terribly nice really, my sisther, round the elbow of Erne Street Lower. And I’ll be strictly forbidden always and true in my own way and private where I will long long to betrue you along with one who will so betrue you that not once while I be betreu him not once will he be betray himself. Can’t you understand? Here swheare! O bother, I must tell the trouth! My latest lad’s loveliletter I am sore I done something with. I like him lots coss he never cusses. Pity bonhom. Pip pet. I shouldn’t say he’s pretty but I’m cocksure he’s shy. Why I love taking him out when I unletched his cordon gate. Ope, Jack, and atem! Obeathe my odours and he dote so. He fell for my lips, for my lisp, for my lewd speaker. I felt for his strength, his manhood, his—do you mind? There can be no candle to hold to it, can there? And, of course, dear professor, I understand. You can trust me that though I change thy name though not the letter never while I become engaged with my first horsepower, masterthief of hearts, I will give your lovely face of mine away, my boyish bob, not for tons of donkeys, to my second mate with the twirlers, the Engineer with a passionflower (O, the wicked untruth! What a tell! That he has bought me in his wellingtons what you haven’t got!), in one of those pure clean lupstucks of yours thankfully, Arrah of the passkeys, no matter what. You may be certain of that, fluff, now I know how to tackle. Lock my nearest next myself. So don’t keep me now for a good boy for the love of my fragrant saint, you villain, peppering with fear, my goodless graceless, or I’ll first murder you. But, hvisker, meet me after by next appointment near you know Ships just there beside the Ship at the future poor fool’s circuts of lovemountjoy square to show my disrespects. Now, let me just your caroline for you, I must really so late. Sweetpig, he’ll be furious! How he stalks to simself louther and lover, immutating aperybally. My prince of the courts who’ll beat me to love! And I’ll be there when who knows where with the objects of which I’ll knowor forget. We say. Trust us. Our game. (For fun!) The Dargle shall run dry the sooner I you deny. And Mrs A’Mara make it up and be friends with Mrs O’Morum! Whoevery heard of such a think? Till the ulmost of all elmoes shall stele our harts asthone! I will write down all your names in my gold pen and ink. Everyday, precious, while m’m’ry’s leaves are falling deeply on my Jungfraud’s Messongesbook, I will dream telepath posts dulcets on this isinglass stream (but don’t tell him or I’ll be the mort of him!) under the libans and the sickamours, the cyprissis and babilonias, where the frondoak rushes to the ashside and the yewleaves too kisskiss themselves, and ’twill carry on my hearz’ waves my still water’s reflections in words over Margrate von Hungaria, her Quaidy ways and her Flavin hair, to thee, Jack ahoy, beyond the boysforus. Splesh of hiss splash springs your salmon. Twick twick twinkle twings my twilight as Sarterday aftermoon lex leap will smile on my four-inhanced twelvemonthsmind. And what’s this I was going to say, dean? O, I understand! Listen, here I’ll wait on Thee till the Thingavalla with beautiful Do Be Careful teacakes, more stuesser flavoured than vanilla and blackcurrant there’s a cure in, like a born gentleman till you’ll resemble me, all the time you’re awhile away. I swear to you, I will, by Candlemas! And, listen, joey, don’t be ennoyed with me, my old evernew, when, by the end of your chapter, you citch water on the wagon for me being turned a star I’ll dubeurry my two fesces under Pouts Vanisha Creme, their way for spilling creem, and, accent, umto extend my personnalitey to the latents, I’ll boy me for myself only of expensive rainproof of pinked elephant’s breath grey in the loveliest sheerest dearest widowshood over airforce blue I am so wild for, my precious once, Hope Bros, Faith Street, Charity Corner, as the bee loves her skyhigh, for I always had a crush on heliotrope since the dusess of yore cycled round the Finest Park. And listen. And never mind me laughing at what’s at. Ever! I was in the nerves but it’s my last day. Always about this hour, I’m sorry, when our gamings for Bruin and Noselong is all oh you tease and afterdoon my lickle pussiness I stheal heimlick in my russians from the attraction park with my terriblitallboots calvescatcher, Pinchapoppapoff, who is going on to be a jennyroll, at my nape, drenched, love, with dripping, to affectionate slapmamma but last at night, look, after my golden violents wetting in my upperstairs splendidly welluminated with such lidlylac curtains wallpapered to match the cat and a fireplease, keep looking, of priceless pearlogs (I just want to see will he or are all Michaels like that) I’ll strip straight after devotions before his fondstare—and I mean it too (thy gape to my gazing I’ll bind and makeleash)—and poke stiff under my isonbound with my soiedisante chineknees cheeckchubby chambermate for the night’s foreign males and your name of Shane will come forth between my shamefaced whesen with other lipth I nakest open my thighth when just woken by his toccatootletoo my first morning. So now, to thalk thildish, thome, theated with Mag at the oilthan we are doing to thay one little player before doing to deed. And a tiss to the tassie, for lu and for tu! Coach me how to tumble, Jaime, and, listen, with supreme regards, Juan, in haste, warn me which to ah ah ah ah …
— MEN! Juan responded fullchantedly to her sororal sonority, imitating himself capitally, with his bubbleblown in his patapet and his chalished drink now well in hand. (A spilt, see, for a split, see see!) Ever gloriously kind! And I truly am eucherised to yous. Also sacré père and maître d’autel. Well, ladies upon gentlermen and toastmaster general, let us brindising brandisong, woo and win womenlong, with health to rich vineyards of Erin go dry! Amingst the living waters of, the living in giving waters of. Tight! Loose! A stiff one for Staffetta mullified with creams of hormony, the coupe that’s chill for jackless jill and a filiform dhouche on Doris! Esterelles, be not on your weeping what though Shaunathaun is in his fail! To stir up love’s young fizz I tilt with this bridle’s cup champagne, dimming douce from her peepair of hideseeks, tightsqueezed on my snowybreasted, and while my pearlies in their sparkling wiseheight are nippling her bubblets I swear (and let you swear!) by the bumper round of my poor old snaggletooth’s solid-bowel I ne’er will prove I’m untrue to your liking (theare!) so long as my hole looks. Down.
So gullaby, me poor Isley! But I’m not for forgetting me innerman monophone for I’m leaving my darling proxy behind for your consolering, lost Dave the Dancekerl, a squamous runaway and a dear old man pal of mine too. He will arrive incessantly in the fraction of a crust. Could he quit doubling and stop trippling, he would be the unicorn of his kind. He’s the mightiest penumbrella I ever flourished on behond the shadow of a post! Be sure and link him, me O treasauro, as often as you learn, provided there’s nothing between you but a plain deal table. Only don’t encourage him to cry lessontimes over Leperstown. But soft! Can’t be? Do mailstanes mumble? Lumtum lumtum! Now! The froubadour! I fremble! Talk of wolf in a stomach, by all that’s verminous! Eccolo me! The return of th’athlate! Who can secede to his success! Isn’t Jaunstown, Ousterrike, the small place after all? I knew I smelt the garlic leek! Why, bless me swits, here he its, darling Dave, like the catoninelives just in time as if he fell out of space, all draped in mufti, coming home to mourn mountains from his old continence. And not on one foot either or on two feet aether but on quinquisecular cycles after his French evolution and a blindfold passage by the 4.32 with the pork’s pate in his suicide paw and the gulls laughing lime on his natural skunk, blushing like Pat’s pig, begob! He’s not too timtom well ashamed to carry out onaglibtograbakelly in his showman’s sinister the testymonicals he gave his twenty annis for, showing the three white feathers, as a home cured emigrant in Paddyouare far below on our sealevel. Bearer may leave the church, signed, Figura Porca, Lictor Magnaffica. He’s the sneaking likeness of us, faith, me altar’s ego in miniature and every Auxonian aimer’s ace as nasal a Romeo as I am, for ever cracking quips on himself, that merry, the jeenjakes, he’d soon arise mother’s roses mid bedewing tears under those wild wet lashes onto anny living girl’s laftercheeks. That’s his little veiniality. And his impeppeppediment. He has novel ideas, I know, and he’s a jarry queer fish betimes, I grant you, and cantanberous, the poisoner of his word, but, lice and all and semicoloured stainedglasses, I’m enormously full of that foreigner, I’ll say I am! Got by the one goat, suckled by the same nanna, one twitch, one nature makes us oldworld kin. We’re as thick and thin now as two tubular jawballs. I hate him about his patent henesy, blasph it, yet am I amorist. I love him. I love his old portugal’s nose. There’s the nasturtium for ye now that saved manny a poor sinker from water on the grave. The diasporation of all pirates and quinconcentrum of a fake like Basilius O’Cormacan MacArty? To camiflag he turned his shirt. Isn’t he after borrowing all before him, making friends with everybooby, red in Rossya, white in Alba, and touching every distinguished Ourishman he could ever distinguish before or behind from a Yourishman for the customary halp of a crown and peace? He is looking aged with his pebbled eyes, and johnnythin too from livicking on pidgins’ ifs with puffins’ ands. He’s been slanderising himself, but I pass no remark. Hope he hasn’t the cholera. Give him an eyot in the farout. Moseses and Noasies, how are you? He’d be as snug as Columbsisle Jonas wrocked in the belly of the whaves, as quotad before. Brayvo, senior chief! Famose! Sure there’s nobody else in touch anysides to hold a chef ’s cankle to the darling at all for sheer dare with that prisonpotstill of Spanish breans on him like the knave of trifles! A jollytan fine demented brick and the prince of goodfilips! Dave knows I have the highest of respect of annyone in my oweand smooth way for that intellectual debtor (obbligato!) Mushure David R. Crozier. And we’re the closest of chems. Mark my use of you, cog! Take notice how I yemploy, crib! Be ware as you I foil, coppy! It’s a pity he can’t see it for I’m terribly nice about him. Canwyll y Cymry, the marmade’s flamme! A leal of the O’Looniys, a Brazel aboo! The most omportent man! Shervos! Ho, be the holy snakes, someone has shaved his rough diamond skull for him as clean as Nuntius’ piedish! The burnt out mesh and the matting and all! Thunderweather, khyber schinker, escapa sansa pagar! He’s the spatton spit, so he is, scaly skin and all, with his blackguarded eye and the goatsbeard in his buttinghole, of Shemuel Tulliver, me grandsourd, the old cruxader, when he off with his paudeen! That was to let the crowd of Flu Flux Fans behind him see me proper. Ah, he’s very thoughtful and sympatrico that way, is Brother Intelligentius, when he’s not absintheminded, with his Paris adresse! He is, really. Hold hard till you’ll ear him clicking his bull’s bones! Some toad klakkin! You’re welcome back, Wilkins, to red berries in the frost! And here’s the butter exchange to pfeife and dramn ye with a bawlful of the Moulsaybaysse and yunker doodler wanked to wall awriting off his phoney. I’m tired hairing of you. Hat yourself! Give us your dyed dextremity here, frother, the Claddagh clasp! I met with dapper dandy and he shocked me big the hamd. Where’s your watchkeeper? You’ve seen all sorts in shapes and sizes, marauding about the mappamound. How’s the cock and the bullfight? And old Auster and Hungrig? And the Beer and Belly and the Boot and Ball? Not forgetting the oils of grease under that turkey in julep and Father Freeshots Feilbogen in his rockery garden with the costards? And did you meet with Peadhar the Grab at all? And did you call on Tower Geesyhus? Was Mona, my own love, no bigger than she should be, making up to you in her bestbehaved manor when you made your breastlaw and made her, tell me? And did you like the landskip from Lambay? I’m better pleased than ten guidneys! You rejoice me! Faith, I’m proud of you, french davit! You’ve surpassed yourself! Be introduced to yes! This is me aunt Julia Bride, your honour, dying to have you languish to scandal in her bosky old delltangle. You don’t reckoneyes him? He’s Jackot the Horner who boxed in his corner, jilting no fewer than three female bribes. That’s his penals. Shervorum! You haven’t seen her since she stepped into her drawoffs. Don’t be shoy, husbandman! Weih, what’s on you, wifewoman? Up the shamewauch! She has plenty of woom in the smallclothes for the bothsforus, nephews push! Hatch yourself well! Come on, spinister, do your stuff! Would you wait biss she buds till you bite on her? Embrace her bashfully by all means at my frank incensive and tell her in your semiological agglutinative yez like boyrun to sibster how Idos be asking after her. Let us be holy and evil and let her be peace on the bough. Sure, she fell in line with our tripertight photos as the lyonised mails when we were stablelads together like the corksagain brothers, hungry and angry, cavileer grace by roundhered force, me and you, shinners true, and pinchme, our tertius quiddus, that never talked or listened. Always raving how we had the wrinkles of a snailcharmer and the slits and sniffers of a fellow that fell foul of the county de Loona and the meattrap of the first vegetarian. To be had for the asking. Have a hug! Take her out of poor tuppenny luck before she goes off in pure treple licquidance. I’d give three shillings a pullet to the canon for the conjugation to shadow you kissing her from me liberally all over as if she was a crucifix. Enjombyourselves thurily. It’s good for her bilabials, you understand. There’s nothing like the mistletouch for finding a queen’s earring false. Chink chink. As the curly bard said after kitchin the womn in his hym to the hum of her garments. You try a little tich to the tissle of his tail. The racist to the racy, rossy. The soil is for the self alone. Be ownkind. Be kithkinish. Be bloodysibby. Be irish. Be inish. Be offalia. Be hamlet. Be the property plot. Be Yorick and Lankystare. Be cool. Be mackinamucks of yourselves. Be finish. No martyr where the preature is there’s no plagues like rome. It gives up the gripes. Watch the swansway. Take your tiger over it. The leady on the lake and the convict of the forest. Why, they might be Babau and Momie! Yipyip! To pan! To pan! To tinpinnypan. All folly me yap to Curlew! Give us a pin for her and we’ll call it a tossup. Can you reverse positions? Let’s have a fuchu all round, courting cousins! Quuck, the duck of a woman, for quack, the drake of a man, her little live apples for Leas and love potients for Leos, the next beast king. Put me down for all ringside seats. I can feel you being corrupted. Recoil. I can see you sprouting scruples. Get back. And as he’s boiling with water I’ll light your pyre. Turn about, skeezy Sammy, out of metaphor, till we feel are you still tropeful of popetry. Told you so. If you doubt of his love of dare airing his feelings you’ll very much hurt, for Mischmasch mastufractured on europe you can read off the tail of his. Rip ripper rippest and jac jac jac. Dwell on that, my hero and lander! That’s the side that appeals to em, the wring wrong way to wright woman. Shuck her! Let him! What he’s good for. Shuck her more! Let him again! All she wants! Could you wheedle a staveling encore out of your imitationer’s jubalharp, hey, Mr Jinglejoys? Congregational singing. Rota rota ran the pagoda con dio in capo ed il diavolo in coda. Many a diva devoutchka saw her Dauber Dan at the priesty pagoda Rota ran. Uck! He’s so sedulous to singe always if prumpted, the mirthprovoker! Grunt unto us, I pray, your foreboden article in our own dear dockandoilish introducing the death of Nelson with coloraturas! Coraio, fra! And I’ll string seconds to hermanise. My loaf and pottage neaheaheahear Rochelle. With your dumpsey diddeley dumpsey die, fiddeley fa. Diavoloh! Or come on, schoolcolours, and we’ll scrap, rug and mat, and then be as chummy as two bashed spuds. Bitrial bay holmgang or betrayal buy jury. Attaboy! Fee gate has Heenan hoity, mind uncle Hare? What, sir? Poss, myster? Achieve! Thou thou? What say ye? Taurus periculosus, morbus pediculosus. Miserere mei in miseribilibus! There’s uval lunguage for you! The tower is precluded, the mob’s in her petticoats, Mr R. E. Meehan is in misery with his billyboots. Begob, there’s not so much green in his Ireland’s eye! Sweet fellow ovocal, he stones out of stune. But he could be near a colonel with a voice like that. The bark is still there but the molars are gone. The misery billyboots I used to lend him before we split! Be the hole in the year, they were laking like heaven’s reflexes. But I told him make your will be done and go to a general and I’d pray confessions for him. Areesh! Areesh! And I’ll be your intrepider. Ambras! Ruffle her! Bussing was before the blood and bissing will behind the curtain. Triss! Did you note that worrid expressionism on his megalogue? A full octavium below me! And did you hear his three browrings rattlemaking when he was preaching to himself? And (whoa!) do you twig the schamlooking leaf greeping ghastly down his blousyfrock? Our national umbloom! Areesh! He won’t. He’s shoy. Those worthies, my old faher’s onkel that was garotted, Caius Cocoa Codinhand, that I lost in a crowd, used to chop that tongue of his, japlatin, with my younkle’s owlseller, Woowoolfe Woodenbeard, that went stonebathered, in the Tower of Balbus, as brisk, man, as I’d scoff up muttan chepps and lobscouse. But it’s all deafman’s duff to me, begob. Sam knows miles bettern me how to work the miracle. And I see by his diarrhio he’s dropping the stammer out of his silenced bladder since I bonded him off more as a friend and as a brother to try and grow a muff and canonise his dead feet down on the river airy by thinking himself into the fourth dimension and place the ocean between his and ours, the churchyard in the cloister of the depths, after he was capped out of beurlads scoel for the sin against the past participle and earned the jactitation for codding chaplain and of being as homely gauche as swift, B.A.A. Who gets twickly fullgets twice as allemanden huskers. But the whacker his word the weaker our ears for auracles who parles parses orileys oreill. Illstarred punster, lipstering cowknucks. ’Twas the quadra sent him and trinity too. And he can cantab as chipper as any oxon ever I mood with. A tiptoe singer! He’ll prisckly soon handtune your Erin’s ear for you, p.p. a mimograph at a time, numan bitter, with his ancomartinns to read the road roman with false steps ad Pernicious from rhearsilvar ormolus to torquinions superbers while I’m far away from wherever thou art, serving my tallyhos and tullying my hostilious, by going in by the most holy recitatandas ffffor my varsatile examinations in the ologies, to be a coach on the Fukien mission. 
! P? F? ! How used you learn me, brather soboostius, in my augustan days? With cesarella looking on. Ahehihohyoum! In the beginning was the geste, he jousstly says, for the end is with woman, flesh-without-word, while the man to be is in a worse case after than before since she on the supine satisfies the verb to him. Toughtough, tootoological. Thou, the first person shingeller. Art, an imperfect subjunctive. Paltry, flappent, haud serious. Miss Smith, onamatter-poetic. Hamnisandwis axes colles waxes warmas like sodullas. So pick your stops with fondness now. And mind you twine the twos noods of your nice-names. And pull up your furbelovs as farabove as you’re farthingales. That’ll hint him how to click the trigger. Show you shall and wont he will! His hearing is indoubting just as my seeing is onbelieving. So dactylise him up to blankpoint and let him blink for himself where you speak the best ticklish. You’ll feel what I mean. Fond namer, let me never see thee blame a kiss for shame a knee!
Echo, read ending! Siparioramoci! But from the stress of their sunder enlivening, at clasp, deciduously, a nikrokosmikon must come to mike.
— Well, my positively last at any stage! I hate to look at alarms but, however they put on my watchcraft, must now close as I hereby hear by ear from my seeless socks ’tis time to be up and ambling. Mymiddle toe’s mitching, so mizzle I must else ’twill sarve me out. Gulp a bulper at parting and the moore the melodest! Farewell but whenever, as Tisdall told Toole. Tempos fidgets. Let flee me fiacckles, says the grand old manoark, stormcrested crowcock and undulant hair, hoodies tway! Yes, faith, I am as mew let freer, beneath me corthage, bound. I’m as bored now bawling beersgrace at sorepaws there as Andrew Clays was sharing sawdust with Daniel’s old collie. This shack’s not big enough for me now. I’m dreaming of ye, azores. And remember this, a chorines, there’s the witch on the heath, sistra! Bansheeba peeling hourihaared while her Orcotron is hoaring ho. And whinn muinnuitt flittsbit twinn her ttittshe cries tallmidy! Daughters of the heavens, be lucks in turnabouts to the wandering sons of red loam! The earth’s atrot! The sun’s a scream! The air’s a jig! The water’s great! Seven oldy oldy hills and the one blue beamer. I’m going. I know I am. I could bet I am. Somewhere I must get, far away from Banba shore, wherever I am. No saddle, no staffet, but spur on the moment! So I think I’ll take freeboots’ advice. Psk! I’ll borrow a path to lend me wings, quickquack, and from Jehusalem’s wall, clickclack, to Cheerup street me courser’s clear till I’ll travel the void world over. It’s Winland for moyne, bickbuck! Jeejakers! I hurt meself nettly that time! Come, my good frogmarchers! We felt the fall but we’ll front the defile. Was not my oltu mutther, Sereth Maritza, a Runningwater? And the bould one that quickened her the seaborne Fingale? I feel like that hill of a whaler went yudling round Groenmund’s Circus with his tree full of seaweeds and Dinky Doll asleep in her shell. Hazelridge has seen me. Ierne valing is. Squall aboard for Kew, hop! Farewell awhile to her and thee! The brine’s my bride to be. Lead on, Macadam, and danked be he who first sights Halt Linduff! Solo, solone, solong! Lood Erynnana, ware thee wail! With me singame soarem o’erem! Here’s me takeoff. Now’s nunc or nimmer, siskinder! Here goes the enemy! Bennydick hotfoots onimpudent stayers! Sorry! I bless alls to the whished with this panroman apological which Whatllwewhistlem sang to the kerrycoys. Break ranks! After wage-of-battle bother I am thinking most. Fik yew! I’m through. Won. Toe. Adry. You watch my smoke.
After poor Jaun the Boast’s last fireless words of postludium of his soapbox speech ending in’s heaven, twentyaid add one with a flirt of wings were pouring to his bysistance (could they snip that curl of curls to lay with their gloves and keep the kids bright!), prepared to cheer him should he leap or to curse him should he fall, with their biga triga rheda rodeo, the cherub’s in the charabang, setdown here and sedan chair, don’t you wish you’d a yoke or a bit in your mouth, but, repulsing all attempts at first hands on, as no es nada, our greatly misunderstood one we perceived to give himself some sort of a hermetic prod or kick to sit up and take notice, which acted like magic, while the phalanx of daughters of February Filldyke, embushed and climbing, ramblers and weeps, voiced approval in their customary manner by dropping kneedeep in tears over their concelebrated meednight sunflower, piopadey boy, their solase in dorckaness, and splattering together joyously the plaps of their tappyhands as, with a cry of genuine distress, so prettly prattly pollylogue, they viewed him, the just one, their darling, away.
A dream of favours, a favourable dream. They know how they believe that they believe that they know. Wherefore they wail.
Eh jourd’weh! Oh jourd’woe! Dosiriously it psalmodied. Guesturn’s lothlied answring to-maronite’s wail.
Oasis, cedarous esaltarshoming Leafboughnoon!
Oisis, coolpressus onmountof Sighing!
Oasis, palmost esaltarshoming Gladdays!
Oisis, phantastichal roseway anjerichol!
Oasis, newleavous spaciosing encampness!
Oisis, plantainous dewstuckacqmirage playtennis!
Pipetto, Pipetta has misery unnoticed!
But the strangest thing happened. Backscuttling for the hopoff, with the odds altogether in favour of his tumbling into the river, Jaun just then I saw to collect from the gentlest weaner among the weiners (who by this were in half droopleaflong mourning for the passing of the last post) the familiar yellow label into which he let fall a drop, smothered a curse, choked a guffaw, spat expectoratiously and blew his own trumpet. And next thing was he gummalicked the stickyback side and stamped the oval badge of belief to his agnellous brow with a genuine dash of irrepressible piety that readily turned his ladylike typmanzelles capsy curvy (the holy scamp!) with a half a glance of Irish frisky (a Juan Jaimesan hastaluego) from under the shag of his parallel brows. It was then he made as if he … but he waved instead a hand across the sea as notice to quit while the pacifettes made their armpacts widdershins (Frida! Freda! Paza! Paisy! Irene! Areinette! Birdomay! Bentamai! Sososokky! Bebebekka! Bababadkessy! Ghugugoothoyou! Dama! Damadomina! Takiya! Tokaya! Scioccara! Sciuccherellina! Peocchia! Peucchia! Ho Mi Hoping! Ha Me Happinice! Mirra! Myrha! Solyma! Salemita! Sainta! Sianta! O Peace!), but in selfrighting the balance of his corporeity to reexchange widerembraces with the pillarbosom of the Dizzier he loved prettier, between estellos and venoussas, bad luck to the lie but, when next to nobody expected, their star and gartergazer at the summit of his climax toppled a lipple on to the off and, making a brandnew start for himself to run down his easting by blessing hes sthers with the sign of the southern cross, his bungaloid borsaline with the hedgygreen bound blew off in a loveblast (award for trover!) and Jawjon Redhead, bucketing after, meccamaniac (the headless shall have legs!), kingscouriered round with an easy rush and ready relays by the bridge a stadion beyond Ladycastle (and what herm but he narrowly missed fouling her buttress for her but for he acqueducked) and then, cocking a snook at the stock of his sermons, so mear and yet so fahr from that region’s general, away with him at the double, the hulk of a garron, pelting after the road on Shanks’s mare, let off like a wind-hound loose (the bouchal! you’d think it was that moment they gave him the jambos!) with a posse of tossing hankerwaves to his windward like seraph’s summonses on the air and a tempest of good things in packetshape teeming from all accounts into the funnel of his fanmail shrimpnet, along the highroad of the nation, Traitors’ Track, following which fond floral fray he was quickly lost to sight through the statuemen, though without a doubt he was all the more on that samehead to memory dear, while Sickerson, that borne of bjoerne, la garde auxiliaire, she murmured, hellyg Ursulinka, full of woe (and how fitlier should Goodboy’s hand be shook than by the warmin of her besom that wrung his swaddles?): Where maggot Harvey kneeled till bags? Ate Andrew coos hogdam farvel!
Whethen, now, may the good people speed you, rural Haun, export stout fellow that you are, the crooner born with sweet wail of evoker, healing music, ay, and heart in hand of Shamrogueshire! The googoos of the suckabolly in the rockabeddy are become the copiosity of wiseableness of the friarylayman in the pulpitbarrel. May your bawny hair grow rarer and fairer, our own only wideheaded boy! Rest your voice! Feed your mind! Mint your peas! Coax your qyous! Come to Lisdoonblarney and walk our groves so charming and see again the sweet rockclose where first you hymned O Chiesa Mia! And touch the light theorbo! Songster, angler, choreographer! Piper to prisoned! Musicianship made Embrassador-at-Large! Good by nature and natural by design, had you but been spared to us, Hauneen lad, but sure where’s the use my talking quicker when I know you’ll hear me all astray? My long farewell I send to you, fair dream of sport and game and always something new. Gone is Haun! My grief, my ruin! Our Joss-el-Jovan! Our Chris-na-Murty! ’Tis well you’ll be looked after from last to first as yon beam of light we follow receding on your photophoric pilgrimage to your antipodes in the past, you who so often consigned your distributory tidings of great joy into our nevertoolatetolove box, mansuetudinous manipulator, victimisedly victorihoarse, dearest Haun of them all, you of the boots, true as a die, stepwalker, pennyatimer, lampaddyfair, postanulengro, our rommanychiel! Thy now palewaning light lucerne we ne’er may see again. But could it speak how nicely would it splutter to the four cantons praises be to thee, our pattern sent! For you had—may I, in our, your and their names, dare to say it?—the nucleus of a glow of zeal of soul of service such as rarely, if ever, have I met with in single men. Numerous are those who, nay, there are a dozen of folks still unclaimed by the death angel in this country of ours today, humble indivisibles in this grand continuum, overlorded by fate and interlarded with accidence, who, while there are hours and days, ere he retourneys postexilic, will fervently pray to the Spirit above that they may never depart this earth of theirs till in his long run, from that place where the day begins, on that day that belongs to joyful Ireland, the people that is of all time, the old old oldest, the young young youngest, after decades of longsuffering and decennia of briefglory, to mind us of what was when and to matter us of the whithering of our whys, their Janyouare Fibyouare wins true from Sylvester and (only Waltzer himself is like Waltzer, whimsicalissimo they go murmurand) comes marching ahome on the summer crust of the flagway. Life, it is true, will be a blank without you because avicuum’s not there at all, to nomore cares from nomad knows, ere Molochy wars bring the devil era, a slip of the time between a date and a ghostmark, rived by darby’s chilldays embers, spatched fun Juhn that dandyforth, from the night we are and feel and fade with to the yesterselves we tread to turnupon.
But, boy, you did your strong nine furlong mile in slick and slapstick record time and a farfetched deed it was in troth, champion docile with your high bouncing gait of going, and your feat of passage will be contested with you and through you for centuries to come. The phaynix rose a sun before Erebia sank his smother! Shoot up on that, bright Bennu bird! Va faotre! Eftsoon so too will our own sphoenix spark spirt his spyre and sunward stride the vampante flambe. Ay, already the sombrer opacities of the gloom are sphanished! Brave footsore Haun! Work your progress! Hold to! Now! Win out, ye divil ye! The silent cock shall crow at last. The west shall shake the east awake. Walk while ye have the night, for morn, lightbreak-fastbringer, morroweth whereon every past shall full fost sleep. Amain.
Lowly, longly, a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the mead of the hillock he lay, heartsoul dormant mid shadowed landshape, brief wallet to his side, an arm loose by his staff of citron briar, tradition stick-pass-on. His dream monologue was over, of cause, but his drama parapolylogic had yet to be, affact. Most distressfully (but, my dear, how successfully!) to wail he did, his locks of a lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted, those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time, whiles ouze of his side-wiseopen mouth the breath of him evenso languishing as the princeliest treble treacle or lichee chewchow purse could buy. Yawn in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!) what helpings of honeyful swoothead and (phew!) which earpiercing dulcitude! As were you suppose to go and push with your bluntblank pin in hand upintohis fleshasplush cushionettes of some chubby boybold love of an angel. Hwoah!
When, as the buzzer brings the light brigade, keeping the home fires burning, so on the churring call themselves came at him, from the westborders of the eastmidlands, three kings of three suits and a crowner, from all their cardinal parts, along the amber way where Brosna’s furzy. To lift them they did, senators four, by the first quaint skreek of the gloaming, and they hopped it up the mountainy molehill, traversing climes of old times gone by, of the days not worth remembering, inventing some excusethems, any sort, having a sevenply sweat of nightblues moist upon them—feefee! phopho!! foorchtha!!! aggala!!!! jeeshee!!!!! paloola!!!!!! ooridiminy!!!!!!! Afeard themselves were to wonder at the class of a crossroads puzzler he would likely be, length by breadth nonplussing his thickness, ells upon ells of him, making so many square yards of him, one half of him in Conn’s half but the whole of him nevertheless in Owenmore’s five quarters. There would he lay till they would him descry, spancelled down upon a blossomy bed at one foul stretch amongst the daffydowndillies, the flowers of narcosis fourfettering his footlights, a halohedge of wild spuds hovering over him, epicures waltzing with gardenfillers, puritan shoots advancing to Aran chiefs. Phopho!! The meteorpulp of him, the seamless rainbowpeel. Aggala!!!! His bellyvoid of nebulose with his neverstop navel. Paloola!!!!!! And his veins shooting melanite phosphor, his creamtocustard cometshair and his asteroid knuckles, ribs and members. Ooridiminy!!!!!!! His electrolatiginous twisted entrails belt.
Those four claymen clomb together to hold their sworn starchamber quiry on him. For he was ever their quarrel, the way they would see themselves when they would see themselves, everybug his bodiment atop of annywom her notion, and the meet of their night was worth two of his morning. Up to the esker ridge it was, Mullingar parish, to a mead that was not far, the son’s rest. First klettered Shanator Gregory, seeking spoor through the deep timefield; then Shanator Lyons, trailing the wavy line of his partitional footsteps (something in his blisters was telling him all along how he had been in that place one time); then His Recordership, Dr Shunadure Tarpey, caperchasing after honourable sleep, hot on to the aniseed; and, up out of his prompt corner, old Shunny Mac, Shunny MacDougal the hiker, in the rere of them on the run to make a quorum. Roping their ass he was, their skygrey globetrotter, by way of an afterthought, and by no means legless either for such sprouts on him they were that much oneven it was tumbling he was by four lengths, within the bawl of a mascot, kuss yuss, kuss cley, patsy watsy, like the kapr in the kabisses, the big ass, to hear with his unaided ears the harp in the air, the bugle dianablowing, wild as wild, the mockingbird whose word is misfortune, so ’tis said, the bulbul down the wind.
The proto was traipsing through the tangle then, Mathew Walker, godsons’ goddestfar, deputising for gossipocracy, and his station was a few perch to the weatherside of the knoll Asnoch and it was from no other place unless there, how and ever, that he proxtended aloof upon the ether Mesmer’s Manuum, the hand making silence. The buckos beyond on the lea then stopped wheresoever they found their standings and that way they set ward about him, doing obedience, nod, bend, bow and curtsey, like the watchers of Prospect, upholding their broadawake probers’ hats on their firrum heads, the travelling court on its findings circuiting that personer in his fallen. And a crack quatyouare of stenoggers they made of themselves, solons and psychomorers, all told, with their hurts and daimons, spites and clops, not even to the seclusion of their beast by them that was the odd trick of the pack, trump and no friend of carrots. And, what do you think, who above all other persons should be laying there forenenst them only Yawn! All of asprawl he was laying too amengst the poppies and, I can tell you something more than that, drear writer, profoundly as you may bedeave to it, he was oscasleep asleep. And it was far more similar to a satrap he lay there with unctuous beauty, by satellites all surrounded, the poser, or for whatall I know like the Lord Lumen coaching his preferred constellations in faith and doctrine, for old Matt Gregory ’tis he had the starmenagerie: Marcus Lyons and Lucas Metcalfe Tarpey and the mack that never forgave the ass that lurked behind him, Johnny na Hossaleen.
More than their good share of their five senses ensorcelled you would say themselves were, fuming censor, the way they could not rightly tell their heels from their stools, as they cooched down a mamalujo by his cubical crib, as question time drew nighing and the map of the souls’ groupography rose in relief within their quarterings, to play tops or kites or hoops or marbles, curchycurchy, gawking on him for the issuance of his pnum and softnoising one of them to another one, the boguaqueesthers. And it is what they began to say to him tetrahedrally then, the masters, what way was he.
— He’s giving, the wee bairn. Yun has lived.
— Yerra, why dat, my leader?
— Wisha, is he boosed or what, alannah?
— Or his wind’s from the wrong cut, says Ned of the Hill.
— Lesten!
— Why so and speak up, do you hear me, you, sir?
— Or he’s rehearsing somewan’s funeral.
— Whisht outathat! Hubba’s up!
And as they were spreading abroad on their octopuds their drifter nets, the chronies, gleamy seiners’ nets, and, no lie, there was words of assonance being softspoken among those quartermasters.
— Get busy, kid!
— Chirpy, come now!
— The present hospices is a good time.
— I’ll take on that chap.
For it was in the back of their mind’s ear, temptive lissomer, how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable nets, their nansen nets, from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the puisny donkeyman and his crucifer’s cauda. And in their minds years backslibris so it was, slipping beauty, how they would be meshing that way, when he rose to it with the planckton at play about him, the quavers of scaly silver and their clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold, whilst, as hour gave way to mazing hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would and let out classy the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding mellifond indo his mouth.
— Y?
— Before you!
— Ecko! How sweet thee answer makes! Afterwheres? In the land of lions’ odor?
— Friends!
— First, if yu don’t mine. Name yur historical grouns.
— This same prehistoric barrow ’tis, the orangery.
— I see. Very good now. It is in your orangery, I take it, you have your letters? Can you hear here me, you, sir?
— Thorsends. For my darling. Typette!
— So long aforetime? Can you hear better?
— Millions. For godsends. For my darling dearling one.
— Now, to come nearer zone, I would like to raise my deuterous point audibly touching this. There is this maggers. I am told by our interpreter, Hanner Esellius, that there are fully six hundred and six ragwords in your malherbal Magis landeguage in which wald wand rimes alpman and there is resin in all roots for monarch but yao hace not one pronounceable teerm that blows in all the vallums of Tartallaght to signify majestate, even provisionally, nor no rheda rhoda or torpentine path nor hallucinian via nor Aurellian gape nor sunkin rut nor grossgrown trekk nor crimeslaved cruxway and no moorhen’s cry or mooner’s plankgang there to lead us to hopen-haven. Is such the unde derivatur casematter, Messio? Frankly. Megis megis inerretur mynus hoc intelleyegow.
— How? C’est mal prononsable, tartagliano, perfrances. Vos navez pas d’O dong votr boche provenciale, mousoo. Je m’incline mais Moy, jay trouvay la clee dang les chants. Hay sham nap paddy velour, come on!
— Hep there! Commong, sa na pa de valure? Whu’s teit dans yur jambes? Whu’s thot inclining and talking about the Messiah so cloover? A trues to your trefling! Whure yu?
— Trinathan Partnick Dieudonnay. Have you seen her? Typette, my tactile, O!
— Are you in your fatherick, lonely one?
— The same. Three persons. Have you seen my darling only one? I am sohohohold!
— What are yu shevering about, ultramontane, like a houn in hell? Is there cold on ye, doraphobian? Or do yu want yur primafairy schoolmam?
— The woods of Fogloot. O mis padredges!
— Whisht awhile, greylag! The duck is rising and you’ll wake that stand of plover. I know that place better than annyone. Sure, I used to be always over there on the fourth day at my grandmother’s place, Tear-nan-Ogre, my little grey home in the west, in or about Mayo, when the long dogs gave tongue and they coursing the marches and they straining at the leash. Tortoiseshell for a guineagould! Burb! Burb! Burb! Follow me up, Tucurlugh! That’s the place for the claire oysters, Polldoody, County Conway. I never knew how rich I was, like another story in the zoedone of the zephyros, strolling and strolling and carrying my dragoman, Meath’s marvel, thass withumpronounceable tail, along the shore. Did you know my cousin, Mr Jasper Dougal that keeps The Anchor on the Mountain, the parson’s son, Jasper of the Tuns, Pat Whateveryournameis?
— Dood and I dood. The wolves of Fochlut! By Whydoyoucallme? Do not flingamejig to the wolves!
— Turcafiera! That’s a good wan right enough! Wooluvs no less!
— One moment now, if I foreshoreten the bloss on your bleather. Encroachement spells erosion. Dunlin and turnstone augur us where, how and when best as to burial of carcass, fuselage of dump and committal of noisance. But, since you invocate austers for the trailing of vixens, I would like to send a cormorant around this blue lagoon. Tell me now this. You told my larned friend rather previously, a moment since, about this mound or barrow. Now I suggest to you that ere there was this plagueburrow, as you seem to call it, there was a burial battell, the boat of millions of years. Would you bear me out in that, relatively speaking? With her jackstaff jerking at her jennyladders, why not, and sizing a fair sail? Knowest thou the kind? The Pourquoi Pas, bound for Weissduwasland, that fourmaster barquentine, Webster says, our ship that ne’er returned. The Frenchman, I say, was an orange boat. He is a boat. You see him. The both how you see is they! Draken af Danemork! Sacked it or ate it? What? Hennu! Spake ab laut!
— Couch, cortege, ringbarrow, dungcairn. Beseek the runes and see the longurn! All maun away when ye hear the gonghorn. And meet Nautsen. Ess Ess. O ess. Warum night! Conning two lay payees. Norsker. Her raven flag was out, the slaver. I trow pon Good, Jordan’s scaper, Good’s Barnet and Trustyman. Crouch low, you pigeons three! Say, call that girl with the tan tress awn! Call Wolfhound! Wolf of the sea. Folchu! Folchu!
— Very good now. That’s folklore straight from the ass his mouth. Now, to come to the midnight middy on this levantine ponenter, I will crusade on with the parent ship, weather prophetting, far away from those green hills. A station, Ireton tells me, bonafide for keeltappers. From Daneland sailed the oxeyed man. Now mark well what I say.
— Magnus Spadebeard, korsets krosser, welsher perfyddye. A destroyer in our port. Signed to me with his baling scoop. Laid bare his breastpaps to give suck, to suckle me. Ecce hagios chrisman!
— O Jeyses’ fluid! says the poisoned well. Futtfishy the First. Hootch-copper’s enkel at the navel manoeuvres!
— Hep! Hello there, Bill of Old Bailey! Whu’s he? Whu’s this lad wi’ the pups?
— Hunkalus Childared Easterheld. It’s his lost chance, Emania. Ware him well!
— Hey! Did you dream you were ating your own tripe, acushla, that you tied yourself up that wrynecky fix?
— I see now. We move in the beast circuls. Grimbarb and pancercrucer! You took the words out of my mouth. A child’s dread for a dragon vice-father. Hillcloud encompass us! You mean you lived as Milky at their lyceum, couard, while you learned, volp volp, to howl yourself wolfwise. Dyb! Dyb! Do your best!
— I am dob dob dobbling like old Booth’s, courteous. The cubs are after me, it zeebs, the whole totem pack, vuk vuk and vuk vuk to them, for Robinson’s shield.
— Scents and gouspils! The animal gangs again! Find the Fingall harriers! Here, howl me wiseacre’s hat till I die of the milkman’s lupus!
— Whaat! Wolfgang! Whoah! Taalk very slowo!
— Hail him heathen, heal him holystone!
Courser, recourser, changechild, .........?
Eld as endall, earth ..................?
— A cataleptic mithyphallic! Was this Totum Fulcrum Est Ancestor yu had in Dies Eirae where no spider webbeth or Anno Mundi ere bawds plied in Skiff Strait? Be fair, Chris!
— Dream. On a nonday I sleep. I dreamt of a somday. On a wonday I shall wake. Ah! May he have now of here fearfilled me! Sinflowed, O Sinflowed! Fia! Fia! Befurcht Christ!
— I have your tristich now. It recurs in three times the same differently. And comming nown from the asphalt to the concrete, from the human historic brute, Finnsen Faynean, occeanyclived, to this same vulcanised hillsir from yours (there is such a fui fui story which obtains of him), Mr Tuppling Toun of Morningside Heights, with his lavas flow and his rambling undergroands, would he reoccur ad horam, as old Romeo Rogers, in city or county, by, with or from an urb, an you’re sure of you know the differenciabus, as brauchbarred in Apabhramsa, sierrah! We speak of Gun, the farther. And in the locative. Bap! Bap!
— Ouer Tad, Hellig Babbau, whom certayn orbits assertant re humeplace of Chivitats Ei, Smithwick, Rhonnda, Kaledon, Salem (Mass), Childers, Argos and Duthless. Well, I am advised he might in a sense be both never-moreless every atman like myself, suffix it to say. Abrahamsk and Brookbear! By him it was done bapka, by me it was gone into, to whom it will beblive, mushame, mushame! I am afraid you could not heave ahora one of your own old stepstones, barnabarnabarn, over a stumbledown wall here in Huddlestown to this classic Noctubrr night but itandthey would binge, much as vecious, off the glosshouse back of a racerider in his true-to-flesh colours, either handicapped on her flat or barely repeating himself. That is a tiptip tim oldy faher now, the man I go in fear of, Tommy Terracotta, and he could be all your and my das, the brodar of the founder of the father of the finder of the pfander of the pfunder of the furst man in Ranelagh. Fué! Fué! Petries and violet ice (I am yam, as Me and Tam Tower used to jagger pemmer it over at the house of Eddy’s Christy, meaning Dodgfather, Dodgson and Coo) and spiriduous sanction!
— Breeze softly. Aures are aureas. Hau’s his naun?
— Me das has or oreils. Piercey! Piercey! Piercey! Piercey!
— White eyeluscious and no hears! Muddyhorsebroth! Pig Pursy Riley! But where do we get off, chiseller?
— Haltstille, Lucas and Dublinn! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva!
— Macdougal, Atlantic City, or his onagrass that is, chuam and coughan! I would go near identifying you from your stavrotides, Jong of Maho, and the westarias round your yokohahat. And that O’mulanchonry plucher you have from the worst curst of Ireland, Glwlwdd of the Mghtwy Grwpp, is no use to you either, Johnny my donkeyschott. Number four, fix up your spreadeagle and pull your weight!
— Hooshin hom to our regional’s hin and the gander of Hayden, would ye ken a young stepschuler of psychical chirography the name of Kevin or (let outers pray) Evan Vaughan, of his Posthorn in the High Street, that was shooing a Guiney gagag, Poulepinter, that foun the dogumen number one? An illegible, I would suggest, downfumbed by an unelgible.
— If I do know sainted sageness? Sometimes he would keep silent for a few minutes and clasp his forehead, as if in prayer, and during that time he would be thinking to himself and he would not mind anybody who would be talking to him or crying stinking fish. But I no way need you, stroke oar, nor your quick handles. You’re too farfast a cock of the north there, Matty Armagh, and you’re due south so.
— South, I see. You’re up-in-Leal-Ulster and I’m free-Down-in-Easia. This is much better. He is cured by faith who is sick of fate. The prouts who will invent a writing there ultimately is the poeta, still more learned, who has discovered the raiding there originally. That’s the point of eschatology our book of kills reaches for now in soandso many counterpoint words. What can’t be coded can be decorded if an ear aye sieze what no eye ere grieved for. Now, the doctrine obtains, we have, let me suggest, occasioning cause causing effects and affects occasionally recausing altereffects. Or I will take it upon myself to twist the penman’s tale posterwise. The gist is the gist of Shaum but the hand is the hand of Sameas. Shan-Shim-Schung. There is a strong suspicion on counterfeit Kevin. And we all remember ye in childhood’s revery. ’Tis the bells of scandal that gave tune to grumble over him and someone between me and thee. He’s our sent on the fern. He would preach to the two Turkies and dipdip all the Dindians, this master the abbey, and give gold tidings to all that are in the bonze age of ante-proresurrectionism to entrust their easter uppearance to Borsaiolini’s house of hatcraft. Now, have you reasonable hesitancy in your mind about him after fourpriest red mass or are you in your post? Tell me that and sans dismay. Leap, pard!
— Fierappel! Putting years on me! Nwo, nwo! This bolt in hand be my worder! I’ll see you moved farther, blarneying Marcantonio! What cans such wretch to say to I or how have My to doom with him? We were wombful of mischief, everliking a liked, hairytop on heeltipper, alpybecca’s umwachsibles, an ikeson am ikeson. That babe, imprincipially and initiumwise, my leperd brethern, the Puer, ens innocens of but fifteen primes, ya all in your kalb lionised so trilustriously, standing the real school, to be upright as his match, healtheous as is egg, saviour as the salt and good wee broad parallaling buttyr, did I altermobile him to a flare insiding hogsfat? Been ike hins kindergardien? I know not, O cashla, I am sure offed habitand this underedheaven, meis enfins, contrasting the first mover, that father I ascend fromming, knows, as I think, caused whom I, a self the sign, came remaining being dwelling ayr, plage and watford as to I was altered impostulance possessing my future state falling towards thrice myself when I, a palegrim, received the habit following Mezienius connecting Mezosius including was verted embracing circumcissed my hairs, O laud, and removed my clothes from patristic motives, meas minimas culpads! Permitting this ick (ickle coon icoocoon) crouched low entering humble down dead true resting the childhide mid mean scatological past, accompanying my thraintropps offering meye eyesalt, making so smell partaking myself to confess abiding clean tumbleuponing yous octopods, mouthspeech allno fingerforce, owning my mansuetude before him attaching Audeon’s prostratingwards mine sore what I (the person whomin I now am) did not do, how he to say essied anding how he was making errant andanding how he all lowcutey sunt, why did you, my sexth best friend, blabber always you would be so delated to back me, then ersed irredent, toppling Humphrey hugging Nephew, old beggelaut, designing such post sitting his night office? Annexing then, producing Saint Momoluius, you snub round enclosing your moving motion touching the other catechumens continuing you say providing append of signature quoniam you will celebrand my dirthdies quoniam, concealed a concealer, I am twosides uppish, a mockbelief insulant, ending none meer hiber Irish. Well, chunk your dimned chink, before Avtokinatown, forasmuch as many have tooken in hand to, I may as well humbly correct that vespian now in case of temporalities. I’ve my pockets full comeplay of you laycreated cardonals, ap rince, ap rowler, ap rancer, ap rowdey! Improperial! I saved you fore of the Hekkites and you loosed me hind, blind harry, to the burghmote of Oud Dub. I teachet you in fair time, my elders, the W.X.Y.Z. and P.Q.R.S. of legatine powers and you, Ailbeybar and Ciaradeclan, I learn, episcoping me altogether, circumdeditioned me. I brought you from the loups of Lazary and you have remembered my lapsus langways. Washiwattchywataywatashy! Oiraseshaorebokujibun! Watacooshy lot! Mind of poison is. That time thing think! Honorific remembrance to spit humble makes. My ruridecanal caste is a cut above you peregrines. Say voche to rumanescu. See the leabhour of my generations! Has not my master, Theophrastius Spheropneumaticus, written that the spirit is from the upper circle? I’m of the ochlocracy with Prestopher Palumbus and Porvus Parrio. Soa koa Kelly Terry per Chelly Derry lepossette. Ho, look at my jailbrand Exquovis and sequencias High marked on me fakesimilar in the foreign by Pappagallus and Pumpusmugnus. Aham! Anglicey: Eggs squawfish lean yoe nun feed marecurious! Sagart can self laud nilobstat to Lowman Catlick’s patrician morning coat of arms with my High tripenniferry cresta proper and caudal mottams: Itch dean! Which Gaspey, Otto and Sauer he renders: Eeho stay so! Addressing eat or not eat body Yours am. And Mind, praisegad, is the first praisonal Egoname Yod heard boissboissy in Moy Bog’s domesday. Hastan the vista! Or in alleman: Suck at!
— Suck it yourself, sugarstick! Misha, Yid think whose was asking to luck at your sore toe or to taste your gaspy, hot and sour! Ichthyan! Hegoat’s tosser! Gags be plebsed! Between his voyeurs and her consinnantes! Thugg, Dirke and Hacker with Rose Lankester and Blanche Yorke! Are we speechin d’anglas landage or are you sprakin sea Djoytsch? Oy soy, Bleseyblasey, where to go is knowing remain? Become quantity that discourse bothersome when what do? Knowing remain? Come back, baddy wrily, to Bullydamestough! Cum him, buddy rawly, with me! What about your thruppenny croucher of an old fellow, me boy through the ages, tell us, eh? What about Brian’s the Vaunt-and-Onlieme master monk, eh, eh, Spira in Me Domino, spear me Doyne! Fat prize the bonafide peachumpidgeonlover, esquire earwugs, escusado, of Jenkins’ Area, with his I’ve ivy under his tangua and the hohallo to his dullaphone, before there was, eh, eh, eh, a sound in the world? How big was his boost friend and be shanghaied to him? The swaaber! The twicer, trifoaled in Wanstable! Loud’s curse to him! If you hored him outerly as we harem lubberintly, from morning rice till night-male, with his drums and bones and hums in drones, your innereer’d heerdly heer he. Ho ha hi he hung! Tsing tsing!
— Nicey Doc Mistel Lu, please! Me no angly mo. Me speakee Yellman’s lingas. Me no pigey ludiments allsame numpa one Topside Tellmastoly fella. Me pigey savvy a singasong anothel time. Pleasie, Mista Lukie Walkie! Jossdam cowbellymaam belongame shepullamealalmalong, begolla, jackinaboss belongashe. Plentymuch boohoomeo.
— Hell’s Confucium and the Elements! Tootoo moohootch! Thot’s never the postal cleric, checking chinchin chat with nipponnippers! Halte there, sob story, to your lambdach’s tale! Are yu roman cawthrick 432?
— Quadrigue my yoke.
Triple my tryst.
Tandem my sire.
— History as her is harped. Too the toone your owldfrow lied of. Tantris, hattrick, tryst and parting, by vowelglide! I feel your thrillojoy. Mouth’s overtspeaking, O dragoman, hand’s understudium. Plunger words what paddle verbed. Mere man is mimic: God is jest. The old order changeth and lasts like the first. Every third man has a chink in his conscience and every other woman has a jape in her mind. Now, fix on the little fellow in my eye, Minucius Mandrake, and follow my little psychosinology, poorarmer in slingslang. Now I, the lord of Tuttu, am placing that initial square of burial jade upright to your temple a moment. Do you see anything, templar?
— I see a blackfrinch pliestrycook … who is carrying on his brainpan … a cathedral of lovejelly for his … Tiens, how he is like somebodies!
— Pious, a pious person. What sound of tistress isoles my ear? I horizont the same 
, this serpe with ramshead, and lay it lightly to your lip a little. What do you feel, liplove?
— I feel a fine lady … floating on a stillstream of isisglass … with gold hair to the bed … and white arms to the twinklers … O la la!
— Purely, in a pure manner. O, seay but swift and still a vain essaying! I invert the initial 
of your tripartite and sign it sternly, an adze to girdle, on your breast. What do you hear, breastplate?
— I ahear of a hopper behidin the door slappin his feet in a pool of bran.
— Bellax, acting like a bellax. And so the triptych vision passes. Out of a hillside into a hillside. Fanshee fading. Again am I deliciated by the picaresqueness of your irmages. Now, the oneir urge iterimpellant, I feel called upon to ask did it ever occur to you, qua you, prior to this, by a stretch of your iberborealic imagination, when it’s quicker than this quacking, that you might, bar accidens, be very largely substituted in potential secession from your next life by a complementary character, voices apart? Upjack! I shudder for your thought! Think! Put from your mind that and take on trust this. The next word depends on your answer.
— I’m thinking to. Thogged, be thenked! I was just trying to think when I thought I felt a flea. I might have. I cannot say for it is of no sangnificance at all. Sometider, once or twice when I was in Odinburgh with me addlefoes, Jake Jones, the handscabby, when I thinkled I wore trying on my garden substisuit, boys’s apert, at my nextword nighboor’s, and maybe more largely nor you, quosh you, messmate, yet realise. A few times, so to shape, as I chanced to be stretching, in the shadow as I thought, the liferight out of myself in my ericulous imagination I felt feeling a half Scotch and pottage like round my middle ageing like Bewley in the baste so that I indicate out to myself and I swear my gots how that I’m not meself at all, no jolly fear, when I realise bimiselves how becomingly I to be going to become.
— O, is that the way with you, you craythur? You have all our empathies. In the becoming was the weared, wontnot? Hood maketh not frere. The voice is the voice of jokeup, I fear. Are you imitating Roma now or Amor now, eh, Mr Trickpat, if you don’t mind, that is, aside from pings and mush, answering to my straight question?
— God save the monk! I won’t mind, this is, answering to your strict crossquests, whereas it would be as unethical for me now to answer as it would have been nonsensical for you then not to have asked. Out of my name you call me, Leelander. But in my sheltar you’ll miss me. When Lapac walks backwords he’s the darkest horse in Capalisoot. Same no can, home no will, gangin I am. Gengang is mine and I will return. You knew me once but you won’t know me twice. I am simpliciter arduus, ars of the school, Freeday’s child in loving and thieving.
— My child, know this! Some portion of that answer appears to have been taken by you from the writings of Saint Synodius, that first liar. Let us hear, therefore, as you honour and obey the queen, whether the indwellingness of that which shamefieth be entwined of one or atoned of two. Let us hear, Art simplicissime!
— Dearly beloved brethren! Bruno and Nola, leymon bogholders and stationary lifepartners off orangey Saint Nessau Street, were explaining it avicendas all round each other ere yesterweek out of Ibn Sen and Ipanrussch. When himupon Nola Bruno monopolises his egobruno most unwillingly senses by the mortal powers alionola equal and opposite brunoipso, id est, eternally provoking alio opposite equally as provoked as Bruno at being eternally opposed by Nola. Poor omniboose singalow singlearum! So is he!
— Aver who is? Ib is itsen? One might hear in their beyond that lionroar in the air again, the zoohoohoom of Felin make Call. Or you positively mean nolans but volans, an alibi, do you, Mutemalice? Bruin goes to Noble, suffering unegoistically from the singular but enjoying, the skipgod, on the plural? Dustify of that sole, you breather! Ruemember, blither, thou must lie!
— Oyessoyess! I never dramped of prebeing a postman but I mean in Ostralian someplace my allaboy brother, Negoist Cabler of this city, whom ’tis better ne’er to name, my said brother, expulled for looking at churches from behind, mults deeply belubdead, who is sender of the Hullo Eve Cenograph in prose and worse every Allso’s night. High Brazil, Brandan’s Deferred, midden Erse clare language, Noughtnoughtnought. Nein. Assass. Dubbire, per Neuropaths. Punk. Starving today plays punk opening tomorrow two plays punk wire splosh how two plays punk Cabler. Have you forgotten poor Alby Sobrinos, Geoff, you blighter, identifiable by the necessary white patch on his rear? How he went to his swiltersland after his lungs, my sad late brother, before his coglionial expancian? Won’t you join me in a small halemerry, a bottle of the best, for wellmet Capeler, united Irishmen, what though preferring the stranger, the coughs and the itches and the minnies and the ratties and the opulose and the bilgenses, for of his was the patriots mistaken. The heart that wast our Graw McGree! Yet be there some who mourn him, concluding him dead, and more there be that wait astand. His fuchs up the staires and the lodgers in his haires, he ought to win that V.V.C. Fullgrapce for an endupper, half muxy on his whole! Would he were even among the lost! From ours bereft beyond belongs. Oremus poor fraternibus that he may yet escape the gallows and still remain ours faithfully deported. I wronged you. I never want to see more of bad men but I want to learn from any on the airse, like Tass with much thanks, here’s ditto, if he lives in the antipathies of Austrasia or anywhere with my fawngest on his hooshmoney, safe and damned, or has hopped it, or who can throw any lime on the sopjack, my sameplace fond fosther, E. Obiit Nolan, The Workings, N.S.W., his condition off the Venerable Jerrybuilt, not belonging to these parts, who I remember ham to me, when we were like bro and sis over our castor and porridge, with his roamin I suppose, expecting for his clarenx negus, a teetotum obstainer. He feels he ought to be as asamed of me as me to be ashunned of him. We were in one class of age like to two clots of egg. I am most beholding to him, my namesick, as we sayed it in our Amharican, through the Doubly Telewisher. Outpassed hearts wag short pertimes. Worndown shoes upon his feet, to whose redress no tongue can tell! In his hands a boot! Spare me, do, a copper or two, and happy I’ll hope you’ll be! It will pleased me behind with thanks from before and love to self and all I remain here your truly friend. I am no scholar but I loved that man who has africot lupps with the moonshane in his profile. My semblabble! My freer! I call you my halfbrother because you in your soberer otiumic moments remind me deeply of my natural saywhen brothel in feed, hop and jollity, S. H. Devitt, that benighted irismaimed, who is tearly belaboured by Sydney and Alibany.
— As you sing it it’s a study. That letter selfpenned to one’s other, that neverperfect everplanned!
— This nonday diary, this allnights newseryreel.
— My dear sir! In this wireless age any owl rooster can peck up bostoons. But whoewaxed he so anguished? Was he vector victored or victim vexed?
— Mighty sure! Way way for his wehicale! A parambolator ram into his bagsmall when he was reading alawd with two ecolites and he’s been failing of that kink in his arts over sense.
— Madonagh and chiel, idealist leading a double life! But who, for the brilliance of brothers, is the Nolan as appearant nominally?
— Mr Nolan is pronuminally and rereally a Mr Gottgab.
— I get it, you reeker! An untaken mispatriate! By hearing his thing about a person one begins to place him for a certain in true. He stands pat for you before a direct object in the feminine. I see. By maiden sname. Now, I am earnestly asking you and putting it as between this yohou and that houmonymh, will you just search through your gabgut memoirs for all of two minutes for this impersonating pronolan, fairhead on foulshoulders. Would it be in twofold truth a Doblinganger much about your own medium with a sandy whiskers? Poke me nabs in the ribs and pick the erstwort out of his mouth.
— Too fullfully true! Treble Stauter of Holy Baggot, formerly Swordmeat, Street (I surpassed him lately for four and six bringing home the Christmas, as heavy as music, hand to eyes on the peer for Noel’s Arch, in Blessed Foster’s Place) is doing the dirty on me with his tantrums and all these godforgiven kilowatts I’d be better off without. Though she’s write to him she’s levt by me, Jenny Rediviva! Toot! Detter for you, Mr Nobru! Toot toot! Better for you, Mr Anol! This is the way we. Of a redtettetterday morning.
— When your countraman from Tuwarceathay is looking for righting, that is not a good sign? Not?
— I speak truly, it’s a shower sign that it’s not.
— What though it be for the sow of his heart? If even she were a good poor Pegeen?
— If she ate your windowsill you wouldn’t say sow.
— Would you be surprised after that at my asking have you a bull, a bosbully, with a whistle in his tail to scare other birds?
— I would.
— Were you with Sindy and Sandy attending Goliath, a bull?
— You’d make me sag what you like to. I was intending a funeral. Simply and samply.
— They are too wise of solbing their silbings?
— And both croon to the same theme.
— Tugbag is Baggut’s, when a crispin sokolist besoops juts kamps or clapperclaws an irvingite offthedocks. A luckchange, I see. Thinking young through the muddleage spread, the moral fat his mental leans on. We can cop that with our straat that is called corkscrewed. It would be the finest boulevard billy for a mile in every direction, from Lismore to Cape Brendan, Patrick’s, if they took the bint out of the mittle of it. You told of a tryst too, two a tutu. I wonder now, without releasing seeklets of the alcove, turturs or raabraabs, have I heard mention of whose name anywhere? Mallowlane or Demaasch? Strike us up either end Have You Erred off Van Homper or Ebell Teresa Kane.
— Marak! Marak! Marak!
Ha drappad has draraks an Mansianhase parak
And ha had ta barraw tha watarcrass shartclaths aff tha arkbashap af Yarak!
— Broadribnob’s on the bummel?
— And lillypets on the lea.
— A being again in becomings again. From the sallies to the allies through their central power?
— Pirce! Perce! Quick! Queck!
— O Tara’s thrush! The sharepusher! And he said he was only taking the average grass temperature for Green Thurdsday, the blutchy scaliger! Who you know the musselman, his musclemum and mistlemam? Maomi, Mamie, My Mo Mum! He loves a drary lane. Feel Phylliscitations to Daff Mr Hairwigger who as just added twinned little curls! He was resting between Horrockses’ sheets, wailing for white warfare, prooboor welshtbreton, unbiassed by the embarrassment of disposal, but the first woking day in Baltic Bygrad, by Thunder, he stepped into the breach and put on his recriution trousers and riding apron, the old soggy, was when the bold bhuoys of Iran wouldn’t join up.
— How voice you that, nice Sandy man? Not large goodman is he, Sandy nice? Ask him this one minute upthrow inner lotus of his burly ear womit he dropped his Bass’s to P flat.
— And for that he was allaughed? And then baited? The whole gammat?
— Loonacied! Marterdyed!! Madwakemiherculossed!!! Judascessed!!!! Pairaskivvymenassed!!!!! Luredogged!!!!!! And, needatellye, faulscrescendied!!!!!!!
— Dias Domnas! Dolled to dolthood? And Annie Delittle, his daintree diva, in deltic dwilights, singing him henpecked rusish through the bars? My Wolossay’s wild as the Crasnian Sea! Grabashag, groogy, scoop and I’ll cure ye! Mother of emeralds, ara poog neighbours!
— Capilla, Rubrilla and Melcamomilla! Dauby, dauby, without dulay! Well, I beg to traverse same above statement by saxy luters in their back haul of Coalcutter what reflects upon my administrants of slew poisoning inasmuch as my dodear devere revered meinhirr was confined to guardroom, I hindustand, by my pint of his Filthered pilsen’s bottle due to Zenaphiah Holwell, H and J. C. S, which I was bringing up my quee parapotacarry’s orders in my sedown chair with my mudfacepacket from my cash chemist and family drugger, Surager Dowling, V.S., to our aural surgeon, Afamado Hairductor Achmed Borumborad Sahib, M.A.C.A., of 1001 Ombrilla Street, Syringapadham, Alleypulley, to see what was my watergood, my mesical wasserguss, for repairs done by bollworm in the rere of pilch knickers, seven yerds to his galandhar pole on perch, together with his for me unfillable slopper, property of my deeply forfear revebereared, who was costing us mostfortunes which I am writing in mepetition to Kavanagh Djanaral, when he was sitting him humpbacked in dry dryfilthyheat to his Trinidad pinslers at their orpentings, entailing a laxative tendency to mary, especially with him being forbidden fruyt and certified by his sexular clergy to have as badazmy emotional valvular, with a basketful of priesters crossing the singorgeous to aroint him with tummy moor’s maladies, and thereinafter liable to succumb, when served with letters potent below the belch, if my rupee ropure riputed husbandship H.R.R. took a brief one in his shirtsails out of the alleged given mineral, telling me see in Foraignghistan sambatpapers his Sunday features of a welcomed aperrytiff with vallad of Erill Pearcey O (he never battered one eagle’s before paying me his duty on my annaversary to the parroteyes list in my nil ensemble in his lazychair but he hidded up my hemifaces in all my mayarannies and he looked plum into my mirrymouth like Ysamasy morning in the end of time with the songlight’s hope singling on his ruddycheeks and rawjaws) and, my charmer, when I dipped my hand in he simply showed me his propendiculous loadpoker, Seaserpents hisses Sissastones, which was as then is produced in his man’s way by this wisest of the Vikramadityationists with the remere ramind remure remark, in his gulughurutty: Yran for parasites with rum for the turkeycockeys so, Lithia, M.D., as this is for Snooker, bort!
— Which was said by whem to whom?
— It wham. But whim I can’t whumember.
— Fantasy! Funtasy on fantasy! Amnes’ fintasies! And there is nihil nuder under the clothing moon. When Ota, weewahrwificle of Torquells, bumpsed her dumpsydiddle down in her woolsark, she mode our heuteyleutey girlery of peerlesses to set up in all their bombossities of feudal fiertey, fanned, flounced and frangipanned, while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the measure, simplex mendaciis, by which our Outis cuts his thruth. Arkaway now!
— Yerds and nudes say ayes and noes! Vide! Vide!
— Let Eivin bemember for Gates of Gold for their fadeless suns berayed her. Irise, O sirises! Be thy mouth given unto thee! For why do you lack a link of luck to poise a pont of perfect, peace? On the vignetto is a ragingoos. The overseer of the house of the oversire of the seas, Nu-Men, triumphant, sayeth: Fly as the hawk, cry as the corncrake, Ani Latch of the postern is thy name; shout!
— My heart, my mother! My heart, my coming forth of darkness! They know not my heart, O coolun dearast! Mon gloomerie! Mon glamourie! What a surpraise, dear Mr Preacher, I to hear from your strawnummical modesty! Yes, there was that skew arch of chrome sweet home, floodlit up above the flabberghosted farmament and bump where the camel got the needle. Talk about iridescencies! Ruby and beryl and chrysolite, jade, sapphire, jasper and lazul.
— Orca Bellona! Heavencry at earthcall, etnat athos? Extinct your vulcanology for the lava of Moltens!
— It’s you not me’s in erupting, hecklar!
— Ophiuchus being visible above t’horizon, Muliercula occluded by Satarn’s serpent ring system, the Pisciolinies, Nova Ardoris and Prisca Parthenopea, are a bonnie feature in the northern sky. Ers, Mores and Merkery are surgents below the rim of the Zenith Part, while Arctura, Anatolia, Hesper and Mesembria weep in their mansions over Noth, Haste, Soot and Waste.
— Apep and Uachet! Holy snakes! Chase me, Charley, Eva’s got barley! Under her fluencies, all in! The Ural Mount he’s on the move and he’ll quivvy her with his strombolo! Waddlewurst, the bag of tow, as broad above as he is below! Creeping through the liongrass and bullrusshies, the obesendean, before the Emfang de Maurya’s class in Bill Shasser’s shotshrift writing academy camouflaged as a blancmange and maple syrup! Obeisance to their sitinims is the follicity of this Orp! Her sheik to Slave, his dick to Dave, and the fat of the land to Guygas. The treadmill pebbledropper haha halfahead overground and she’d only chitschats in her spanking bee bonnetry, Allapolloosa! Up the slanger! Three cheers (and a heva heva heva!) for the name Dan Magraw!
— The giant sun is in his emanence but which is chief of those white dwarfees of which he ever is surabanded?
— And to think I might have being his seventh! He will kitssle me on melbaw. What about his age? says you. What about it? says I. I will confess to his sins and blush me further. I would misdemean to rebuke to the libels of snots from the fleshambles, the canalles. Synamite is too good for them. Two overthirties in shore shorties! She’s askapot at Nile Lodge and she’s citchincarry at the left Mrs Hamazum’s. Will you warn your old habasund, barking at baggermen, his chokefull chewing his chain? Responsif you plais. The said Sully, a barracker associated with tinkers, the blackhand Shovellyvans, wreuter of annoyingmost letters and skirriless ballets in Parsee Franch, he is Magrath’s thug and smells cheaply of Power’s spirits like a deepsea dibbler and he is not fit enough to throw guts down to a bear. Sylphling me when is a maid nought a maid he would go to anyposs length for her! So long, Sulleyman! If they cut his nose on the stitcher they had their seven good reasons. Here’s to the leglift of my snuff and trout stockangt henkerchoff, orangefin with a mosaic of dispensations from my church milliner and a frozen black patata, when Lynch, Brother, With-workers, Friends and Company with T. C. King and the Warden of Galway is prepared to stretch him sacred by the powers to the starlight, L.B.W. Hemp, hemp, hurray! says the captain in the moonlight. I could put him under my pallyass and slepp on him all night, as I would roll myself for holy poly over his barrowing places. How we will make laugh over him together, me and my Riley in the Vickar’s bed! Quink! says I. He cawls to me Granny-stream-Auborne when I am hiding under my hair from him and I cool him my Finnyking he’s so joyant a bounder. Plunk! said he. Inasmuch as I am delightful to be able to state, with the joy of lifing in my forty winkers, that a handsome sovereign was freely pledged in their pennis in the sluts maschine, alonging with a cherrywickerkishabrack of maryfruit under Shadow La Rose, to both the legintimate lady performers of display unquestionable, Elsebett and Marryetta Gunning, H2O, by that noblesse of leechers at his Saxon tannery with motto in Wwalshe’s ffrenchllatin, O’Neill Saw Queen Molly’s Pants, and much admired engraving meaning complete manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief mergey margey magistrades, five itches above the kneecap, as required by statues. V.I.C.5.6. If you won’t release me stop to please me up the leg of me. Now you see! Respect. S.V.P. Your wife. Amn. Anm. Amm. Ann.
— You wish to take us, Frui Mria, by degrees as artis litterarumque patrona but I am afraid, my poor woman of that same name, what with your silvanes and your salvines, you are misled.
— Alas for livings’ pledjures!
— Lordy Daw and Lady Don! Uncle Foozle and Aunty Jack! Sure, that old humbugger was boycotted and girlcutted in debt and doom, on hill and haven, even by the show-the-flag flotilla, as I’m given now to understand. Illscribed in the gratuitouses and conspued in the takeyourhandaways. Bumbty Tumbty Sot on a Wall. Mute art for the Million. There wasn’t an archimandrite of Dane’s Island and the townland’s tropics nor a minx from the Isle of Woman nor a one of the four cantins nor any on the whole wheel of his ecunomical counciliabulum nor nogent ingen meid on alled the holed scurface of the jorth would come next or nigh him, Mr Eelwhipper, seed and nursery man, or his allgas bumgalowre, Auxilium Meum Solo A Domino (Amsad), for rime or ration, from piles or faces, after that.
— All ears did wag old Eire wake as Piers Aurell was flappergangsted.
— Recount!
— I have it here to my fingees’ ends. This liggy piggy wanted to go to the jampot. And this leggy peggy spelt pea. And threese lucky puckers played at pooping tooletom. Ma’s da. Da’s ma. Madas. Sadam.
— Pater patruum cum filiabus familiarum. Or, but, now, and, ariring out of her mirgery margery watersheads and, to change the subjunct from the traumaturgid for a once in a while and darting back to stuff, if so be you may identify yourself with the him in you, that fluctuous neck merchantur, bloodfadder and milkmudder, since there are too many of her, Abha na Lifé, and getting on to dadaddy again, as them we’re ne’er free of, was he in tea e’er he went on the bier or didn’t he onetime do something seemly heavy in sugar? He sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird’s unbespokables in his beak and then he sent out Le Caron Crow and the peacies are still looking for him. The seeker from the swayed, the beesabouties from the parent swarm. Speak to the right! Rotacist ca canny! He caun ne’er be bothered but maun e’er be waked. If there is a future in every past that is present Quis est qui non novit Quinnigin and Qui quwere quot at Quinnigain’s Quake? Stump! His producers, are they not his consumers? Your exagmination round his factification for incamination of a warping process. Declaim!
— Arra irraha hirarra, man, weren’t they arriving in clansdestinies for the Imbandiment of the Ad Regias Agni Dapes, fogabawlers and panhibernskers, after the crack and the lean years, scalpjaggers with houth-headhunters, like the messiats of the great god, a scarlet trainful, the Twoedged Petrard, totalling, leggats and prelaps, in their aggregate ages two and thirty plus undecimmed centries of them, with tuitifruities, insiders and extraomnes allcunct, from Rathgar, Rathangan, Roundtown and Rush, from America Avenue and Asia Place and the Afrian Way and Europa Parade and besogar the walds of Noo Souch Wilds, and from Vico, Mespil, Rock and Sorrento, for the lure of his weal and the fear of his oppidumic, to his salon de espera in the keel of his kraal, like lodes of ores flocking fast to Mount Maximagnetic, afeerd he was a gunner but affaird to stay away, Merrionites, Dumstdumbdrummers and Luccanicans, Ashtowners, Battersby Parkes and Krumlin Boyards, Phillipsburgs, Cabraists and Finglossies, Ballymunmen, Raheniacs and the bettlers of Clontarf, for to contemplate in manifests and pay their firstrate duties before the both of him, twelve stone a side, with their Thieve le Roué! and their Shvr yr Thrst! and their Uisgue ad Inferos! and their Usque ad Ebbraios! at and in the licensed boosiness premises of his delhightful bazar and reunited magazine hall, by the magazine wall, Hosty’s and Co, Exports, for his five hundredth and sixtysixth borthday, the Grand Old Magennis Mor, Persee and Rahli, taker of the tributes, their Rinseky Poppakork and Piowtor the Grape, holding Dunker’s durbar, boot kings and indiarubber umpires and shawhs from Paisley and muftis in muslim and sultana reiseines and jordan almonders and a row of jam sahibs and an odd principeza in her pettedcoat and the queen of knight’s clubs and the Claddagh ringleaders and the two salaames and the Halfa Ham and the Hanzas Khan with two fat maharashers and the German selver geyser, and he polished up, protemptible, tintinabulating to himsilf so silfrich. And there was J. B. Dunlop, the best tyrent of ourish times, and a swanks of French wine stuarts and Tudor keepsakes and the Cesarewitch for the current counter, Leodegarius Sant Legegleger, riding lapsaddlelonglegs up the oakses staircase on muleback, like Amaxodios Isteroprotos, hindquarters to the fore and kick to the lift, and he handigrabbed on to his trulley natural anthem, Horsibus, keep your tailyup, and as much as the halle of the vacant throneroom, Oldloaf ’s Buttery, could safely accommodate of the houses of Orange and Bitters M.P., permeated by Druids D.P. and Brehons B.P. and Flawhoolaghs F.P. and Agiapommenites A.P. and Antepummelites P.P. and Ulster Kong and Munster’s Herald with Athclee Ensigning and Athlone Poursuivant and his Imperial Catchering, his fain awan, and his gemmynosed sanctsons in epheud and ordilawn and his diamondskulled granddaucher, Adamantaya Liubokovskva, all murdering Irish, amok and amak, out of their boom companions in paunchjab and dogril and pammel and gougeroutty after plenty of his fresh stout and his good balls of malt, not to forget his oels a’mona nor his beers o’ryely, sopped down by his pani’s annagolorum (at Kennedy’s kiln she kned her dough, back of her bake for me, buns!), socialising and communicounting in the deification of his members, for to nobble or salvage their herobit of him, the poohpooher old bolssaloose, with his arthurious clayroses, Dodderick Ogonoch Wreck, busted to the wurrld at large, lying high as he lay in all dimensions on the table round in court dress and ludmers chain, as true as the Vernons have Brian’s sword, with the floodlight switched back and a dozen and one by one tilly tallows round in ringcampf, circumassembled by his daughters in the foregiftness of his sons and with a hogo, fluorescent of his swathings, round him like the cummulium of scents in an Italian warehouse, erica’s clustered on his hayir, the spectrum in his prisent mocking the candiedights of his dadtid, bagpuddingpodded to his deafspot, bewept of his chilidrim and serafim, poors and personalities, venturous, drones and dominators, ancients and auldancients, with his buttend up, expositoed for sale after referee’s inspection, bulgy and blowrious, bunged to ignorious, healed, cured and embalsamate, pending a rouseruction of his bogey, most highly astounded, as it turned up, after his life overlasting, at thus being reduced to nothing.
— Bappy-go-gully and gaff for us all! And all his morties calisenic, tripping a trepas, neniatwantyng: Mulo Mulelo! Homo Humilo! Dauncy a deady O! Dood dood dood! O Bawse! O Boese! O Muerther! O Mord! Mahmato! Moutmaro! O Smirtsch! O Smertz! Wo Hillill! Wa Hallall! Thou Thuoni! Thou Thaunaton! Umartir! Udamnor! Tschitt! Mergue! Eulumu! Huam Khuam! Malawinga! Malawunga! Ser Oh Ser! See ah See! Hamovs! Hemoves! Mamor! Rockquiem eternuel give donal aye in dolmeny! Bad luck’s perpepperpot loosen his eyis! (Psich!)
— But there’s leps of flam in Funnycoon’s Wick. The keyn has passed. Lung lift the keying!
— God save you king! Master of the Hidden Life!
— God serf yous kingly, adipose rex! I had four in the morning and a couple of the lunch and three later on but, your saouls to the dhaoul, do ye. Finnk. Fime. Fudd?
— Impassable tissue of improbable liyers! D’yu mean to set there where y’are now, coddlin’ your supernumerary leg, wi’ that bizaar tongue in yur tolkshap, Sorley boy, repeating yurself like a muck in a market with your hindies and shindies, and tell me that?
— I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, like a sleepingtop, with all that’s buried ofsins insince insensed insidesofme. If I can’t upset this pound of pressed ollaves I can sit up zounds of sounds upon him.
— Oliver! He may be an earthpresence. Was that a groan or did I hear the Dingle bagpipes? Wasting war and. Watch!
— Tris tris a ni ma mea! Prisoner of Love! Bleating Hart! Lowlaid Herd! Aubain Hand! Wonted Foot! Usque! Usque! Usque! Lignum in …
— Rawth of Gar and Donnerbruck Fire! Is the strays world moving mound or what static babel is this, tell us?
— Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe whoishe whoishe?
— The snare drum! Lay yer lug till the groun. The dead giant, man alive! They’re playing thimbles and bodkins. Clan of the Gael! Hep! Whu’s within?
— Dovegall and finshark they are. Ring to the rescue!
Zinzin. Zinzin.
Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!
We’ll gore them and gash them and gun them and gloat on them.
Zinzin.
— O, widows and orphans, it’s the yeomen! Redshanks for ever! Up Lancs!
— The cry of the roedeer it is! The white hind! Their slots, linklink. The hounds hunt horning! Send us peace! Title! Title!
Christ in our Irish times! Christ on the airs’ independence! Christ hold the freedman’s chareman! Christ light the dully expressed!
Slog, slagt and sluaghter! Rape the daughter! Choke the pope!
Awe! Cloudy father! Unsure! Nongood!
Zinzin.
Sold! I am sold! My ersther! My sidster! Brinabride, goodbye!
Brinabride! Us! Us!
Pipette dear! I sold! Me! Me!
Fort! Fort! Bayroyt! March!
Me! I’m true. True! Isolde! Pipette, my precious!
Zinzin.
Brinabride, get my price! Brinabride!
My price, my precious?
Zin.
Brinabride, my price! When you sell get my price!
Zin.
Pipette! Pipette, my priceless one!
O! Mother of my tears! Believe for me! Fold thy son!
Zinzin. Zinzin.
— Now we’re gettin it. Tune in and pick up the forain counties! Hello!
Zinzin.
— Hello! Tittit! Tell your title?
Abride!
— Hellohello! Ballymacarett! Am I thru, miss?
True! Iss!
— Tit! What is the ti …?
Act drop. Stand by! Blinders!
SILENCE.
Curtain up. Juice, please! Foots!
— Hello! Are you Cigar shank and Wheat?
— I gotye. Gobble Ann’s Carrot Cans.
— Parfey! Now, after that justajiff siesta, just permit me a moment. Challenger’s Deep is childsplay to this but, by our soundings in the swish channels, land is due. A truce to demobbed swarwords. Clear the line, priority call! Sybil! Better that or this? Sybil Head this end! Better that way? Follow the baby spot. Yes. Very good now. We are again in the magnetic field. Do you remember a particular lukesummer night following a crying fair day? Moisten your lips for a lightning strike and begin again. Mind the flickers and dimmers! Better?
— Well. The isles is Thymes. The ales is Penzance. Vehement Genral. Delhi expulsed.
— Still calling of somewhave from its specific? Not more? Lesscontinuous. There were fires on every bald hill in holy Ireland that night. Better so?
— You may say they were, son of a cove!
— Were they bonfires? That clear?
— No other name would at all befit them unless that. Bonafieries! With their blue beards streaming to the heavens.
— Was it a high white night now?
— Whitest night mortal ever saw.
— Was our lord of the heights nigh our lady of the valley?
— He was hosting himself up and flosting himself around and ghosting himself to merry her murmur like an andeanupper balkan.
— Lewd’s carol! Was there rain by any chance, mistandew?
— Plenty. If you wend farranoch.
— There fell some fall of littlewinter snow, holy-as-ivory, as well, I gather, jesse?
— By sneachtha clocka. The nicest at all. In hilly-and-even zimalayars.
— Did it not blow some gales, westnass or ostscent, rather strongly to less?
— Out of all jokes it did. Pipep! Icecold. Brr na brr, ny prr! Lieto galumphantes!
— Stll cllng? Nmr? Peace, Pacific! Do you happen to recollect whether Muna, that highlucky nackt, was shining at all?
— Sure she was, my midday darling! And not one but a pair of pritty geallachers.
— Quando? Quonda? Go datey!
— Latearly! Latearly! Latearly! Latearly!
— That was latterlig certainly. And was there frostwork about and air-sighs and hellstohns and flammballs and vodashouts and thick weather, soon calid, soon frozen, and hice and a boatshaped blanket of bruma and everything to please everybody?
— Hail many fell of greats! Horey morey smother of fog! There was, so plays your Ahrtides. Absolutely boiled. Obsoletely cowled. Cold on warm but moistly dry. All in humours out of turn, jusse as they rose and sprungen. Julie and Lulie at their parkiest.
— The amenities, the amenities of the amenities with all their amenities. And the firmness of the formous of the famous of the fumous of the first fog in Maidanvale?
— Catche catche and couchamed.
— From Miss Somer’s nice dream back to Mad Winthrop’s delugium stramens. One expects that kind of rimy feeling in the sire season?
— One certainly does. Desire, for hire, would tire a shire, phone, phunkel or wire. And mares.
— Of whitecaps any?
— Foamflakes flockfuyant from Foxrock to Finglas.
— A lambskip for the marines! Paronama! The entire horizon cloth! All effects in their joints caused ways. Raindrum, windmachine, snowbox. But thundersheet?
— No here. Under the blunkets.
— This common or garden is now in stiller realithy the starey sphere of an oleotorium for broken pottery and ancient vegetables?
— Simply awful the dirt. An evernasty ashtray.
— I see. Now do you know the wellknown kikkenmidden where the illassorted first couple first met with each other? The place where Ealdarmann Fanagan? The time when Junkermenn Funagin?
— Deed then I do. W.K.
— In Fingal too they met at Littlepeace aneath the bidetree, Yellowhouse of Snugsborough, Westreeve-Astagob and Slutsend with Stockens of Winning’s Folly Merryfalls, all of a two, skidoo and skephumble?
— Godamedy, you’re a delville of a tolkar!
— Is it a place fairly exspoused to the four last winds?
— Well, I faithly sincerely believe so indeed, if all what I hope to charity is half true.
— This stow on the wolds, is it Woful Dane Bottom?
— It is woful in need whatever about anything or allselse under the grianblachk sun of gan greyne Eireann.
— A tricolour ribbon that spells a caution. The old flag, the cold flag.
— The flagstone. By tombs, deep and heavy. To the unaveiling memory of. Peacer the grave.
— And what sigheth Woodin Warneung thereof?
— Trickspissers vill be pairsecluded.
— There used to be a tree there stuck up? An overlisting eshtree?
— There used, sure enough. Beside the Annar. At the ford of Slivenamond. Oakley Ashe’s elm. With a snoodrift from one beerchen bough. And the grawndest crowndest consecrated maypole in all the reignladen history of Wilds. Browne’s Thesaurus Plantarum, from Nolan’s, The Prittlewell Press, has nothing alike it. For we are fed of its forest, clad in its wood, barqued by its bark and our lecture is its leave. The crann, the crann, the king of all cranns. Squiremade and damesman of plantagenets, high and holy!
— Now, no hiding your wren under a bushle! What was it doing there, for instance?
— Standing foreninst us.
— In Summerian sunshine?
— And in Cimmerian shudders.
— You saw it visibly from your hidingplace?
— No. From my invisibly lyingplace.
— And you then took down in stereo what took place being tunc committed?
— I then tuk my takenplace lying down, I thunk I told you. Solve it!
— Remounting aliftle towards the ouragan of spaces, just how grand in cardinal rounders is this preeminent giant, Sir Arber? Your bard’s highview, avis on valley! I would like to hear you burble to us in strict conclave, purpurando, and without too much italiote interfairance what you know in petto about our sovereign beingstalk, Tonans Tomazeus. O dite!
— Corcor Andy, udite, udite! Your Ominence, Your Imminence and delicted fraternitree! There’s Tuodore queensmaids and Idahore shopgirls and they woody babies growing upon her and bird flamingans sweenyswinging fuglewards on the tipmast and Orania epples playing hopptociel bommptaterre and Tyburn fenians snoring in his quicken bole and crossbones strewing its holy floor and culprinse of Erasmus Smith’s burstall boys with their underhand leadpencils climbing to her crotch for the origin of spices and charlotte darlings with silkblue askmes chattering in dissent to them, gibbonses and gobbenses, guelfing and ghiberring, proferring praydews to their anatolies and blighting fiendblasts on their catastripes and the Killmaimthem pensioners chucking overthrown milestones up to her to fall her cranberries and her pommes annettes for their unnatural refection and handpainted hoydens plucking husbands off him and cock robins muchmore hatching most out of his missado eggdrazzles for him, the sun and moon pegging honeysuckle and white heather down and timtits tapping resin there and tomahawks watching tar elsewhere, creatures of the wold approaching him, hollow mid ivy, for to claw and rub, hermits of the desert barking their infernal shins over her triliteral roots and his acorns and pinecones shooting wide on all sides out of him, plantitude outsends of plenty to thousands, after the truants of the utmostfear and her downslyder in that snakedst-tu-naughsy whimmering woman’t seeleib such a fashionaping sathinous dress out of that exquisitive creation and her leaves, my darling dearest, sinsinsinning since the night of time and each and all of their branches meeting and shaking twisty hands all over again in their new world through the germination of its gemination from Ond’s outset till Odd’s end. And encircle him circuly. Evovae!
— Is it so exaltated, eximious, extraoldandairy and excelssiorising?
— Amengst menlike trees walking or trees like angels weeping nobirdy aviar soar anywing to eagle it! But rocked of agues, cliffed for aye!
— Telleth that eke the treeth?
— Mushe mushe of a mixness.
— A shrub of libertine, indeed! But that steyne of law indead what stiles its neming?
— Tod, tod, too hard parted!
— I’ve got that now, Dr Melomedicus. Finight mens midinfinite true. The form masculine. The gender feminine. I see. Now, are you derevatov of it yourself in any way? The true tree, I mean. Let’s hear what science has to say, pundit-the-next-best-king. Splanck!
— Upfellbowm.
— It reminds of the weeping of the daughters?
— And remounts to the sense arrest.
— The wittold, the frausch and the dibble! How this looseaffair brimsts of fussforus! And was this treemanangel on his soredbohmend because Knockout, the knickknamer, knacked him in the knecktshaft?
— Well, he was ever himself for the presention of crudities to animals for he had put his own nickelname on every toad, duck and herring before the climber clomb aloft, doing the midhill of the park, flattering his bitter hoolft with his conconundrums. He would let us have the three barrels. Such was a bitte too thikke for the Master of the hoose so as he called down on the Grand Precurser who coiled him a crawler of the dupest dye and thundered at him to flatsch down off off that erection and be aslimed of himself for the bellance of hissch leif.
— Oh Finlay’s coldpalled!
— Ahday’s begatem!
— Were you there, eh Jerh? Were you there when they lagged um through the Coombe?
— Wo wo! Who who! Psalmtimes it grauws on me to ramble, ramble, ramble.
— Woe! Woe! So that was how he became the foerst of our treefellers?
— Yesche, and, in the absence of any soberiquiets, the fairst of our truephalluses, Bapobapo Bomslinger!
— How near do you feel to this capocapo of promontoryism?
— There do be days of dry coldness between us when he does be like a lodging house far far astray and there do be nights of wetwindwhistling when he does be making me onions woup all kinds of ways.
— Now you are mehrer the murk, Lansdowne Road. She’s threwed her pippin’s thereabouts and they’ve cropped up tooth on eydge with hates to leaven this socried isle. Now, thornyborn, follow the spotlight, please! Concerning a boy. Are you acquainted with a pagany vicariously known as Toucher “Thom” who is? I suggest Finolan as his habitat. Consider yourself on the stand now and watch your words, take my advice. Let your motto be: Inter nubila numbum.
— Never you mind about my mother or her hopitout. I consider, if I did, I would feel frightfully ashamed of admired vice.
— He is a man of around fifty, struck on Anna Lynsha’s Pekoe with milk and whisky, who does messages and has more dirt on him than an old dog has fleas, kicking stones and knocking snow off walls. Have you ever heard of this old boy “Thom” or “Thim” of the fishy stare who belongs to Kimmage, a crofting district, and is not all there, and is all the more to himself since he is not so, being most of his time down at the Green Man where he steals, pawns, belches and is a curse, drinking gaily two hours after closing time, with the coat on him skinside out against rapparitions, with his socks outsewed his springsides, clapping his hands in a feeble sort of way and systematically mixing with the public going for groceries, slapping greats and littlegets soundly with his cattegut belts, flapping baresides and waltzywembling about in his accoutrements always in font of the tubbernuckles, like a longarmed lugh, when he would be finished with his tea? Crazy, isn’t that?
— Is it that fellow? As mad as the brambles he is. Touch him. With the lawyers sticking to his trewsershins and the swatmenotting on the basque of his beret. He has kissed me more than once, I am sorry to say, and if I did commit gladrolleries may the loone forgive it! O wait till I tell you!
— We are not going yet.
— And look here! Here’s what he done, as snooks as I am saying so, my dear!
— Get out, you dirt! You’re not! Unhindered and odd times? Mere thumbshow? Lately?
— How do I know? Search my billet. Buy a barrack pass. Ask the horneys. Tell the robbers.
— You are alluding to the picking pockets in Lower O’Connell Street?
— I am illuding to the Pekin packet but I am eluding from Laura Connor’s treat.
— A strangely striking pert of speech for the hottest worked word of ur sprogue. Now, just wash and brush up your memoirias a little bit. So I find, referring to the pater of the present man, an erely demented brickthrower, I am wondering to myself in my mind, qua our arc of the covenant, was Toucher, a methodist, whose name, as others say, is not really “Thom”, was this salt son of a century from Boaterstown, Shivering William, the sealiest old forker ever hawked crannock, after his teeth were shaken out of their suckets by the wrang dog, who is always with him at the Big Elm and the Arch, for having 5 pints 73 of none Eryen blood in him, abaft the seam level, the scatterling, was he wearing his cowbeamer and false clothes of a brewer’s grains pattern with back buckons with his motto on, Yule Remember, ostensibly for that occasion only of the Twelfth Day Pax and Quantum wedding, I’m wondering.
— I bet you are. Well, he was wandering, give him his due, in his mind too, you bet, whatever was his matter, for I am sorry to have to tell you, hullo and evoe, they were coming down from off him.
— How culious an epiphany! Hodie casus esobhrakonton?
— It looked very like it.
— Needer knows necess and neither garments. Man is minded of Meagher, what? Woolly Walty?
— Ay, another good button gone wrong.
— Blondman’s blaff! Like a skib leaked lintel the arbour leidend with …?
— Pamelas, peggylees, pollywollies, questuants, quaintaquilties, quick-amerries.
— And, concaving now convexly to the semidemihemispheres, from the female angle, music minnestirring, were the subligate sisters, P and , Clopatrick’s cherierapest, mutatis mutandis, in pretty much the same pickle, the peach of all piedom, the quest of all quicks?
— Peequeen ourselves, the prettiest pickling of unmatchemable mute antes I ever bopeeped at, seesaw shallshee, since the town went gonning on Pranksome Quaine.
— Silks apeel and sulks alusty?
— Boy and giddle, gape and bore.
— I hear these two goddesses are liable to sue him?
— Well, I hope the two Collinses don’t leg a bail to shoot him.
— Both were white in black arpists at cloever spillin, knickt?
— Gels bach, I languished liszted. Etoudies for the right hand.
— Were they now? And were they watching you as watcher as well?
— Where do you get that wash? This representation does not accord with my experience. They were watching the watched watching. Vechers all.
— Good. Hold that watching brief and keep this witching longuer. Now, retouching friend Tomsky, the enemy, did you gather much from what he let drop? We are sitting here for that.
— I was rooshian mad, no lie. About his shapeless hat.
— I suspect you must have been.
— You are making your thunderous mistake. But I was dung sorry for him too.
— O Schaum! Not really? Were you sorry you were mad with him then?
— When I tell you I was rooshiamarodnimad with myself altogether, so I was, for being sorry for him.
— So?
— Absolutely.
— Would you blame him any at all stages?
— I believe in many an old stager. But what seemed sooth to a Greek summed nooth to a giantle. Who kills the cat in Cairo coaxes cocks in Gaul.
— I put it to you that this was solely in his sunflower state and that his haliodraping hat was why maids all sighed for him, ventured and vied for him. Hm?
— After Putawayo, Kansas, Liburnum and New Aimstirdames, it would not surprise me in the very least.
— That tare and this mole, your tear and our smile. ’Tis life that lies if woman’s eyes have been our old undoing. Lid efter lid. Reform in mine size his deformation. Piffpuff up my nostril, would you, and puff the earthworm outer my ear?
— He could clouds boose his eyes to the birth of his garce, he could lump all his lot through the half of her play, but he jest couldn’t laugh through the whole of her farce becorpse he warn’t billed that way. So he outandouts his volimetangere and has a lightning consultation and he downadowns his pantoloogions and made a piece of first perpersonal puetry that staystale remains to be. Cleaned.
— Booms of bombs and heavy rethunders?
— This aim to you!
— The tail as you tell it, so mastrodantic, nearly takes your own mum-mouth’s breath away. Your tropers are so unrelieved because his troopers were in difficulties. Still, let stultitiam done in veino condone ineptias made of veritues. How many were married amid that top of all strapping mornings, after the midnight turkey drive, my good dogwatcher?
— Puppaps. That’d be telling. With a hoh frohim and a heh fraher. But, as regarbs Tummy Thornycraft, I defyne the lawn mare and the laney moweress and all the prentisses of wildes to massage him.
— Now from Gunner Shothand to Guinness Scenography. Come to the ballay at the Tailors’ Hall. We mean to be mellay on the Mailers’ Mall. And leap, rink and make follay till the Gaelers’ Gall. Awake! Come, a wake! Every old skin in the leather world, infect the whole stock company of the old house of the Leaking Barrel, was thomistically drunk, two by two, lairking o’tootlers with tambours a’beggars, the blog and turfs and the brandywine bankrompers, trou Normend fashion, I have been told, down to the bank lean clorks? Some nasty blunt clubs were being operated after the tradition of a wellesleyan bottle riot act and there was a fall following a push and a few plates were being shied about and tumblers bearing traces of fresh porter rolling around, independent of that, for the ehren of Fyn’s Insul, and then followed that wapping breakfast at the Heaven and Covenant, with Rodey O’ echolowing how his breadcost on the voters would be a comeback for e’er a one, like the depredations of Scandalknivery, in and on usedtowobble sloops off cloasts, eh? Would that be a talltale too? This was the grandsire Orther. This was his innwhite horse. Sip?
— Well, naturally he was, louties aslo genderymen. Being Kerssfesstiydt. They came from all lands beyond the wave for songs of Inishfeel. Whiskway and mortem! No puseyporcious either, invitem kappines all round. But the right reverend priest, Mr Hopsinbond, and the reverent bride eleft, Frizzy Fraufrau, were sober enough. I think they were sober.
— I think you’re widdershins there about the right reverence. Magraw for the Northwhiggern cupteam was wedding’s beastman, papers before us carry. You saw him hurriedly, or did you, if that seme’s not irrelevant? With Slater’s hammer, perhaps? Or he was in serge?
— I horridly did. On the stroke of the dozen. I’m sure I’m wrong but I heard the irreverend Mr Magraw, in search of a stammer, kuckkuck kicking the bedding out of the old sexton, Red Fox-Goodman, around the sacristy, till they were bullbeadle black and bufeteer blue, while I and Flood and the other men, jazzlike brollies and sesuos, was gickling his missus to gackles in the hall, the divileen (she’s a lamp in her throth), with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach.
— A loyal wifish woman cacchinic wheepingcaugh! While shelaylylaw was all their rage. But you did establish personal contact? In epexegesis or on a point of order?
— That perkumiary pond is beyawnd my pinnigay pretonsions. I am resting on a pigs of cheesus but I’ve a big suggestion it was about the pint of porter.
— You are a suckersome! But this all, as avis said to oska, was only that childbearer might blogas well sidesplit? Where letties hereditate a dark mien swart hairy?
— Only. ’Twas womans’ too woman with mans’ throw man.
— Bully burley yet hardly hurley. The saloon bulkhead, did you say, or the tweendecks?
— Between drinks, I deeply painfully repeat it.
— Was she wearing shubladey’s tiroirs in humour of her hubbishobbis, Massa’s star stellar?
— Mrs Tarr-Taylour? Just a floating panel, secretairslidingdraws, a budge of klees on her schalther, a siderbrass sehdass on her anular fingring and forty croeclips in her curlingthongues.
— So this was the dope that woollied the cad that kinked the ruck that noised the rape that tried the sap that hugged the mort?
— That legged in the hoax that Joke bilked.
— The jest of junk the jungular?
— Jacked up in a jock the wrapper.
— Lollgoll! You don’t soye so! All upsydown her whole creation? So there was nothing serical between you? And Drysalter, father of Izod, how was he now?
— To the pink, man, like an allmanox, in his shirt and stickup, brustall to the bear, the Megalomagellan of our winevatswaterway, squeezing the life out of the liffey.
— Crestofer Carambas! Such is zodisfaction. You pink me! He came, he kished, he conquered. Vulturuvarnar! The must of his glanzfull coaxing the beam in her eye? That musked bell of this masked ball! Annabella, Lovabella, Pullabella, yep?
— Yup! Titentung Tollertone in S. Sabina’s. Aye aye, she was lithe and pleasable. Wilt thou the lee? Wilt thou the hee? Wilt thou the hussif?
— The quicker the deef the softer the sapstuff, but the main the mightier the stricter the strait. To the vast go the game! It is the circumconversioning of antelithual paganelles by a huggerknut cramwell energuman, or the caecodedition of an absquelitteris puttagonnianne to the herreroism of a cabotinesque exploser?
— I believe you. Taiptope. Reelly, O reelly!
— Nautaey, nautaey, we’re nowhere without ye! In steam of kavos now arbatos above our hearths doth hum. And Malkos crackles logs of fun while Anglys cheers our ingles. So lent she him ear to burrow his manhood (or so it appierce) and borrow his namas? Suilful eyes and sallowfoul hairweed and the sickly sigh from her gingerine mouth like a Dublin bar in the moarning.
— Primus auriforasti me.
— The park is gracer than the hole, says she, but shekelton’s my fortune?
— Eversought of being artained? You’ve soft a say with ye, Flatter O’Ford, that, honey, I hurdley chew you.
— Is that answers?
— It am, queery!
— The house was Toot and Come-Inn by the bridge called after Tiltass, but are you solarly and salemly sure, beyond the shatter of the canicular year? Nascitur ordo seculi nonfit.
— Siriusly and selenely sure behind the shutter. Securius indicat umbris tellurem.
— Date as? Your time of immersion? We are still in drought of …?
— Amnis Dominae, Marcus of Corrig. A laughin hunter and Purty Sue.
— And crazyheaded Jorn, the bulweh born?
— Fluteful as his orkan. Ex ugola lenonem.
— And Jambs, of Delphin’s Bourne or (as olders lay) of Tophat?
— Dawncing the kniejinksky choreopiscopally like an easter sun round the colander, the Vice! Taranta boontoday! You should pree him prance the polcat, you should whiff him wops around, you should hear his piedigrotts schraying as his skimpies skirp a …
— Crashedafar Corumbas! A Czardanser indeed! Dervilish glad too. Ortovito semi ricordo. The pantaglionic affection through his blood like a bad influenza in a leap at bounding point?
— Out of Prisky Poppagenua, the palsied old priamite, home from Edwin Hamilton’s Christmas pantaloonade, Oropos Roxy and Pantharhea, at the Gaiety, trippudiating round the aria, with his fiftytwo heirs of age! They may reel at his likes but it’s Noeh Bonum’s shin do.
— And whit what was Lillabil Issabil, maideve, maid, at?
— Trists and thranes and trinies and traines.
— A takeback to the virgin page, darm it!
— Ay, graunt ye.
— The quobus quartet were there too, if I mistake not, as a sideline but, pace the contempt of senate, well to the fore, in an amnessy meeting, metandmorefussed to decide whereagainwhen to meet themselves, flopsome and jerksome, lubber and deliric, drinking unsteadily through the Kerry quadrilles and Listowel lancers and mastersinging always with that consecutive fifth of theirs, eh? Like four wise elephants inandouting under a twelvepodestalled table?
— You’ve said it! They were simple scandalmongers, that familiar, and all! Normand, Desmond, Osmund and Kenneth. Making mejical history all over the show!
— In sum, some hum? And other marrage feats?
— All our statues they were astumbling round the rauky roars assumbling when Big Arthur flugged the field at Annie’s courting.
— Suddenly some wellfired clay was cast out through the schaapsteckers of hoy’s house?
— Schottenly there was a hellfire club kicked out through the wasistas of Thereswhere.
— Like Heavystost’s envil catacalamitumbling. Three days three times into the Vulcuum?
— Punch!
— Or Noe et Ecclesiastes, nonne?
— Ninny, there is no hay in Eccles’s hostel.
— Yet an I saw a sign of him, if you could scrape out his acquinntence. Name or redress him and we’ll call it a night!
— . i . .’. . o . . l.
— You are sure it was not a shuler’s shakeup or a plighter’s palming or a winker’s wake etcaetera etcaeterorum you were at?
— Precisely.
— Mayhap. Hora pro Nubis, Thundersday, at A Little Bit Of Heaven, Howth, the wife of Deimetuus (D’amn), Earl Adam Fitzadam, of a Tartar (Birtha) or Sackville-Lawry and Morland-West, at the Auspice for the Living, Bonnybrook, by the river, and A. Briggs Carlisle, guardian of the birdsmaids and deputiliser for groom. Pontifical mess. Or (soddenly) Schott, furtivfired by the riots. No flies. Agreest?
— Mayhem. Also loans through the post. With or without security. Everywhere. Any amount. Mofsovitz, swampstakers, purely providential.
— Flood’s. The pinkman, the squeeze, the pint with the kick. Gaa. And then the punch to Gaelicise it. Fox. The lady with the lamp. The boy in the barleybag. The old man on his ars. Great Scrapp! ’Tis we and you and ye and me and hymns and hurts and heels and shields. The eirest race, the ourest nation, the airest place that erestationed. He was culping for penance while you were ringing his belle. Did the kickee, Goodman Rued Fox, say anything important? Clam or cram, spick or spat?
— No more than Richman’s periwhelker.
— Nnn ttt wrd?
— Dmn ttt thg.
— A gael galled by scheme of scorn? Nock?
— Sangnifying nothing. Mock!
— Fortitudo eius rhodammum tenuit?
— Five maim! Or something very similar.
— I should like to euphonise that. It sounds an isochronism, secret speech Hazelton and obviously disemvowelled. But it is good laylaw too. We may take those wellmeant kicks for free granted, though ultra vires, void and, in fact, unnecessarily so. Happily you were not quite so successful in the process verbal whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical suppressions, it seems?
— What was that? First I heard about it.
— Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the answer. I’m not giving you a short question.
— Quite so.
— Now, not to mix up, cast your eyes around Capel Court. I want you, witness of this epic struggle, as yours so mine, to reconstruct for us as briefly as you can, inexactly the same as a mind’s eye view, how these funeral games, which have been poring over us through homer’s kerryer pidgeons, massacreedoed as the holiname rally round, took place.
— Which? Sure I told you that afoul. I was drunk all lost life.
— Well, tell it to me befair, the whole plan of campaign, in that bamboozelem mincethrill voice of yours. Let’s have it, christie! The Dublin own, the thrice familiar.
— Ah, sure, I eyewitless foggus. ’Tis all round me bebattersbid hat.
— Ah, go on now, Masta Bones, a gig for a gag, with your impendiments and your perroqtriques! Blank memory of hatless darky in blued suit. You were ever the gentle poet, dove from Haywarden. Pitcher cup, patcher cap, pratey man! Be nice about it, Bones Minor! Look chairful! Come, delicacy! Go to the end, thou slackard! Once upon a grass and a hopping high grass it was.
— Faith, then, Meesta Cheeryman, first he come up, a gag as a gig, Badgeler’s rake to the town’s major from the wesz, MacSmashall Swingy of the Cattelaxes, got up regardless, with a cock on the Kildare side of his Tattersall, in his riddlesneek’s ragamufflers and the horrid contrivance as seen above, whisklyng into a bone tolerably delicately the Wearing of the Blue and dragging his feet in the usual course and was ever so terribly naas, really, taking off his plushkwadded bugsby in his perusual flea and loisy manner, saying good mrowkas to weevilybolly and telling him clean his nagles, Miles, and fox himself up, Cogan, and so on and so fort and to take the coocoomb to his grizzlies and who done that foxy freak on his bear’s hairs like fire bursting out of the Ump pyre and half hang me, sirr, if he wasn’t wanting his calicub body back before he’d to take his life or so save his life. Then, begor, counting as many as eleven to thirtytwo seconds with his pocket browning, like I said, wann swanns wann, this is my awethorrorty, he kept forecursing Hasculph, foul Fanden, and ravin for the coacoackey of John Dunn’s field fore it war for sent and the way Montague was robbed and wolfling to know all what went off and who burned the hay, perchance thou’llt say, before he’d kill all the Kanes, and the price of Patsch Purcell’s faketotem, which the man, his plantagonist up from the bog of the depths, who was raging with the thirst of the sacred sponge and who, as a mashter of pasht, so far as him was concerned, was only standing there nonplush to the corner of Turbot Street, perplexing about a paumpshop and pupparing to spit, wanting to know whelp the henconvention’s compuss memphis he wanted with him, knew nothing about.
— A sarsencruxer, moor and burgess medley like the Nap O’Farrell Patter Tandy offensive-defensive? In other words, was that how in the annusual curse of things, as complement to compliment, though after a manner of men which I must and will say seems extraordinary, their celicolar subtler angelic warfare or photoplay finisterr started?
— Truly. That I may never!
— Did one scum in the auradrama, the deff, after some clever play in the mud, then mention sleeply to the other undesirable, a dumm, during diverse intertidal instants upon the resume after the angerus, that for his deal he was a pigheaded Swede and to wend himself to a medicins?
— To be sore he did, the huggornut! Only it was turniphudded dunce, I beg your pardon, and he would jokes bowlderblow the beltholder with his black masket off the bawling Green.
— Sublime was the warning!
— The aurthor, in fact, was mordred.
— Did he, the first spikesman, do anything to him, the last spokesman, when, after heaving some more smutt and chaff between them, they rolled togutter into the ditch together? Black Pig’s Dyke?
— No, he had his teeth in the back of his head.
— Did Box then try to shine his puss?
— No, but Cox did to shin the punman.
— The worsted crying that if never he looked on Lord Leverhulme’s again and the bester huing that he might ever save sunlife?
— Truly. Asbestos he ever. And sowasso I never.
— That forte Carlysle touch breaking the Campden’s pianoback.
— Pansh!
— Are you of my meaning that would be going on to about half noon click o’clock, pip emma, Grinwicker time, by your querqcut quadrant?
— You will be asking me and I wish to Higgins you wouldn’t. Would it?
— Let it be twelve thirty after a somerswatch of the tardest?
— And it was eleven thirsty too befour in a sowandsuch, reloy on it!
— Tick up on time. How day you doom? That rising day sinks rosing in a night of nine weeks’ wonder.
— Amities, mercy buckup! The uneventh day of the unleventh month of the unevented year. At mart in mass.
— A triduum before Our Larry’s own day. By which of your chronos, my man of four watches? Larboard, starboard, dog, or death?
— Dunsink, rugby, ballast, and ball. You can imagine!
— Language this allsfare for the loathe of Mauses ambiviolent about it. Will you swear all the same you saw their shadows a hundred foot later, struggling diabolically over this, that and the other, their virtues pro and his principality con, near The Ruins, Drogheda Street, and kicking up the devil’s own dust for the Milesian wind?
— I will. I did. They were. I swear. Like the heavenly militia. So wreek me Ghyllygully! With my tongue through my toecap on the headlong stone of kismet if so ’tis the will of Whose B. Dunn.
— Weeping Lorcans! They must have put in some wonderful work, ecad, on the quiet like, during this arms’ parley, meatierites forces vegatearians. Dost thou not think so?
— Ay.
— The illegal-looking range or fender, alias turfing iron, a product of Hostages and Co, Engineers, changed feet several times as briars revalvered during the weaponswap? Piff?
— Puff! Excuse yourself. It was an ersatz lottheringcan.
— They did not know the war was over and were only berebelling or bereppelling one another by chance or necessity with sham bottles, mere and woiney, like their caractacurs in an Irish Ruman, as betwinst Picturshirts and Scutticules, to sorrowbrate the expeltsion of the Danos? What sayest thou, scusascmerul?
— That’s all. For he was heavily upright man. Limba romena in Bucclis tucsada. Farcing gutterish.
— I mean the Morgans and the Dorans, in finnish.
— I know you don’t. In Feeney’s.
— The mujic of the footure on the barbarihams of the bashed? Co Canniley?
— Da Donnuley.
— In voina viritas, neat wahr?
— O bella! O pia! O pura! Amem.
— Yet this war has meed peace? Ab chaos lex?
— Handwalled amokst us. Thanksbeer to Balbus!
— All the same you sound it ’twould clang howlish like Hull hopen for Christmians?
— But ’twill cling hellish like engels opened to neuropeans, if you’ve sensed whole the sum. So be vigil!
— And this pattern pootsch punnermine of concoon and proprey went on, hog and minne, a whole whake, your night after larry’s night, spittin-spite on Dora O’Huggins, ormonde caught butler, the artillery of the O’Hefferns answering the cavalry of the MacClouds, fortey and more fortey, a thousand and one times, according to your cock and a biddy story? Lludi llongi, for years and years perhaps?
— That’s ri. This is his largos life, this is me timtomtum, and this is her two peekweeny ones. From the last finger on the second foot of the fourth man to the first one on the last one of the first. That’s right.
— Finny. Vary vary finny!
— It may look funny but fere it is.
— Stadyon there! This is not guid enough, Mr Brasslattin. Finging and tonging and winging and ponging! And all your rally and ramp and rant! Didget think I was asleep at the wheel? D’yu mean to tall grand jurors of Thathens of Tharctic on yur oath, me lad, and ask us to believe you, for all you’re enduring long terms, with yur last foot foremouthst, that yur moon was shining on the tors and on the cresties and winblowing night after night, for years and years perhaps, after yu swearing to it a while back before yur Corth examiner, Markwalther, that there was reen in planty all the teem?
— Perhaps so, as you grand duly affirm, Robman Calvinic. I never thought over it, faith. I most certainly think so about it. I hope. Unless it is actionable. It would be a charity for me to think about something which I must on no caste accounts omit, if you ask to me. It was told me as an inspired statement by a friend of myself, Tarpey, in reply to salute after three o’clock mass, with forty ducks indulgent, that some rain was promised to Mrs Lyons, the invalid, of Aunt Tarty Villa, with lots gulp and sousers, and likewise he told me, the recusant, after telling mass, with two hundred genuflexions, at the split hour of blight when bars are keeping so sly, as what’s follows. He is doing a walk, says she, in the feelmick’s park, says he, like a tarrable Turk, says she, letting loose on his nursery and, begalla, he meet himself with Mr Michael Clery of a Tuesday who said Father MacGregor was desperate to the bad place about thassbawls and ejaculating about all the stairrods and the catspew swashing his earwanker and thinconvenience being locked up for months, owing to being putrenised by stragglers abusing the apparatus, and for Tarpey to pull himself into his soup and fish and to push on his borrowsaloaner and to go to the tumple like greased lining and see Father MacGregor and, be Cad, sir, he was to pipe up and saluate that clergyman and to tell his holiness the whole goat’s throat about the three shillings in the confusional and to say how Mrs Lyons, the cuptosser, was the infidel who prophessised to post three shielings Peter’s pelf off her tocher from Paraguais to Mr Martin Clery for Father Mathew to put up a midnight mask on Saints Withins of a Thrushday and albs by the yard for African man and to let Brown child do and to leave he Anlone and for all the nuisances committed by soldats and nonbehavers and missbelovers and for N. D. de l’Ecluse to send more heehaw hell’s flutes, my prodder again! And I never brought my cads in togs blanket! Foueh!
— Angly as arrows, but you have right, my celtslinger! Nils, Mugn and Cannut. Should brothers be for awe, then?
— So let use off be octo while oil bike the bil and wheel whang till wabblin befoul you but mere and mire trullopes will knaver mate agame on the bibby bobby burns of.
— Quatsch! What hill are yu fluking about, ye lamelookond fyats? I’ll discipline ye! Will yu swear or affirm the day to yur second sight noo and recant that all yu affirmed and swore to and profetised at first sight for his southerly accent was all paddyflaherty? Will ye, ay or nay?
— Ay say aye. I affirmly swear to it that it roolly and coolly boolyhooly was with my holyhagionous lips continuously poised upon the rubricated Annuals of Saint Ulstar!
— That’s very guid of ye, R.C! Maybe yu wouldn’t mind talling us, my labbrose lad, how very much bright cabbage or papermint comfirts d’yu draw for all yur swearin? The spanglers, kiddy?
— Rootha prootha. There you have me! Vurry nothing, O potators, I call it, for I might as well tell Yous Essexelcy, and I am not swallowing my air, the Golden Bridge’s truth. It amounts to nada in pounds or pence. Not a glass of Lucan nor as much as the costprice of a highlandman’s trousertree or the three crowns round your draphole (isn’t it dram disgusting?) for the whole dumb plodding thing!
— Come on now, johnny! We weren’t born yesterday. Pro tanto quid retribuamus? I ask you to say on your scotty pictail you were promised fines times with some staggerjuice or deadhorse on strip or in larges at the Raven and Sugarloaf, either Jones’s lame or Jamesy’s gait, anyhow?
— Bushmillah! Do you think for a moment? Yes, by the way. How very necessarily true! Give me fair play. When?
— At the Dove and Raven tavern, no, ah? To wit your wizzend?
— Water, water, darty water! Up Jubilee sod! Beet peat wheat treat!
— What harm wants but demands it! How would yu like to hear yur right name now, Ghazi Power, my tristy minstrel, if yur not freckened of frank comment?
— Not afrightened of Frank Annybody’s gaspower or illconditioned ulcers neither.
— Your uncles?
— Your gullet!
— Will you repeat that to me outside, leinconnmuns?
— After you’ve shouted a few? I will when it suits me, hulstler.
— Guid! We make fight! Three to one! Raddy?
— But no, from exemple, Emania! Raffaroo! What do you have? What mean you, august one? Fairplay for Finnians! I will have my humours. Sure, you would not do the cowardly thing and moll me roon? Tell Queen’s Road I am seilling. Farewell, but whenever! Buy!
— Ef I chuse to put a bullet like yu through the grill for heckling, what business is that of yours, yu bullock?
— I don’t know, sir. Don’t ask me, your honour!
— Gently, gently, Northern Ire! Glove that red hand! Let me once more. There are sordidly tales within tales, you clearly understand that? Now my other point. Did you know, whether by melanodactylism or purely libationally, that one of these two Crimeans with the fender, the taller man, was accused of a certain offence or of a choice of two serious charges, as skirts were divided on the subject, if you like it better that way? You did, you rogue, you?
— You hear things. Besides (and serially now) bushes have eyes, don’t forget. Hah!
— Which moral turpitude would you select of the two, for choice, if you had your way? Playing bull before shebears or the hindlegs off a clotheshorse? Did any orangepeelers or greengoaters appear periodically up your sylvan family tree?
— Buggered if I know! It all depends on how much family silver you want for a nass-and-pair. Hah!
— What do you mean, sir, behind your hah? You don’t hah to do thah, you know, snapograph.
— Nothing, sir. Only a bone moving into place. Blotogaff. Hahah!
— Whahat?
— Are you to have all the pleasure quizzing on me? I didn’t say it aloud, sir. It was something inside of me talking to myself.
— You’re a nice third-degree witness, faith! But this is no laughing matter. Do you think we are tonedeafs in our noses to boot? Can you not distinguish the sense, prain, from the sound, bray? You have homosexual cathexis of empathy between narcissism of the exvert and steatopygic invertedness. Get yourself psychoanalysed!
— O, begor, I want no expert nurse’s symaphy from yours broons quadroons and I can psoako-onaloose myself any time I want (the fog follow you all!) without your interferences or any other pigeonstealer.
— ’Sample! ’Sample!
— Have you evew weflected, wepowtew, that the evil, what though it was willed, might nevewtheless lead somehow on to good towawd the genewality?
— A pwopwo of haster meets waster and talking of plebiscites by a show of hands, whether declaratory or effective, in all seriousness, has it become to dawn in you yet that the deponent, the man from Saint Yves, may have been (one is reluctant to use the passive voiced), may be been as much sinned against as sinning, for if we look at it verbally perhaps there is no true noun in active nature where every bally being (please read this mufto) is becoming in its owntown eyeballs? Now, the long form and the strong form and reform alltogether!
— Hotchkiss Culthur’s Everready, own brother to Neverreached, well over countless hands, sieur of many winners and losers, groomed by S. Samson and Son, bred by Dilalahs, will stand at Bay (Dublin) from nún till dán and vites inversion and at Miss or Mrs MacMannigan’s Yard.
— Perhaps you can explain, sagobean? The Mod needs a rebus.
— Pro general continuation and in particular explication to your singular interrogation our asseveralation. Ladiesgent, pals will smile but me and Frisky Shorty, my inmate friend, as is uncommon struck on poplar poetry, and a few fleabesides round at West Pauper Bosquet was having a wee chatty with our hosty in his comfy estably, glad to be back again with the chaps and just arguing friendlylike at the Doddercan Easehouse over the old party and his moral turps, meaning flu, pock, pox and mizzles, grip, gripe, gleet and sprue, caries, rabies, mumps and dumps. What me and Frisky in our concensus and the whole double gigscrew of subscribers, not to say the burman, having successfully concluded our tour of bibel, wants to know is thisahere. Supposing, for an ethical fict, him, which the findings showed, to have taken his epscene licence before the Norsect’s divisional respectively as regards them male Middlesex privates and or concomitantly with all common or neuter respects to them public Exsess females, whereas allbeit really sweet fillies, as was very properly held by the metropolitan in connection with this regrettable nuisance, touching arbitrary conduct, being in strict contravention of schedule in board of forests and works bylaws regulationing sparkers’ and succers’ amusements section of our beloved naturepark in pursuance of which police agence me and Shorty have approached a reverend gentleman of the name of Mr Coppinger with reference to a piece of fire fittings as was most obliging, ’pon my sam, in this matter of his explanations, affirmative, negative and limitative, given to me and Shorty, touching what the good book says of toooldaisymen, concerning the merits of early bisectualism, besides him citing from approved lectionary example given by a valued friend of the name of Mr J. P. Cockshott, reticent of England, as owns a pretty maisonette, Quis ut Deus, fronting on to the Soussex Bluffs as was telling us categoric how Mr Cockshott, as he had his assignation with, present holder by deedpoll and indenture of the swearing belt, he tells him hypothetic, the reverend Mr Coppinger, as how he reckons himself disjunctively with his windward eye up to a dozen miles of a cunifarm school of herring passing themselves supernatantly by the Bloater Naze from twelve and them mayriding him by the silent hour. Butting, charging, bracing, backing, springing, shrinking, swaying, darting, shooting, bucking and sprinkling their dossies sodouscheock with the twinx of their taylz. And, reverend, he says, summat problematical, by yon socialist sun, gut me, but them errings was as gladful as Wissixy kippers could well be considering, flipping their little coppingers, pot em, the fresh little flirties, the dirty little gillybrighteners, pickle their spratties, the little smolty gallockers, and, reverend, says he, more assertitoff, zwelf me Zeus, says he, lettin olfac be the extench of the supperfishies, lamme the curves of their scaligerance and pesk the everurge flossity of their pectoralium, them little salty populators, says he, most apodictic, as sure as my briam eggs is on cockshot under noose, all them little upanddowndippies they was all of a libidous pickpuckperty and raid on a wriggolo finsky doodah in testimonials to their early bisectualism. Such, he says, is how the reverend Coppinger visualises the hidebound homelies of creed crux ethics. Watsch yourself tillicately every morkning in your bracksullied twilette. The use of cold water, testificates Dr Rutty, may be warmly recommended for the sugjugation of cungunitals loosed. Tolloll, schools!
— Tallhell and Barbados wi’ ye and yer Errian coprulation! Pelagiarist! Remonstrant Montgomeryite! Short lives to your relatives! Y’are obsexed, so y’are, with macroglosia and mickroocyphyllicks!
— Lalia Lelia Lilia Lulia and lively lovely Lola Montez.
— Wait now, Leixlip! I scent eggoarchicism. I will take you to task. I don’t follow you that far in your otherwise accurate account. Was it esox lucius now or salmo ferax? You are taxing us into the driven future, are you not, with this ruttymaid fishery?
— Gubbernathor! That they say is a fenian on the secret. Named Parasol Irelly. Spawning ova and fry like a marrye monach all amanygoround his seven parish churches! And peopling the ribald baronies with dans, oges and conals!
— Lift it now, Hosty! Hump’s your mark! For a runnymede landing! A dondhering vesh vish, Magnam Carpam, es hit neat zoo?
— There’s an old psalmsobbing lax salmoner fogeyboren Herrin Plundehowse
Who went floundering with his boatloads of spermin spunk about
Leaping freck after every long tom and wet lizzy between Howth and Humbermouth.
Our Human Conger Eel!
— Hep! I can see him in the fishnoo! Up wi’ yer whippy! Hold that lad! Play him, Markandeya! Bullhead!
— Pull you, sir! Olive quill does it. Longeel of Malin, he’ll cry before he’s flayed. And his tear make newisland. Did a rise? Way, lungfush! The great fin may cumule! Three threeth o’er the wild! Manu ware!
— He missed her mouth and stood into Dee, Romunculus Remus, plying the rape, so as now any bompriss’s bound to get up her if he pool her leg and bunk on her butt?
— No, he skid like a skate and berthed on her byrnie and never a fear but they’ll land him yet, Slitheryscales on liffeybank, times and times and a half a time with a pillow of sand to polster him.
— Do you say they will?
— I bet you they will.
— Among the shivering sedges so? Weedywaving.
— Or tulipbeds of Rush below.
— Where you take your mugs to wash after dark?
— To my lead, Toomey lout, Tommy lad.
— Beside the bubblye waters of, babblyebubblye waters of?
— Right.
— Grenadiers. And tell me now. Were these anglers or angelers coexistent and compresent with or without their tertium quid?
— Three in one, one and three,
Shem and Shaun and the shame that sunders em,
Wisdom’s son, folly’s brother.
— God bless your ginger, wigglewaggle! That’s three slots and no burners. You’re forgetting the jinnyjos for the fayboys. What, Walker Johnny Referent? Play us your patmost! And unpackyoulloups!
— Naif Cruachan! Woe on woe, says Warden Daly. Woman will water the wild world over.
— And the maid of the folley will go where glory. Trothed today, trenned tomorrow. Sure I thought it was larking in the trefoll of the furry glans with two stripping baremaids, Stilla Underwood and Moth MacGarry, he was, hand to dagger, that time. And their mother a rawknees pudsfrowse, I was given to understand, with superflowvius heirs, begum. There was that one that was always mad gone on him, her first king of cloves and the most broadcussed man in Corrack-on-Sharon, County Rosecarmon. Sure she was near drowned in pondest coldstreams of admiration for herself, as bad as my Tarpeyan cousin, Vesta Tully, making faces at her bachspilled lakest likeness in the brook and cooling herself in the element after, she pleasing it, she praising it, with salices and weidowywehls, all tossed as she was, the playactrix, Lough Shieling’s love!
— O, add shielsome bridelittle! All of her own! Nircississies are as the doaters of inversion. Secilas through their laughing classes becombing poolermates in laker life.
— It seems to same with Iscappellas. Ys? Gotellus! A tickey for tie taughts!
— Listenest, meme mearest! They were harrowd, those finweeds! Come, rest in this bosom! Am so sorry you lost him, poor lamb! Of course I know you are a viry vikid girl to go in the dreemplace and at that time of the draym. And it was a very wrong thing to do, even under the dark blush of night, dare all grandpassia! He’s gone on his bombashaw. Through geesing and so pleasing at Strip Teasy up the stairs. The boys on the corner were talking too. And your soreful miseries first come on you. Still, to forgive it’s divine, my lickle wiffey, and everyboy knows you do look lovely in your invinsibles, Eulogia, a perfect apposition with the coldcream, Assoluta from Boileau’s, I always use in the wards after I am burned a rich egg and derive the greatest benefit, sign of the cause! My, you do! Simply adorable! Could I but pass my hands some, my hands through, thine hair! So vickyvicky veritiny! O Fronces, say howdyedo, Dotty! Chic hands. The way they curve there! Winning in a way, only my arms are whiter, dear, under new charmeen cuffs. I am more divine like that when I’ve two of everything up to boyproof knicks. Blanchemain, idler. Fairhair, frail one. Listen, meme sweety! O be joyfold! Mirror do justice, taper of ivory, heart of the conavent, hoops of gold! My veil will save it undyeing from his ethernal fire! It’s meemly us two, meme idoll. Of course it was downright verry vicked of him, reelly, meeting me disguised, Bortolo mio, in his storm collar, with my dovebirds, my colombinas. Even Netta and Linda, our seeyu tities, said their sinsitives shrinked, and they’ve sin sumtim, tankus! My rillies were liebeneaus, my aftscents embre. Peerfectly appealling, D.V. How me adores eatsother simply (Mon Ishebeau! Ma Reinebelle!) as I leaned yestreen from his muskished blesbless labs. Even my little pom got excited when I turned his head on his same manly bust and kissed him more. Only he might speak to a person, lord, so picious, taking up my worths ill wrong! May I introduce? This is my futuous loveliast. Lips and looks lovely. Still, me with you, you poor chilled, will make it up in the moontime with Mother Concepcion and a glorious lie between us, sweetness, so as not a novene in all the loretos, not my littlest one of all, for mercy’s sake, need ever know what’s past our lips. Yes, sir, we’ll will! Clothe a wind! Fee O Fie! Covey us niced! Bansh the dread! Alitten’s looking. Low him lovly! Make me feel good! It will all take bloss as oranged by my historiennes at Saint Audien’s rosan chocolate chapelry with my diamants blickfeast after at minne owned hos for all the cat club to go cryzy and Father Blesius Mindelsinn will give us his beminding haaand. Kyrielle elation! Crystal elation! Kyrielle elation! Elation immanse! Sing to us! Sing to us! Sing to us! Amam! So, meme mearest, languished hister, be free to me! (I’m fading!) And, listen, youyou beauty, esster, I’ll be clue to who knows you, pray Magda, Marthe with Luz and Joan, while I lie with warm lisp on the Tolka. (I’m fay!)
— Eusapia! Fais-le-tout-tait! Languishing hysteria? The clou historique? How is this at all? Is dads the thing in such or are tits the that? Hear we here her first poseproem of suora unto suora? Twinstreams twinestrains, Alicious through alluring glass or alas in jumboland? Ding dong! Where’s your pal in silks alustre? Think of a maiden. Presentacion. Double her. Annupciacion. Take your first thoughts away from her. Immacolacion. Knock and it shall appall unto you! Who shone yet shimmers will be e’er scheining. Cluse her, voil her, hild her hindly. After liryc and themodius soft aglo iris of the vals. This young barlady, what euphemiasly is she doing? Is she having an ambidual act herself in apparition with herself as Consuelas to Sonias may?
— Dang! And tether, a loguy O!
— Dis and dat and dese and dose! Yer crackling out of yer turn, my Moonster firefly, like always. 2 R.N. and Longhorns Connach, stay off my air! You’ve grabbed the capital and you’ve had the lion’s shire since 1542 but there’s all the difference in Ireland between your borderation, my chatty cove, and me. The leinstrel boy to the wall is gone and there’s moreen astoreen for Monn and Conn. With the tyke’s named moke. Doggymens’ nimmer win! You last led the first when we last but we’ll first trump your last with a lasting. Jump the railchairs or take them, just as you please, but answer my queskins first, foxyjack! Ye’ve as much skullabogue cheek on you now as would boil a cauldron of kalebrose. Did the market missioners, Hayden Wombwell, when given the raspberry, fine more than sandsteen per cent of chalk in the purity, promptitude and perfection flour of this raw materialist and less than a seventh pro mile in his meal? We bright young chaps of the brandnew braintrust are briefed here and with maternal sanction compellably empanelled at quarter sessions under the six disqualifications for the uniformication of young persons (Nodding Neutrals) removal act by Committalman Number Underfifteen to know had the peeress of generals, who have been getting nosemoney cheap and stirring up the public opinion about private balls with their legs, Misses Mirtha and Merry, the two dreeper’s assistents, had they their service books in order and duly signed J. H. North and Company when discharged from their last situations? Will ye gup and tell the board in the anterim how, in the name of the three tailors on Tooley Street, did O’Bejorumsen or Mockmacmahonitch, ex of Butt and Hocksett’s, violating the bushel standard, come into awful position of the barrel of bellywash? And why, is it any harm to ask, was this hackney man in the coombe, a papersalor with a whiteluke to him, Fauxfitzhuorson, collected from Manofisle, carrying his ark, of eggshaped fuselage and made in Fredborg into the bullgine, across his back when he might have been settin on his jonass inside of her made up like a Glassthure cabman? Where were the doughboys, or Marchester Marchers, three by nombres, won in ziel, cavehill exers or hearts of steel, Hansen, Morfydd and O’Dyar, V.D., with their glenagearries, directing their steps according to the R.U.C.’s liaison officer, with their trench ulcers open and their hands in their pockets contrary to military rules, when confronted with his lifesize obstruction? When did he live off rooking the pooro and how did he start pfuffpfaffing at his Paterson and Hellicott’s? Is it a factual fact, proved up to sealsteethshilt, that this fancydress nordic in shaved lamb breeches, child’s kilts, bibby buntings and wellingtons, with club, torc and headdress, preholder of the Bar Ptolomei, is co-owner of a hengster’s circus near North Great Denmark Street (incidentally, it’s the most unjoyable show going the province and I’m taking the youngsters there Saturday first when it’s halfprice naturals night to see the fallen sickners aping the buckleybackers and the blind to two worlds taking off the deffydowndummies) and that the shamshemshowman has been complaining to the police barracks and applying for an order of certiorari and crying out something vile about him being molested, after him having triplets, by offers of vacancies from females in this city neighing after the man and his outstanding attraction ever since they seen his X-ray picture turned out in wealthy red in the sabbath sheets? Was it him that suborned that surdumutual son of his, a litterydistributer in Saint Patrick’s Lavatory, to turn a Roman and leave the chayr and gout in his bare balbriggans, the sweep, and buy the usual jar of porter at the Morgue and Cruses and set it down before the wife with her fireman’s halmet on her, bidding her mine the hoose, the strumpet, while him and his lagenloves were rampaging the roads in all their paroply under the noses of the Heliopolitan constabulary? Can you beat it? Prepare the way! Where’s that gendarm auxiliar, arianautic sappertillery, that reported on the whole hoodlum, relying on his morse-erse wordybook and the truncheon up his tail? Roof Seckesign van der Deckel! Recall Sickerson, the lizzyboy, and get her story from him! Seckersen, magnon of Errick! Sackerson! Hookup!
— Day shirker four vanfloats he verdants market.
High liquor made lust torpid dough hunt her orchid.
— Hunt her orchid! Gob, and he found it on her, right enough! With her shoes upon his shoulders, ’twas most trying to beholders when he upped their frullatullepleats with our warning. A disgrace to the homely protestant religion! Bloody old preadamite with his twohandled umberella! Trust me to spy on me own spew!
— Wallpurgies! And it’s this’s your deified city? Monganson? And it’s we’s to pray for Bigmesser’s conversions? Call Kitty the Beads, the Mandame of Tipknock Castle! Let succuba succumb, the improvable his wealth made possible! He’s cookinghagar that rost her prayer to him upan the top of the stairs. She’s deep, that one.
— A farternoiser for his tuckish armenities. Ouhr Former, who erred in having, gibbous disdag our darling breed. And then the confisieur for the boob’s indulligence. As sunctioned for his salmenbog by the Councillorsom-Trent. Pave Pannem at his gaiter’s bronze! Nummer half dreads Log Laughty. Master’s gunne he warrs the bedst. I messaged his dilltoyds sausepander mussels on the kisschen table. With my ironing duck through his rollpins of gansyfett, do dodo doughdy dough, till he was braising red in the toastface with lovensoft eyebulbs and his kiddledrum steeming and rattling like the roasties in my mockamill. I awed to have scourched his Abarm’s brack for him. For the loaf of Obadiah, take your pastryart’s noas out of me flouer bouckuet! Of the strainger scene you given squeezers to me skillet! As cream of the hearth thou reinethst alhome. His lapper and libbers was glue goulewed as he sizzled there watching me lautterick’s pitcher by Wexford-Atelier as Katty and Lanner, the refined souprette, with my bust alla brooche and the padbun under my matelote, showing my jigotty sleeves and all my new toulong touloosies. Whisk! There’s me shims and here’s me hams and this is me juppettes, gause be the meter! Whisk! What’s this? Whisk! And that? He never cotched finer, balay me, at Romiolo Frullini’s flea pantamine out of Griddle-the-Sink or Shusies-with-her-Soles-Up or La Sauzerelly, the Pucieboots, when I started so hobmop ladle-like, highty tighty, to kick the time off the cluckclock lucklock quamquam camcam potapot panapan kickakickkack. Hairhorehounds, shake up pfortner. Fuddling fun for Fullacan’s sake!
— All halt! Sponsor programme and close down. That’s enough, genral, of finicking about Finnegan and fiddling with his faddles. A final ballot, guvnor, to remove all doubt. By sylph and salamander and all the trolls and tritons, I mean to top her drive and to tip the tap of this, at last. His thoughts that wouldbe words, his livings that havebeen deeds. And will too, by the holy child of Coole, primapatriock of the archsee, if I have at first to down every mask in Trancenania from Terreterry’s Hole to Stutterers’ Corner to find that Yokeoff his letter, this Yokan his da. Let pass the jousters of the king, the Kovnor-Journal and eirenarch’s custos himself no less, the meg of megs, with the Carrison old gang! Oπ with your persians! Search ye the Finn! The sinder’s under shriving sheet. Fa Fe Fi Fo Fum! Ho, croak, evildoer! Arise, sir ghostus! As long as you’ve lived there’ll be no other. Doff!
— Amtsadam! Sir, to you! Eternest cittas, heil! Here we are again! I am bubub brought up under a camel act of dynasties long since out of print, the first of Shitric Shilkanbeard (or is it Owllaugh MacAuscullpth the Thord?), but, in pontofacts massimust, I am known throughout the world wherever my good Allenglisches’ Angleslachsen is spoken by Sall and Will from Augustanus to Ergastulus, as this is, whether in Farnum’s rath or Condra’s ridge or the meadows of Dalkin or Monkish tunshep, by saints and sinners eyeeye alike as a cleanliving man and, as a matter of fict, by my halfwife, I think how our public at large appreciates it most highly from me that I am as cleanliving as could be and that my game was a fair average since I perpetually kept my ouija ouija wicket up. On my verawife I never was nor can afford to be guilty of breach, crim crig con, malfeasance or trespass against parson with the person of a youthful gigirl frifrif friend chirped Apples, acted by Miss Dashe, or with anny of my cousines in Kissilov’s Slutsgartern or Gigglotte’s Hill, when I would touch to her dot and feel most greenily of her unripe ones, as it should prove most unniece and far too bahad, nieceless to say, to my reputation on Babbyl Malket for daughters-in-trade being lightly clad. Yet, as my acquainters do me the complaisance of apprising me, I should her have awristed under my duskguise of whippers through toombs and deempeys, lagmen, was she but tinkling of such a tink. And, as a mere matter of ficfact, I tell of myself how I popo possess the ripest littlums wifukie around the globelettes globes upon which she was romping off on Floss Mundai out of haram’s way round Skinner’s Circusalley first with her consolation prize in my serial dreams of fair women, Mannequins Passe, with awards in figure and smile subsections, handicapped by two breasts in operatops. A remarkable little endowment garment. Fastened at various places. What spurt! I kickkick keenly love such, particularly while savouring of their flavours at their most perfect best when served with heliotrope ayelips, as this is, where I do drench my jolly soul on the pupure beauty of hers past.
She is my bestpreserved wholewife, sowell her as herafter, in Evans’s eye, with incompatibly the smallest shoenumber outside of Chinatins. They are jolly dainty, spekin tluly. May we not recommend them? It was my proof-piece from my prenticeserving. And, alas, our private chaplain of Lambeyth and Dolekey, bishopregionary, an always sadfaced man, in his lutestring dew-cape with tabinet band, who has visited our various hard hearts and reins by imposition of fufuf fingers, olso haddock’s fumb, in that Upper Room, can speak loud to you some quite complimentary things about my clean characteracting even, when detected, in the dusk, distressful though such recital prove to me, as this is, when I introduced her (frankfurters numbourines why drive fear!) to our fourposter tunies chantreying, under Castrucci Sinior and De Mellos, those whapping oldsteirs, with sycamode euphonium in either notation in our altogether cagehaused duckkyheim gleegloom on Goosna Greene, that cabinteeny homesweetened through affection’s hoardpayns, there’s gnome sweeplaces like theresweep Nowhergs. First Murkiss, or so they sankeyed. Dodo! O Clearly! And the gregorio at front with Johannes far in back. Aw aw! By whom, as my Kerk Findlater’s, ye litel chuch rond ye coner, and K. K. Katakasm enjoineth upon all swaddlered in the Belief and as you all know as a matter of pure fact, dear humans, of a child one of my life’s ambitions of my yougend from an early peepee period while still to hedjeskool, intended for broadchurch, I was parruchially confirmed in Caulofat’s bed by our bujibuji beloved curate-author. Michael Engels is your man. Let Michael relay Sutton and tell you people here who have the phoney habit (it was remarketable) in his clairaudience, as this is, as only our own Michael can, when reicherout at superstation, to bring ruptures to our roars how I am amp amp amplify. Hiemlancollin. Pimpim’s Ornery fortninehalf. Shaun Shemsen saywhen saywhen. Holmstock unsteaden. Livpoomark lloyrge hoggs one four tupps noying. Big Butter Boost! Sorry! Thnkyou! Thatll beall fortoday. Call it off! Godnotch, vrybolly! End a muddy chrushmess! Abbreciades anew York gustoms. Kyow! Tak!
— Tiktak. Tiktak.
— Awind abuzz awater falling.
— Poor a cows his jew placator.
— It’s the damp damp damp.
Calm has entered. Big Big Calm, announcer! It is ernst terooly a most moresome intartenmont! Colt’s tooth! I will give tandsel to it. I protest there is luttrelly not one teaspoonspill of evidence at bottomlie to my babad, as you shall see, as this is, Keemun Lapsang of first pickings. And I contango I can take off my dudud my dirtynine articles of quoting here in Pynix Park before those in heaven to provost myself by gramercy of justness a virgoman and moremon, stiff and staunch for ever, and enter under the advicies to their favoured client from Misrs Norris, Sotheby, Yates and Weston, Inc, into my preprotestant Caveat against the pupup publication of libel by any tixtim tipsyloon or tobtom towley of Keisserse Lean to that highest personage at moments holding down the throne. So to speak of beauty scouts in elegant pursuit of flowers, searchers for tabernacles and the celluloid art! Happen seen sore eynes belived? The caca cad! A bloweyed lanejoynt, waring lowbelt suit, with knockbrecky kenees and bullfist rings round him and a fallse roude axehand (he is cunvesser to Saunter’s Nocelettres and the Poe’s Toffee’s Directory in his pisness), the best begrudged man in Belgradia, who doth not belease to our paviour, he walked by North Strand with his Thom’s towel in hand. Snakeeye! Strangler of soffiacated green parrots! I protest it that he is, by my wipehalf, my nomesuch! He was leaving out of my double inns while he was all teppling over my single ixits. So was keshaned on for his recent behaviour. Sherlook is lorking for him. Allare beltspanners! Hourspringlike his joussture, immitiate my chry! As urs now, so yous then! Get your air curt! Shame upon pipip Private M—! Shames on his foulsomeness! Shamus on his atkinscum’s lulul lying suulen for an outcast mastiff littered in blood currish! Erestocrass till Hanging Tower! Steck a javelin through his advowtried heart! Instaunton! Flap, my Larrybird! Dangle, my highflyer! Jiggety jig, my jackadandyline! Let me never see his waddphez again! And mine it was, Barktholed von Hunarig, Soesown af Furrows, when to our lot it fell on my poplar Sexsex, my Sexencentaurnary, when by gate of Hal, before his hostel of the Wodin Man, I hestened to freeholdit op to His Mam His Mamam Majuscules His Magnus Maggerstick first city’s leasekuays of this Nova Tara, our most noble, when hrossbucked on his pricelist charger, Pferdinamd Allibuster (yeddonot need light oar till Noreway for you fanned one o’er every doorway), with my allbum’s greethims through this whole of my promises: Handshakey Congrandyoulikethems, Ecclesency!
Whosaw the jackery dares at handgripper thisa breast? Dose makkers ginder! Some one we was with us all fours. Adversarian! The spiking Duyvil! First liar in Londsend! Wulv! See yon scargore on that skeepsbrow! And those meisies! Sulken taarts! Man sicker at I ere bluffit konservateve? Shucks! Such ratshause bugsmess so I cannot barely conceive of! Lowest basemeant in hystry! Ibscenest nansence! Noksagt! Per Peeler and Pawr! The brokerheartened shugon! Hole affair is rotten muckswinish porcupig’s draff! Enouch!
— Is that yu, Whitehead?
— Have you headnoise now?
— Give us your mespilt reception, will yous?
— Pass the fish for Christ’ sake!
Old Whitehowth he is speaking again. Ope eustace tube! Pity poor Whiteoath! Dear gone mumum mummeries, goby! Tell the woyld I have livet true thousand hells. Pity, please, lady, for poor O.W. in this profundust snobbing I have caught. Nine dirty years mine age, hairs hoar, mummery failend, snowdrift to my ellpow, deff as Adder, I askt you, dear lady, to judge on my tree by our fruits. I gave you of the tree. I gave two smells, three eats. My freeandies, my celeberrimates! My happybossoms, my allfalling fruits of my boom. Pity poor Haveth Childers Everywhere with Mudder!
That was Communicator, a former colonel, disincarnated. He is not all hear. A spirit called Sebastian from the Rivera in Januero may fernspreak shortly with messuages from my deadported. He does not believe in our psychous of the Real Absence, neither miracle wheat nor soulsurgery of P. P. Quemby. Let us cheer him up a little and make an appunkment for a future date. Hello, Communicator! Eh? How’s the buttes? Everscepistic! He has had some indiejestings, poor thing, for quite a little while, confused by his tonguer of baubble. Away with him! Poor Felix Culaper! Ring his mind, ye staples (bonze!), in my ould reekeries’ ballyheart and in my krumlin and in aroundisements and stremmis! Sacks eleathury! Sacks eleathury! Bam! I deplore over him ruely. Mongrieff! O Hone! Guestermed with the nobelities, todie bronxitic in achershous! So enjoying of old thick whiles, in haute white toff’s hoyt of our formed reflections, with stock of eisen all his prop, so buckely hosiered from the Royal Leg, and his puertos mugnum, he would puffout a dhymful bock! And the how he would husband her that verikerfully, his cigare divane (he would redden her with his vestas, but ’tis naught), with us, his nephos and his neberls, mest incensed and befogged by him and his smoke thereof! But he shall have his glad stein of our zober beerbest in Oscarshal’s winetavern. Buen retiro! The boyce voyce is still flautish and his mounth still wears that soldier scarlet though the flaxafloyeds, alas, are peppered with salsedine. It is bycause of what he was ascend into his prisonce on account off. I whit it well. Hence he’s deepraised words. Some day I may tell of his second storey. Mood! Mood! It looks like someone other bearing my burdens. I cannot let it. Kanes nought.
Well, yeamen, I have bared my whole past, I flatter myself, on both sides. Give me even my two months by laxlaw in second division and my first broadcloth is business will be to protest to Recorder at Thing of all Things, or court of Skivinis, with marchants grey, antient and credibel, Zerobubble Barrentone, Jonah Whalley, Determined Codde or Cucumber Upright, my jurats, if it does not occur again. O rhyme us! Haar Faagher, wild heart in Homelan, Harrod’s be thee naun, mine kinder come, mine wohl be won! There is nothing like leuther. O shee! And nosty mens in gladshouses they shad not peggott stones. The elephant’s house is his castle. I am here to tell you, indeed to goodness, that, allbe I discountenanced beallpersuasions in rinunciniation of my pomps of heretofore, with a wax too held in hand, I am thorgtfulldt to do dope me of Ovocna’s miscisprinks and by virchow of those filthered waters presently, like Browne umbracing Christina Anya, after the Irishers, to convert me into a Selt (but first I must proxy babetise my old antenaughties) when, being fully alive to it, as Sigismond Stolterforth, with Rabbin Robroost for my auspicer and Leecher Rutty for my lifearst (Ehren til viktrae!), I will westerneyes those poor sunuppers and outbreiten their land’s eng. A man should stump up and I will pay my pretty decent trade price for my glueglue glucose, peebles, were it even, as this is, the legal eric for wholewiping clean infelicitous conduict (here incloths placefined my pocketanchoredcheck) and, as a matter of fact, I undertake to discontinue entyrely all practices and I deny in toto at my own request in all stoytness to have confermentated and confoederated and agreed in times prebellic, when here were waders for the trainsfolk, as it is now nuggently laid to me, with a friend from mine, Mr Billups, pulleter, my quarterbrother, who sometimes he is doing my locum for me on a grubstake and whom I have cleped constoutuent, for so it was felt by me, at goodbuy cootcoop by usucapiture a mouthless niggeress, Blanchette Brewster from Cherna Djamja, Blawlawnd-via-Brigstow, or to illsell my fourth part in her, which although allowed of in Deuterogamy as in several places of Scripture (copyright) and excluded books (they should quite rightly verbanned be) would seem eggseggs excessively harroween to my feelimbs, for twa punt scotch, one pollard and a crocard or three pipples on the bitch. Thou, Frick’s flame, Uden Sulfer, who strikest only on the marryd bokks, entquick me if so be I did cophetuise milady’s maid! In spect of her beavers she is a womanly and sacret. Such wear a frillick for my comic strip (Mons Meg’s Monthly, comes out aich Fanagan’s Weck) to bray at by clownsillies in Donkeybrook Fair. It would lackin mackin Hodder’s and Cocker’s erithmatic. The unpurdonable preempson of all of her of yourn, by Juno Moneta! If she, irished Marryonn Teheresiann, has been disposed of for her consideration, I, Ledwidge Salvatorious, am tradefully unintiristid. And if she is still further talc slopping over her cocoa contours, I, hwat mick angars, am strongly of opinion why I should not be. Improbable! I do not credit one word of it from such and suchess mistraversers. Just feathers! Nanenities! Or to have ochtroyed to resolde or borrough by exchange same super melkkaart, means help, best Brixton, high yellow, no outings, cent for cent on Auction’s Bridge. ’Twere a honnibel crudelty wert so tentement to their naktlives and scatab orgias we devour about in the mightyevil roohms of enceint Cartage. Utterly improperable! Not for alled Crusos or white soul of gold! A pipple on the panis, two claps on the cansill, or three pack pocks cassey knocked on the postern! Not for one testey tickey culprik’s coynde ore for all écus in cunziehowffse! So hump me Cash! I meanit.
My herrings! The surdity of it, mean to say. Her bare idears, it is choo-choo chucklesome. Absurd bargain, mum, will call. One line, with! One line, with, with! Will ate everadayde saumone like a boyne alive O. The tew cherripickers with their catheringnettes, Lizzy and Lissy Mycock from Street Fleshshambles, were they moon at aube with hespermun and I their covin guardient, I would not know to contact such gretched youngsteys in my ways from Haddem or any suistersees or heiresses of theirn, claiming by, through, or under them. Ous of their freiung pfann into myne foyer! Her is one which rassembled to mein enormally. The man what shocked his shanks at contey Carlow’s. He is Deucollion. Each habe goheard: Up-taking you are innersence but we sen you meet sose infance. Deucollion! Odor: Evilling chimbes is smutsick rivulverblott but thee hard casted thereass pigstenes upann Congan’s shootsmen in Schottenhof, ekeascent? Igen Deucollion! I liked his gothamn chic! Stuttertub! What a shrubbery trick to play! Hear this! I will put my oathhead unner my whitepot for ransom of beeves and will stand me where I stood mine in all free heat between Pelagios and little Chistayas by Roderick’s, our most monolith, after my both earstoear and brebreeches buybibles and, minhaton, testify to my unclothed virtue by the longstone erectheion of our allfirst manhere. I should tell you that honestly, on my honour of a Nearwicked, I always think (in a wordsworth of that primed favourite continental poet, Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper, A. G., whom the generality admoyers in this that is and that this is to come) like as my palmer’s past policy I have had my best master’s lesson, as the public he knows. And do you know, homesters, I honestly think if I have failed lamentably by accident benefits, though shintoed, spitefired, perplagued and cramkrieged, I am doing my dids bits and have made of my prudentials good. I have been told I own stolemines or something of that sort in the sooth of Spainien. Hohohoho! Have I said ogso how I abhor myself vastly (truth to tell) and do repent me to my nether heart of suntry clothing? The amusin part is, I will say, hotelmen, that, after martiell siegewin with Abbot Warre to blesse on yon slauchterday of cleantarriffs, since I, yetnot a bottlenim, over the deep drowner Athacleeath to seek again Irrlanding, shamed in mind, with three plunges of my ruddertail, vanced imperial standard by weaponright and platzed mine residenze, taking bourd and burgage under starrymisty, and ran and operated my Brixtol selection here at thollstall, for mean straits male with evorage fimmel, in commune soccage, among strange and enemy, among these plotlets, at Poplinstown, alore Fort Dunlip, then-on-sea, hole of Serbonian bog, now city of magnificent distances, goodwalldabout, with talus and counterscarp and pale of palisades, in that year which I have called myriabellous, and overdrave these marken under patroonshaap of our good kingsinnturns, T. R. H. Urban First and Champaign Chollyman and Hungry the Loaved and Hangry the Hathed, here where my tenenure of office and my toils of domestication first began, with weight of woman my skat and skuld but Flukie of the Ravens my sure piloter, famine with Englisch sweat and oppedemics, the twotoothed Dragonworms with allsort serpents, has compolitely seceded from this landleague of many nations, and open and notorious naughty livers are found not on our rolls. This seat of our city it is of all sides pleasant, comfortable and wholesome. If you would traverse hills, they are not far off. If champain land, it lieth of all parts. If you would be delited with fresh water, the famous river called of Ptolemy the Libnia Labia runneth fast by. If you will take the view of the sea, it is at hand. Give heed!
— Do Drumcollogher whatever you do!
— Visitez Drumcollogher-la-Belle!
— Be suke and sie so ersed Drumcollogher!
— Vedi Drumcollogher e poi Moonis!
Things are not as they were. Let me briefly survey. Pro clam a shun! Pip! Peep! Pipitch! Ubipop jay piped, ibipep goes the whistle. Here Tyeburn throttled, massed marmurs march: where the bus stops, there shop I: here which ye see, yea reste. On me, your sleeping giant. Estoesto! Estote sunto! From the hold of my capt in altitude till the mortification that’s my fate. The end of our aldest mosest ist the beginning of all thisorder so the last of their hansbailis shall the first in our sheriffsby. Peace and plenty! New highs for all! Redu Negru may be black in tawn but under them lintels are staying my horneymen meet each his mansiemagd. For peers and gints, quaysirs and galleyliers, fresk letties from the say and stale headygabblers, gaingangers and dudder wagoners, pullars off societies and pushers on rothmere’s homes. Obeyance from the townsmen spills felixity by the toun. Our bourse and our politico-ecomedy are in safe with good Jock Shepherd, our lives are on sure in sorting with Jonathans, wild and great. Been so free! Thank you, besters! Hattentats have mindered, blaublaze devilbobs have gone from the mode and hairtrigger nicks are quite out of time now. Thuggeries are reere as glovars’ metins, lepers lack and ignorants show beneath suspicion like the bitterhalves of esculapuloids. In midday’s mallsight let Miledd discurverself, Meludd in her hide park seek Minuitette. All is waldly bonums. Blownose aerios, we luft to you! Firebugs, good blazes! Lubbers, keep your poudies drier! Seamen, we segn your skivs and wives!
Seven ills sobarely as centripunts havd I habt, seaventy seavens for circumference inkeptive are your hill prospect: Brayd, Blackfordrock, the Calton, the Liberton, Craig and Lockhart’s, A. Costofino, R. Thursitt. The chort of Nicholas Within was my guide and I raised a dome on the where-withouts of Michan: by awful tors my wellworth building sprang sky spearing spires, cloud cupoled campaniles. Further this. By fineounce and imposts I got and grew and by grossscruple gat I grown outreachesly: murage and lestage were my mains for Ouerlord’s tithing and my drains for render and prender the doles and the tribute: I was merely out of my mint with all the percussors on my braincap till I struck for myself and muched morely by token: to Sirrherr of Gambelden old ruddy money and to Madame of Pitymount I loue yous. Paybads floriners moved in hugheknots against us and I matt them, pepst to papst, barthelemew: milreys (mark!) onfell and (luc!) I arose, Daniel in Leonden. Bulafests onvied me, Corkcuttas graachted. Atabey! The soord on Whencehislaws was mine and mine the prusshing stock of Allbrecht the Bearn. I wegschicked Duke Wellinghof to reshockle Roy Shackleton: Walhalloo, Walhalloo, Walhalloo, mourn in plein! I braved Brien Berueme to berow him against the Loughlins, all her tolkies shraking: Fugabollags! Lusqu’au bou! If they had ire back of eyeball they got danage on front tooth: theres were revelries at ridottos, here was rivalry in redoubt. Under law’s marshall and warschouw did I thole till lead’s plumbate, ping on pang, reliefed me. I made praharfeast upon acorpolous and fastbroke down in Neederthorpe. I let faireviews in on slobodens but ranked rothgardes round wrathmindsers: I bathandbaddend on mendicity and I cowcured off the unoculated. Can you tell their tale whom I filled ad liptum on the plain of Soulsbury? With three hunkered peepers and twa and twas! For sleeking beauties I spinned their nightinveils, to slumbred beasts I tummed the tief air. Round the musky moved a murmel but mewses whinninaird and belluas zoomed: tendulcis tunes like water parted fluted up from the westinders while from gorges in the east came the strife of ourangoontangues. All in my thicville Escuterre ofen was thorough fear but in the meckling of my Burgh Belvaros was the site forbed: I meade uisance of wellpressed champdamors and peddled freely in the scrub: tuberclerosies I reized spudfully from the murphyplantz Hawkinsonia and berriberries from the pletoras of the Irish shou. I heard my libertilads making fray through their curraghcoombs and my trueblues herusalaming before Wailingtone’s Wall: out of fundness for the outozone I carried them and curried them in my Putzemdown cars to my Kommeandine hotels: I richmounded the rainelag in my bathytub of roundwood and conveyed it with cheers and cables, rearing mighty shouts, through my longertubes of elm: I made sprouts fontaneously from Philuppe Sobriety in the coupe that’s cheyned for noon inebriates: when they weaned weary of that bibbing I made infusion more infused: sowerpacers of the vinegarth, obtemperate unto me! When you think me in my coppeecuffs lookinware would you meckamockame, as you pay in caabmand’s sheltar tot the ites like you corss the tees. Wherefore watch ye well! For, while I oploocked the first of Janus’s straight, I downsaw the last of Christmas steps: syndic podesteril and on the rates, I for indigent and intendente: in Forum Foster I demonsthrenated my folksfiendship, enmy pupuls felt my burk was no worse than their brite: Sapphrageta and Consciencia were undecidedly attached to me but the maugher machrees and the auntieparthenopes my schwalby words with litted spongelets set their soakeypokeys and botchbons afume: Fletcher-Flemmings, elizaboth, how interquackeringly they rogated me, their golden one, I inhesitant made replique: Mesdememdes to leursieuresponsor: And who in hillsaide, Don’t you let flyfire till you see their whites of the bunkers’ eyes? Mr Answers: Bringem young, bringem young, bringem young! in my bethel of Solyman’s I accouched their rotundaties and I turnkeyed most insultantly over lutetias raped in the lock: I gave bax ob biscums to the jacobeaters and pottage bakes to the esausted: I dehlivered them with freakandesias by the constant droppings from my smalls instalmonths while I titfortotalled up their farinadays for them on my slataper’s slate with my chandner’s chauk: I jaunted on my jingelbrett rapt in neckloth and sashes and I beggared about the amnibushes like belly in a bowle. In the humanity of my heart I sent out heywheywomen to refresh the ballwearied and then, doubling megalopolitan poleetness, my great great greatest of these charities, devaleurised the base fellows for the curtailment of their lower man: with a slog to square leg I sent my boundary to Botany Bay and I ran up a score and four of mes while the Yanks were huckling the Empire: I have been reciping om omominous letters and widelysigned petitions full of pieces of pottery about my monumentalness as a thingabolls and I have been inchanting causeries to the feshest cheoilboys so that they are allcalling on me for the song of a birtch. Attent! Couch hear! I have becket my vonderbilt hutch in sunsmidnought and at morningrise I was encampassed of mushroofs: the more secretly bi built, the more openly palastered. Rest and bethinkful, with licence, thanks. I considered the lilies on the veldt and unto Balkis did I disclothe mine glory. Lo, I have looked long upon my pumpadears in their easancies and my drummers have tattled tall tales of me in the land.
And this. This mayds my taughters and these man my son, from my fief of the Villa of the Ostmannorum to Thorstan’s, recte Thomars Sraid, and from Huggin Pleaze to William Inglis his house, that man de Loundres, in all their barony of Saltus, bonders and foeburghers, helots and zelots, strutting oges and swaggering macks, the darsy jeamses, the drury joneses, redmaids and bleucotts, in hommage and felony, all who have received tickets, fair home overcrowded, tidy but very little furniture, respectable, whole family attends daily mass and is dead sick of bread and butter, sometime in the militia, mentally strained from reading work on German physics, shares closet with eight other dwellings, more than respectable, getting comfortable parish relief, wage-earner freshly shaven from prison, highly respectable, planning new departure in Mountgomery cyclefinishing, eldest son will not serve but peruses Big-Man-up-in-the-Sky scraps, anoopanadoon lacking backway, quasi respectable, pays ragman in bones for faded windowcurtains, staircase continually lit up with guests, particularly respectable, house lost in dirt and blocked with refuse, getting on like Roe’s distillery on fire, slovenly wife active with the jug, in business for himself, has a tenth illegitimate coming, partly respectable, following correspondence courses, chucked work over row, both cheeks kissed at levee by late marquess of Zetland, sharing closet which is profusely written over with eleven other subscribers, once respectable, open hallway pungent of Baltic dishes, bangs kept woman’s head against wall thereby disturbing neighbours, private chapel occupies return landing, removal every other quarter day, case one of peculiar hopelessness, most respectable, nightsoil has to be removed through snoring household, eccentric naval officer not quite steady enjoys weekly churchwarden and laugh while reading foreign pictorials on clumpstump before door, known as the trap, widow rheumatic and chars, haunted, condemned and execrated, of dubious respectability, tools too costly pledged or uninsured, reformed philanthropist whenever feasible takes advantage of unfortunates against dilapidating ashpits, serious student is eating his last dinners, floor dangerous for unaccompanied old clergymen, thoroughly respectable, many uncut pious books in evidence, nearest watertap two hundred yards’ run away, fowl and bottled gooseberry frequently on table, man has not had boots off for twelve months, infant being taught to hammer flat piano, outwardly respectable, sometimes hears from titled connection, one foot of dust between banister and cracked wall, wife cleans stools, eminently respectable, ottawark and regular loafer, should be operated on would she consent, deplorable rent in roof, claret cellar cobwebbed since the pontificate of Leo, wears drill trousers and collects rare buddhas, underages very treacly and verminous have to be separated, sits up with fever cases for one and threepence, owns two terraces (back to back breeze), respectable in every way, harmless imbecile supposingly weakminded, a sausage every Sunday, has a staff of eight servants, outlook marred by ne’er-do-wells using the laneway, lieabed sons go out with sisters immediately after dark, has never seen the sea, travels always with her eleven trunks of clothing, starving cat left in disgust, the pink of respectability, resting after colonial service, labours at plant, the despair of his many benefactresses, calories exclusively from Rowntrees and dumplings, one bar of sunlight does them all January and half February, the V. de V’s (animal diet) live in fivestoried semidetached but rarely pay tradesmen, went security for friend who absconded, shares same closet with fourteen similar cottages and an illfamed lodginghouse, more respectable than some, teawidow pension but held to purchase, inherited silk hat from father-in-law, head of domestic economy never mentioned, query how they live, reputed to procure, last four occupants carried out, mental companionship with mates only, respectability unsuccessfully aimed at, copious holes emitting mice, decoration from Uganda chief in locked ivory casket, grandmother has advanced alcoholic amblyopia, the terror of Goodmen’s Field, and respected and respectable, as respectable as respectable can respectably be, though their orable amission were the herrors I could have expected, all, let them all come, they are my vill villeins, with chartularies I have talledged them.
Wherfor I will and firmly command, as I willed and firmly commanded, upon my royal word, and cause the great seal now to be affixed, that from the farthest of the farther of their fathers to their children’s children’s children they do inhabit it and hold it for me and my heirs, unencumbered, firmly and quietly, amply and honestly, and with all the liberties and free customs which the men of Tolbris, a city of Tolbris, have at Tolbris, in the county of their city and through whole my land. Hereto my vouchers: knife and snuffbuchs. Fee for farm. Enwreak us wrecks.
Struggling forlongs I have livramentoed, milles on milles of mancipelles. Mined outskirts benlewd, men breaches portpoinsed: in morgenattics litt I hope, in seralcellars louched I bleakmealers: on my siege of my mighty I was parciful of my subjects, but in streetwauks that are darkest I debelled em superb: I deemed the drugtails in my pettycourts and domstered dustyfeets in my husinclose: at Guy’s they were swathed, at Foulkes’s slashed, the game for a Gomez, the loy for a Lynch: if I was magmonimoss as staidy lavgiver I revolucanized by my eructions: on hye and bye wayseeds I scattered em, in my graben fields sew sowage I gathered em: in Sheridan’s Circle my wits repose, in black pitts of the pestered Lenfant he is dummed. Hearts of Oak, may ye root to piece! Rechabites, obstain! Clayed sheets, pineshrouded, wake not, walk not! Sigh lento, Morgh!
Quo warranto has his greats my soliven and puissant lord V. King regards for me and he has given to me my necknamesh (flister it!) which is second fiddler to nomen. These be my genteelician arms. At the crest, two young frish, etoiled, flappant, devoiled of their habiliments, vested sable, withdrewers argent. For the boss, a coleopter, pondant, partifessewise, blazoned sinister, at the slough, proper. In the lower field, a terce of lanciers, shaking unsheathed shafts, their arms crossed in saltire, embusked, sinople. Motto, in letters portent: Hery Crass Evohodie.
Idle were it, repassing from elserground to the elder disposition, in so and such a matter as me it so besitteth, to inquire whether I, huddled til summone, be the massproduct of teamwork or I, draggedasunder, the forced generation of group marriage or carried of cloud from land of locust, in ouzel galley borne, three surtouts wripped up in itchother’s, two twin pritticoaxes lived as one, troubled in trine or dubildin too, for, holocryptogam of my essenses, abram nude be I or roberoyed with the faineans or Feejeean grafted ape on merfisch, surrounded by obscurity, most surely I pretend and reclam by my virtus of creation and by boon of promise my naturalborn freeman’s journeyman right and my Other Church’s inher lights to opt for simultaneous. Till daybow break and showshadows flee. Thus be Hek! Verily! Verily! Time, place!
— What is your numb? Bun!
— Who gave you that numb? Poo!
— Have you put in all your spare pennies? I’m listening. Sree!
— Keep clear of propennies! Fore!
Mr Televox, Mrs Taubiestimm, and invisible friends! I maymay mean to say. Annoyin part of it was, had my faithful Fulvia, following the wiening courses of this world, turned her back on her ways to go on uphills upon search of louvers, brunette men of Earalend, Chief Nightcloud by the Deeps and Chief Goes-in-Blackwater and Chief Northpaw and Chief Brown Poole, or, again, had Fluvia, amber whitch she was, left her chivily crookcrook crocus bed at the bare suggestions of some prolling bywaymen from Moabit who would have abused of her, the foxrogues, there might accrue advantage to ask wher in pellmell her deceivers sinned. Yet know of old it was vastly otherwise which I have heard it by mmummy goods waif, as I chiefly endmost hartyly aver, for Fulvia Fluvia, iddle woman to the plusneeborn, ever did ensue tillstead the things that pertained unto fairness, this wharom I am fawned on, that which was loost. Even so. For I waged love on her: and spoiled her undines: and she wept. O my lors!
— Till we meet!
— Ere we part!
— Tollollall!
— This time a hundred years!
But I was firm with her. And I did take the reached of my delights, my jealousy, ymashkt, beyashmakt, earswathed, snoutsnooded, and did raft her flumingworthily and did leftlead her overland the pace, from lachsleap up to liffsloup, tiding down, as portreeve should, whimpering by Kevin’s creek and Hurdlesfjord and Gardener’s Mall, long rivierside drive, embankment large, to Ringsend Flott and Ferry, where she began to bump a little bit, my dart to throw: and there, by wavebrink, on strond of south, with mace to masthigh, taillas Cowhowling, quailless Highjakes, did I upreize my magicianer’s puntpole, the tridont sired a tritan stock, farruler, and I bade those pollyfizzyboisterous seas to retire with hemselves from os (rookwards, thou seasea stamoror!) and I abridged with domfine norsemanship till I had done abate her maidan race, my baresark bride, and knew her fleshly when with all my bawdy did I her whorship, min bryllupswibe: Heaven, he hallthundered; Heydays, he flung blissforhers. And I cast my tenspan joys on her, arsched overtupped, from bank of call to echobank, by dint of strongbow (Galata! Galata!), so streng we were in one, malestream in she-gulf: and to ringstresse with iern of Erin I thumbed her and tradesman-marked her lieflang mine for all and singular, iday, igone, imorgens and for ervigheds (base your peak, you! you, strike your flag! what screech of shippings! what low of dampfbulls!): goosegaze annoynted uns, canailles canzoned; from Livland, hock zivios, from Lettland, skall vives! With Impress of Asias and Queen Columbia for her pairanymphs and the singing sands for herbrides’ music, me to she her shyblumes lifted and I pudd a name and wedlock boltoned round her the which to carry till her grave, Appa Lippia Pluviabille, my durdin dearley, whiles I herr lifer amstell and been: I chained her chastemate to grippe fiuming snugglers, her chambrett I bestank so to spunish furiosos: I was her hochsized, her cleaveinto, her everest, she was my annointed, my laurelled, my proved: who cut her ribbons when nought my prowes? who expoused that havenliness to beachalured ankerrides when not I, freipforter? in trinity huts they met my dama, pick of their poke for me: when I forgether ’twas my sumbad, if I farseeker itch my list: had I not workit in my cattagut with dogshunds’ crotts to clene and had I not giftet of my coataways, constantonoble’s aim? and, fortiffed by my right as man of capitol, I did umgyrdle her about, my vermincelly vinegarette, with all loving kindness as far as in man’s might it lay and enfranchised her to liberties of fringes: and I gave until my lilienyounger turkeythighs soft goods and hardware (catalogue, passim) and fine ladderproof hosiery lines (see stockingers’ raiment) and cocquette coiffs (see Agnes’ hats) and pennigsworths of the best of taste of knaggy jets and silvered waterroses and geegaws of my pretty novelties and wispywaspy frocks, trancepearances of redferns and lauralworths, such as women cattle bare and peltries piled and samite supple, rosselling gowns, the peak of Pim’s and Slyne’s and Sparrow’s, loomends day lumineused, luxories on looks, La Primamère, Pyrrha Pyrrhine, Or de Reinebeau, Sourire d’Hiver, and a crinoline, wide a shire, and pattens for her trilibies that know she might the tortuours of the boots and bedes of wampun with to toy and a murcery glaze of shard to mirrow for all daintiness by me and theetime, the cupandnaggin hour: and I wound around my swanchen’s neckplace a school of schells of moyles marine to swing their saysangs in her silents: and, upping her as king’s count, her aldritch cry oloss unheading, what though exceeding bitter, I pierced her beak with order of the Danabrog (Cunnig’s great! Soll leve! Soll leve!): with mare’s grease cressets at Leonard’s and Dunphy’s and Madonna lanthorns before quintacasas and tallonkindles spearhead syngeing nickendbookers and mhutton lightburnes dipdipping-downes in blackholes, the tapers of the topers and his buntingpall at Hoist, for days there was no night for nights were days and our folk had rest from Blackheathen and the pagans from the prince of pacis: what was trembling sod quaked no more, what were frozen loins were stirred and lived: gone the septuor, dark deadly dismal doleful desolate dreadful desperate, no more the tolvmaans, bloody gloomy hideous fearful furious alarming terrible horrible mournful sorrowful frightful appalling: peace, perfect peace: and I hung up at Yul my duindleeng lunas, helphelped of Kettil Flashnose, for the souperhore of my frigid one, coloumba mea, frimosa mea, in Wastewindy Tarred Strate and Elgin’s marble halles, lamping limp from black to block, through all Livania’s volted ampire, from anodes to cathodes and from the topazolites of Mourne, Wykinloeflare, by Arklow’s sapphire siomen’s lure and Wexterford’s hook and crook lights to the polders of Hy Kinsella: avenyue ceen my peurls ahumming, the crown to my estuarine munipicence? three firths of the sea I swept with draughtness and all ennempties I bottled em up in bellomport: when I stabmarooned jack and maturin I was a bad boy’s bogey but it was when I went on to sankt piotersbarq that they gave my devil his dues: what is seizer can hack in the old wold a sawyer may hew in the green: on the island of Breasil the wildth of me perished and I took my plowshure sadly, feeling pity for me sored: where bold O’Connee weds on Alta Mahar, the tawny sprawling beside that silver burn, I sate me and settled with the little crither of my hearth: her intellects I charmed with I calle them utile thoughts, her turlyhyde I plumped with potatums for amiens pease in plenty: my biblous beadells shewed her triumphs of craftygild pageantries, loftust Adam duffed our cousterclother, Conn and Owel with cortoppled baskib, Sire Noeh Guinnass exposant of his bargeness and Lord Joe Starr to hump the body of the camell: I screwed the Emperor down with ninepins gaelic with sixpenny-hapennies for his hanger on: my worthies were bissed and trissed from Joshua to Godfrey but my processus prophetarum they would have plauded to perpetuation. Moral: book to besure, see press.
— He’s not all buum and bully.
— But his members handly food him.
— Steving’s grain for’s greet collegtium.
— The S.S. Padraic’s in the harbour.
And after these things I fed her, my carlen, my barelean linsteer, upon spiceries for her garbage breath, italics of knobbylauch and the rich morsel of the marrolebone and shains of garleeks and swinespepper and gothakrauts and pinkee dillisks, primes of meshallehs, and subtleties in jellywork, come the feast of Saint Pancreas, and shortcake nutrients for Paas and Pingster’s pudding, bready and nuttalled, and potted fleshmeats from stove dampkookin and the drugs of Kafa and Jelapa and shallots out of Ascalon, feeding her food convenient herfor, to pass then into earth: and to my saffronbreathing mongoloid, the skinsyg, I gave Biorwik’s powlver and Uliv’s oils, unguents of cuticure, for the swarthy searchall’s face on her and handewers and groinscrubbers and a carrycam to tease her tuzzy out, the brown but combly, and a mopsa’s broom to duist her sate and clubmoss and wolvesfoot for her more moister wards (amazing efficiencies!): and for my shopsoiled doveling, when weeks of kindness skinly civicised, in our saloons esquirial with fineglas bowbays, draped embrasures and giltedged librariums I did devise my prizeless telltale sports at evenbread to wring her withers limberly, wheatears, slapbang, drapier-cut-dean, bray, nap, spinado and ranter-go-round: we had our lewd mayers and our lairdie meiresses kiotowing and smuling fullface on us out of their framous latenesses, oilclothed over for cohabitation and allpointed by Hind: Tamlane the Cussacke, Dirk Wettingstone, Pieter Stuyvesant, Outlawrie O’Niell, Mrs Currens, Mrs Reyson-Figgis, Mrs Dattery and Mrs Pruny-Quetch: in hym we trust, footwash and sects principles, apply to the overseer, Amos five six: she had dabblingtime for exhibiting her grace of aljambras and duncingk the bloodanoobs in her vauxhalls while I, dizzed and dazed by the lumpty thumpty of our interloopings, fell clocksure off my ballast: in our windtor palast it vampared fore elenden, we lubded Sir Gudd for the sleep and the ghoasts: she chauffed her feusies at my Wigan’s jewels while she skalded her mermeries on my Snorryson’s sagos: in paycook’s thronsaale she domineered: lecking icies off the dormer panes all admired her in camises: on Rideau Row Duanna dwells, you merk well what you see: let wellth were I our pantocreator would theirs be tights for the gods: in littleritt reddinghats and cindery yellows and tinsel and glitter and bibs under hoods: I foredreamed for her and, more than fallmaked, I prevened for her in the haunts that joybelled frail light-a’-leaves for sturdy traemen: Pelves ad Hombres Sumus: I said to the shiftless prostitute, Let me be your fodder; and to roadies and prater brothers, Chau, Camerade! Evangel of good tidings, omnient as the Healer’s word, for the lost, loathsome and whomsoever will: who, in regimentation through liberal donation in coordination for organisation of their installation and augmentation plus some annexation and amplification without precipitation towards the culmination in latification of what was formerly their utter privation, competence, cheerfulness, usefulness and the meed, shall in their second Adams all be made alive.
My tow tugs steered down canal grand, my lighters lay longside on Regalia Water: and I built in Urbs in Rure for minne elskede, my shiny brows, under astrolobe from my upservatory, an erdcloset with showne ejector wherewithin to be squatquit in most convenience from her sabbath needs, when open noise should stilled be: did not I festfix with mortarboard my unniversiries, wholly, rational and gottalike, sorefister agen sowfister, life sizars all? was not I rosetted on two stelas of little egypt? had not I rockcut reders, hieros, gregos and democriticos, tricastellated, bimedallised? and by my sevendialled changing charties Hibernska Ulitzas made not I to pass through twelve Threadneedles and Newgade and Vicus Veneris to cooinsight? my camels’ walk, kolossa! kolossa!, no porte sublimer benared my ghates: Oi polled ye Many but my fews were chousen (voter, voter, early voter, he was never too oft for Old Sarum): terminals four my staties were, the Geenar, the Greasouwea, the Debwickweck, the Migreawis: and I set up twinminsters, the pro and the con, my stavekirks wove so norcely of peeled wands and attachattouchy floodmud, now all loosebrick and stonefest, freely masoned, arked for the covenanters and shinners’ rifuge: descend from above on us, Hagiasofia of Astralia, our orisons thy nave and absedes, our aeone tone aeones thy studvaast vault! Hams, circuitise! Shemites, retrace! horns, hush! no barkeys! hereround is’t holied! all truant trulls made I comepull, all rubbeling gnomes I pushed, gowgow: Cassels, Redmond, Gandon, Deane, Shepperd, Smyth, Neville, Heaton, Stoney, Foley, Farrell, Vnost, with Thorneycroft and Hogan too: sprids serve me, gobelins guard! tect my tileries (O tribes! O gentes!), keep my keep, the peace of my four great ways! oathiose infernals, to Booth Salivation! arcane celestials, to Sweatenburg’s Welhell! and thirdly, for evigs, I did reform and restore for my smuggy piggiesknees, my sweet coolocked, my auburn coyquailing one, her paddypalace on the crossknoll with massgo bell, sixton clashcloshant, duominous and muezzatinties to commind the fitful: doom adimdim adoom adimadim: and the oragel of the lauds to tellforth’s glory: and I added thereunto a shallow laver to slub out her hellfire and posied windows for her oriel house: gospelly pewmillieu, christous pewmillieu: ze zackbutts babazounded, ze ollguns tararulled: and she sass her nach, chillybombom and forty bonnets, upon the altarstane. May all have mossyhonours!
— Hoke!
— Hoke!
— Hoke!
— Hoke!
And wholehail, snaefell, dreardrizzle or sleetshowers of blessing, where it froze in chalix eller swum in the vestry, with fairskin book and ruling rod, vien of my vergin page, her chastener ever, I did learn my little anna countrymouse in alpabeater cameltemper, from alderbirk to tannenyou, with myraw rattan atter dundrum, ooah oyir oyir oyir: my seven wynds I trailed to maze her and ever a wynd had saving closes and all these closes flugged with the gust, hoops for her, hats off for him and reruffles through Neeblow’s garding. And that was why Blabus was razing his wall and eltering the suzannes of his nighboors. And I did spread before my Livvy, where Lord Street lolls and ladies linger and Cammomile Pass cuts Primrose Rise and Coney Bend bounds Mulbreys Island but never a blid had bledded or bludded since long agore when the whole blighty acre was bladey well pessovered, my selvage mats of lecheworked lawn, my carpet gardens of Guerdon City, with chopes pyramidous and mouselimes and beaconphires and colossets and pensilled turrisses for the busspleaches of the summiramies and esplanadas statuesque and templeogues: the pardonell of Maynooth, Fra Teobaldo, Nielsen, rare admirable, Jean de Porteleau, Conall Gretecloke, Guglielmus Caulis and the eiligh ediculous Passivucant (glorietta’s inexcelsiored!): for irkdays and for folliedays till the comple anniums of calendarias, gregoromaios and gypsyjuliennes as such are pleased of theirs to walk: and I planted for my own hot lisbing lass a quickset vineyard and rigs of barlow and bowery nooks and greenwished villas and pampos animos and (N.I.) necessitades iglesias and pons for aguaducks, a hawthorndene, a feyrieglenn, the hallaw vall, the dyrchace, Finmark’s Howe, and I fenced it about with huge Chesterfield elms and Kentish hops against budmonth and gleanermonth with a magicscene wall (rimrim! rimrim!) for a Queen’s Garden of her Phoenix: and (hush! hush!) I brewed for my alpine plurabelle, wigwarming wench (speakeasy!), my granvilled brandold Dublin lindub, the free, the froh, the frothy freshener, the pusspuss pussyfoot, to split the spleen of her maw: and I laid down before the trotters of my eblanite my stonybattered waggonways, my nordsoud circulums, my eastmoreland and westlandmore, running boullawards and syddenly parading (hearsemen, opslo! nuptiallers, get storting!) whereon, in mantram of truemen like yahoomen (expect till dutc cundoctor summoneth him all fahrts to pay, velkommen all hankinhunkn in this vogn of Hoseyeh!), claudesdales with arabinstreeds, Roamer Reich’s rickyshaws with Hispain’s king’s trompateers, madridden mustangs, buckarestive bronchos, postershays and turnintaxis and tall tall tilburys and nod nod noddies, others gigging gaily, some sedated in sedans, my priccoping gents aroger, aroger, my damsells softsidesaddled covertly, covertly, and Lawdy Dawe a perch behind, the mule and the hinny and the jennet and the mustard nag and piebald shjelties and skewbald awknees steppit lively for her pleashadure (lift ye the left and rink ye the right!): and she lafaughed in her diddydid domino to the switcheries of the whip. Down with them! Kick! Playyup!
— Mattahah! Marahah! Luahah! Joahanahanahana!
What was thass? Fog was whaas? Too mult sleepth. Let sleepth.
But really now whenabouts? Expatiate then how much times we live in! Yes?
So, nat by night by naught by naket in those good old lousy days gone by (the days, shall we say?, of whom, shall we say?) while kinderwardens minded their twinsbed, therenow theystood, the sycomores, all four of them, in their quartan agues, the majorchy, the minorchy, the everso and the fermentarian, with their ballyhooric blowreaper, titranicht by tetranoxst, at their pussycorners, and that old time pallyollogass, playing copers fearsome, with Gus Walker, the cuddy, and his poor old dying boosy cough, esker, newcsle, saggard, crumlin, dell me, donk, the way to wumblin, follow me beeline and you’re bumblin, esker, newcsle, saggard, crumlin, and listening, so gladdied up when nicechild Kevin Mary (who was going to be commandeering chief of the choirboys’ brigade the moment he grew up under all the auspices) irishsmiled in his milky way of cream dwibble and onage tustard and dessed tabbage, but so frightied out when badbrat Jerry Godolphing (who was hurrying to be cardinal scullion in a night refuge as bald as he was cured enough under all the hospitals) furrinfrowned down his wrinkly waste of methylated spirits, ick, and lemoncholy lees, ick, and pulverised rhubarbarorum, icky:
night by silentsailing night while infantina Isobel (who will be blushing all day to be when she growed up one Sunday, Saint Holy and Saint Ivory, when she took the veil, the beautiful presentation nun, so barely twenty, in her pure coif, sister Isobel, and next Sunday, Mistlemas, when she looked a peach, the bountiful Samaritan, still as beautiful and still in her teens, nurse Saintette Isabelle, with stiffstarched cuffs, but on holiday, christmas, easter mornings, when she wore a wreath, the wonderful widow of eighteen springs, Madame Isa Veuve La Belle, so sad but lucksome in her boyblue’s long black with orange blossoming weeper’s veil), for she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be—methinks, and not in vain—the darling of my heart, sleeping, in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candywhistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood’s eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of moss and daphnedews, how all so still she lay, neath of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled, as fain would she anon, for soon again ’twill be, win me, woo me, wed me, ah weary me, deeply, now evencalm lay sleeping:
nowth upon nacht while in his tumbril wachtman Havelook Seequeerscenes from yonsides of the choppy, punkt by his curserbog, went long the grassgross bumpinstrass that henders the pubbel to pass, stowing his bottle in a bole for at whet his whuskle to stretch ecrooksman, sequestering for lovers’ lost propertied offices the leavethings from allpurgers’ night, og gneiss ogas gnasty, kikkers, brillers, knappers and bands, handshoon and strumpers, sminkysticks and eddiketsflaskers:
wan fine night and the next fine night and last fine night while Kathareen the Slop in her native’s chambercushy, with dreamings of simmering my veal astore, was basquing to her pillasleep how she thawght a knogg came to the dowanstairs dour at that howr to peirce the yare and dowandshe went, schritt be schratt, to see was it Schweeps’s mingerals or Shuhorn the posht with a tillycramp for Hemself and Co, Esquara, or them four hoarsemen on their apolkaloops, Norreys, Soothbys, Yates and Welks, and, galorybit of the Sanes in Hevel, there was a crick up the stirkiss and when she ruz the cankle to see, galohery, downandshe went on her knees to blessersef that were knogging together like milkjuggles as if it was the wrake of the hapspurus or old King Gander O’Toole of the Mountains or his googoo goosth she seein, sliving off over the sawdust lobby out of the backroom, wan ter, that was everywans in turruns, in his honeymoon trim, holding up his fingerhals, with the clookey in his fisstball, tocher of davy’s, tocher of ivileagh, for her to whisht, you sowbelly, and the whites of his pious eyebulbs swearing her to silence and coort:
each and every juridical sessions night whenas goodmen twelve and true at Fox and Geese in their numbered habitations tried Old Wireless overboord in their juremembers and whereas by reverendum they found him guilty of their and those imputations of fornicolopulation with two of his albowcrural correlations on whom he was said to have enjoyed by anticipation when schooling them in amown, mid grass, she sat, when man was, amazingly, frank, for their first conjugation, whose colours at standing up from the above were of a pretty carnation but, if really ’twere not so, of some deretane denudation with intent to excitation, caused by his retrogradation, among firearmed forces proper to this nation but apart from all titillation which, he said, was under heat pressure and a good mitigation without which in any case he insists upon being worthy of continued alimentation for him having displayed, he says, such grand toleration, reprobate so noted and all as he was, with his washleather sweeds and his smokingstump, for denying transubstantiation nevertheless in respect of his highpowered station, whereof more especially as probably he was meantime suffering genteel tortures from the best medical attestation, as he oftentimes did, having only strength enough, by way of festination, to implore or (I believe you might have said better) to complore with complete obsecration on everybody connected with him the curse of coagulation for, he tells me outside Sammon’s in King Street after two or three hours of close confabulation, by this pewterpint of Gilbey’s goatswhey which is his prime consolation, albeit involving upon the same no uncertain amount of esophagous regurgitation, he being personally unpreoccupied to the extent of a flea’s gizzard anent eructation, if he was still extremely offensive to a score and four nostrils’ dilatation still he was likewise, on he other side of him, for some nepmen’s eyes a delectation, as he asserts without the least alienation, so prays of his fault you would make obliteration but as for our friend behind the bars, though like Adam Find-later a man of high estimation, summing him up to be done, be what will of excess his exaltation, still we think with Sully there can be no right extinuation for contravention of common and statute legislation for which the fit remedy resides, for Mr Sully, in corporal amputation: so three months for Gubbs Jeroboam, the frothwhiskered pest of the park, as per act one, section two, schedule three, clause four of the fifth of King Jark, this sentence to be carried out tomorrowmorn by Nolans Volans at six o’clock shark, and may the yeastwind and the hoppinghail malt mercy on his seven honeymeads and his hurlyburlygrowth, Amen, says the clarke:
niece by nice by neat by natty whilst mongst revery’s happy gardens nine with twenty Leixlip yearlings, darters all, had such a ripping time with gleeful cries of what is nice Toppingshaun made of made for and weeping like fun, him to be gone, for they were never happier, huhu, than when they were miserable, haha:
in their bed of trial, on the bolster of hardship, by the glimmer of memory, under coverlets of cowardice, Albertus Nyanzer with Victa Nyanza, his mace of might mortified, her beautyfell hung up on a nail, he, Ur of our Fathers, she, our moddereen rue arue arue, they, ay, by the hokypoker and brazier, they are, as sure as Dinny drops into the dyke …
A cry, off.
Where are we at all? And whenabouts in the name of space? I don’t understand. I fail to say. I dearsee you too.
House of the circulation of mead. Garth of Fyon. Scene and property plot. Stagemanager’s prompt. Interior of dwelling on outskirts of city. Groove two. Chamber scene. Boxed. Ordinary bedroom set. Salmonpapered walls. Back centre, empty Irish grate, Adam’s mantel, with wilting elopement fan, soot and tinsel, condemned. North, wall with window, practicable. Argentine in casement. Vamp. Pelmit above. No curtains. Blind drawn. South, party wall. Bed for two with strawberry bedspread, wicker-worker clubsessel and caneseated millikinstool. Bookshrine without, facetowel upon. Chair for one. Woman’s garments on chair. Man’s trousers with crossbelt braces, collar, on bedknob. Man’s corduroy surcoat with seapen nacre buttons, tabrets and taces on nail, wall right. Woman’s gown on ditto, ditto left. Over mantelpiece picture of Michael, lance, slaying Satan, dragon with smoke. Small table near bed, front. Bed with bedding. Spare. Flagpatch quilt. Yverdown design. Limes. Lighted lamp without globe, scarf, gazette, tumbler, quantity of water, julepot, ticker, side props, eventuals, man’s gummy article, pink.
A time.
Act: dumbshow.
Closeup. Leads.
Man, with nightcap, in bed, fore. Woman, with curlpins, hind. Discovered. Side point of view. First position of harmony. Say! Eh? Ha! Check action. Matt! Male partly masking female. Domicy. Man looking round, beastly expression, fishy eyes, paralleliped homoplatts, ghazometron pondus, exhibits rage. Business. Ruddy blond, Armenian bole, black patch, beer wig, gross build, episcopalian, any age. Woman, sitting, looks at ceiling, haggish expression, peaky nose, trekant mouth, fithery wight, exhibits fear. Welshrabbit teint, Nubian shine, nasal fossette, turfy tuft, undersized, free kirk, no age. Closeup. Play!
Callboy. Cry, off. Tabler. Her move.
Footage.
By the sinewy forequarters of the mare Pocahontas and by the white shoulders of Finnuala, you should have seen how that smart sallowlass just hopped a nanny’s gambit out of bunk like old Mother Mesopotomac and in eight and eight sixtyfour she was off, door, knightlamp with her, billy’s largelimbs prodgering after to queen’s lead. Promiscuous Omebound to Fiammella la Diva. Huff! His move. Blackout.
Circus. Corridor.
Shifting scene. Wall flats: sink and fly. Spotlight working wallcloths. Spill playing rake and bridges. Room to sink: stairs to sink behind room. Two pieces. Kaying after qeue. Replay.
The old humburgh looks a thing incomplete, so. It is so. On its dead. But it will pawn up a fine head of porter when it is finished. In the quicktime. The castle arkwright put in a chequered staircase, certainly. It has only one square step, to be steady, yet notwithstumbling are they stalemating backgammoner supstairs by skips and trestles tiltop double corner. Whist while and game.
What scenic artist! It is ideal residence for realtar. By hims ingang tilt tinkt a tunning bell that Limen, Mr that Boggey Godde, be airwaked. Lingling, lingling. Be their magics in all. Chump, do your ephort. Shop! Please shop! Shop ado O please shop. How hominous his house, haunt it? Yesses, indead it be! Nogen, of imperial measure, is begraved beneather. Here are his naggins poured, his alladim lamps. Around the bloombiered, booty with the bedst. For them whom he have fordone make we newly thankful!
Tell me something. The Porters, so to speak, after their shadowstealers in the newsbaggers, are very nice people, are they not? Very, all fourlike tellt. And on this wise. Mr Porter (Bartholomew, heavy man, astern, mackerel shirt, hayamatt peruke) is an excellent forefather and Mrs Porter (leading lady, apoopahead, gaffneysaffron nightdress, iszoppy chepelure) is a most kindhearted messmother. A so united family pateramater is not more existing on papel or off of it. As keymaster fits the lock it weds so this bally builder to his streamline secret. They care for nothing except everything that is allporterous. Porto da Brozzo! Isn’t that terribly nice of them? You can ken that they come of a rarely old family by their costumance and one must togive that one supped of it in all tonearts from awe to zest. I think I begin to divine so much. Only snakkest me truesome! I stone us I’m hable.
To reachy a skeer do! Still hoyhra, till venstra! Here are two rooms on the upstairs, at forkflank and at knifekanter. Whom in the wood are they for? Why, for little porter babes, to be saved! The coeds, boytom thwackers and timbuy teaser. Here is onething you owed two noe. This one once upon awhile was the other but this is the other one nighadays. Ah so? The Corsicos? They are numerable. Guest them! Major bed, minor beddies. Halosobuth, sov us! Who sleeps in now number one, for example? A pussy, purr esimple. Cunina, Statulina and Edulia, but how sweet of her! Has your pussy a pessname? Yes, indeed, you will hear it passim in all the noveletta and she is named Buttercup. Her bare name will tellt it, a monitress. How very sweet of her and what an excessively lovecharming missyname to forsake, now that I come to drink of it filtred, a gracecup fulled of bitterness. She is dadad’s lottiest daughterpearl and brooder’s cissiest auntybride. A more intriguant bambolina could one not colour up out of Boccuccia’s Enameron. Her shellback thimblecasket mirror only can show her dearest friendeen. To speak well her grace it would ask of Grecian language; of her goodness, that legend golden. Biryina Saindua! Loreas with lillias flocaflake arrosas! Here’s newyearspray, the posquiflor, a windaborne and heliotrope; there miriamsweet and amaranth and marygold to crown. Add lightest knot unto tiptition. O Charis! O Charissima! Would one but to do apart a lilybit her virginelles and, so, to breath, so, therebetween, behold, she had instantt with her hand made as to graps the myth inmid the air. Mother of moth! I will to show herword in flesh. Approach not, for ghost sake! It is dormition! She may think, what though little doth she realise, as morning fresheth, it hath happened her, you know what, as they too what I dare not utter. Silvoo plush, if scolded she draws a face. Petticoat’s asleep but in the gentlenest of her thoughts apoo is a nursepin. To be presented, Babs for Bimbushi? Of courts and with enticers. Up, girls, and at him! Alone? Alone what? I mean does she do fleurty winkies with herself? Pussy is never alone, as records her chambrette, for she can always look at Biddles and talk petnames with her little playfilly when she is sitting downy on the ploshmat. Doth Dolly weeps she is hasting. Will Dally bumpsetty ’tis for tubtime. O, she talks, does she? Marry, how? Rosepetalletted sounds. Ah Biddles es ma plikplak. Ah plikplak wed ma Biddles. A nice jezebel barytinette she will gift, this strifestirrer, but I much prefer her missnomer in maidenly golden lasslike gladsome wenchful flowery girlish beautycapes. Dulcidelicatissima! So do I, much. Allaliefest, she who pities very pebbles, dare we not wish on her our thrice onsk? A lovely fear! That she seventip toe her chrysming, that she spin blaa to scarlach till her templar veil, that the Mount of Whoam it open it her to shelterer! She will blow ever so much more promisefuller, blee me, than all the other common marygales that romp round brigidschool, charming Carry Whambers or saucy Susy Maucepan or merry Anna Patchbox or silly Polly Flinders. Platsch! A plikaplak.
And, since we are talking amnessly of bunkasloop and crazdledaze, who doez in sleeproom number twobis? The twobirds. Holy policeman, O, I see! Of what age are your birdies? They are to come of twinning age so soon as they may be born to be eldering like those olders while they are living under chairs. They are? And they seem to be so tightly tattached as two maggots to touch other, I think I notice, do I not? You do. Our bright bull babe, Frank Kevin, is on heartsleeveside. Do not you waken him! Our farheard bode. He is happily to sleep, limb of the Lord, with his lifted in blessing, his bachal Iosa, like the blissed angel he looks so like and his mou is semiope as though he were blowdelling on a bugigle. Whene’er I see those smiles in eyes ’tis Father Quinn again. Very shortly he will smell sweetly when he will hear a weird to wean. By gorgeous, that boy will blare some knight when he will take his dane’s pledges and quit our ingletears, spite of undesirable parents, to wend him to Amorica to quest a cushy job. That keen dean with his veen nonsolance! O, I adore the profeen music! Dollarmighty! He is too audorable really, eunique! I guess to have seen somekid like him in the storybook, guess I met somewhere somelamb to whom he will be becoming liker. But hush! How unpardonable of me! I beg you for your venials, sincerely I do.
Hush! The other, twined on codliverside, has been crying in his sleep, making sharpshape his inscissors on some first choice sweets fished out of the muck. A stake in our mead. What a teething wretch! How his book of craven images! Here are posthumious tears on his intimelle. And he has pipettishly bespilled himself from his foundingpen, as ill spent from inkinghorn. He is jem job joy pip paa pat (jot um for a sobrat!) Jerry Jehu. You will know him by names in the capers but you cannot see whose heel he sheepfolds in his wrought hand because I have not told it to you. O foetal sleep! Ah, fatal slip! The one loved, the other left, the bride of pride leased to the stranger! He will be quite within the pale when with lordbeeron brow he vows him so tosset to be of the sir blake tribes while through life’s unblest he rodes by backs of bannars. Bleak! Are you not somewhat bulgar with your bowels? Whatever do you mean with sour bleak? With pale blake I write tintingface. O, you do? And with steelwhite and blackmail I scent for my sweet an anemone’s letter with a gold of my bridest hair betied. Donatus his mark, address as follows. So you did? From the Cat and Cage. O, I see and see! In the ink of his sweat he will find it yet. What Gipsy Devereux vowed to Lylian and why the elm and how the stone. You never may know in the preterite all perhaps that you would not believe that you ever even saw to be about to. Perhaps. But they are two very blizky little portereens after their bredscrums, Jerkoff and Eatsup, as for my part opinion indeed. They would be born so, costarred, puck and prig, the maryboy at the Donnybrook Fair, the godolphinglad in the Hoey’s Court. How frilled one shall be as at taledold of Formio and Cigalette! What folly innocents! Theirs what pep of puppyhood! Both barmhearts shall become yeastcake by their brackfest. I will to leave my copperwise blessing between the pair of them, for rosengorge, for greenafang. Blech and tin soldies, weals in a sniffbox. Som’s wholed, all’s parted. Weeping shouldst not thou be when man falls but that divine scheming ever adoring be. So you be either man or mouse and you be neither fish nor flesh. Take. And take. Vellicate nijche! Be ones as wes for gives for gets now the hour of passings sembles quick with quelled. Adieu, soft adieu, for these nice presents, kerryjevin! Still tosorrow!
Jeminy! What is the view which now takes up a second position of discordance, tell it, please? Mark! You notice it in that rereway because the male entail partially eclipses the femecovert. It is so called for its discord the meseedo. Do you ever heard the story about Helius Croesus, that white and gold Elephant in our zoopark? You astonish me by it. Is it not that we are commanding from fullback, woman permitting, a profusely fine birdseye view from beauhind this park? Finn his park has been much the admiration of all the stranger ones, greekish and romanos, who arrive to here. The straight road down the centre (see relief map) bisexes the park which is said to be the largest of his kind in the world. On the right prominence confronts you the handsome vinesregent’s lodge while, turning to the other supreme piece of cheeks, exactly opposite, you are confounded by the equally handsome chief sacristary’s residence. Around is a little amiably tufted and man is cheered when he bewonders through the boskage how the nature in all frisko is enlivened by gentlemen’s seats. Here are heavysupperdaddies’ housings for hundredaires of our super thin thousand. By gum, but you have resin! Of these tallworts are yielded out juices for jointoils and pappasses for paynims. Listeneth! ’Tis a tree story. How olave, that firile, was aplantad in her liveside. How tannoboom held tonobloom. How rood in norlandes. The black and blue marks athwart the weald, which now barely is so stripped, indicate the prepresence of sylvious beltings. Therewithal shady rides lend themselves out to rustic cavalries. In yonder valley, too, stays mountain sprite. Any pretty dears are to be caught inside but it is a bad pities of the plain. A scarlet pimparnell now mules the mound where anciently first murders were wanted to take root. By feud fionghalian. Talking tree and sinning stone stay on either hand. Hystorical leavesdroppings may also be garnered up with Sir Shamus Swiftpatrick, archfieldchaplain of Saint Lucan’s. How familiar it is to see all those interesting advenements with one anaked’s eyes! Is all? Yet not. At the bodom fundus of this royal park, which, with tvigate shyasian gardeenen, is open to the public till night at late, so well the sissastrides so will the pederestians, do not fail to point to yourself a depression called Holl Hollow. It is often quite guttergloomering in our duol and gives wankyrious thoughts to the head but the banders of the pentapolitan poleetsfurcers bassoons into it on windy Woodensdays their wellbooming wolvertones. Ulvos! Ulvos!
Whervolk dorst ttou begin to tremble by our moving pictures at this moment when I am to place my hand of our true friendshapes upon thy knee to mark well what I say? Throu shayest who? In Amsterdam there lived a … But how? You are tremblotting, you retchad, like a verry jerry! Niet? Will you a guineeser? Gaij beutel of staub? To feel, you! Yes, how it tremules, the timid!! Vortigern, ah Gortigern! Overlord of Mercia! Or doth brainskin flinchgreef? Stemming! What boyazhness! Sole shadow shows. ’Tis jest jibberweek’s joke. It must have stole! O, keve silence, both! Putshameyu! I have heard her voice somewhere else’s before me in these ears still that now are for mine.
Let op. Slew musies. Thunner in the eire.
You were dreamend, dear! The pawdrag? The fawthrig? Shoo! Hear are no phanthares in the room at all, avikkeen. No bad bold fauthern, dear one. Opop opop capallo, muy malinchily malchick! Gothgorodfather godown fallaway tomollow the lucky load to Lublin for make his thoroughbass grossman’s bigness. Take that two piecee big slap slap bold hinty bottomside pap pap pappa!
— Li ne dormis?
— S! Malbone dormas.
— Kia li krias nokte?
— Parolas infanetes. S!
Sonly all in your imagination, dim! Poor little brittle magicnations, dim of mind! Shoo to me now, dear! Shoom of me! While elvery stream winds eeling on for to keep this barrel of bounty rolling and the nightmail afar-from morning nears.
When you’re coaching through Lucalizod, on the sulphur spa to visit, it’s safer to hit than miss it. Stop at his inn! The hammers are telling the cobbles, the pickts are hacking the saxums, it’s snugger to burrow abed than ballot on broadway. Tuck in your blank! For it’s race pound race the hosties rear all roads to ruin and layers by lifetimes laid down riches from poormen. Cried onions to chip, saltpetre to strew, gallpitch to drink, stonebread to break, but it’s bully to gulp good blueberry pudding. Doze in your warmth! While the elves in the moonbeams, feeling why, will keep my lilygem gently gleaming.
In the sleepingchambers. The court to go into half morning. The four seneschals with their palfrey to be there now, all balaaming, in their sellaboutes and sharping up their peniscils. The boufeither Soakersoon at holdup tentstickor. The swabsister Katya to have duntalking and to keep shakenin dowan her droghedars. Those twelve chief barons to stand by duedesmally with their folded arums and put down all excursions and false alarums and after that to go back now to their runameat farums and recompile their magnum chartarums with the width of the road between them and all harrums. The maidbrides all, in favours gay, to strew sleety cinders on their falling hair and for wouldbe joybells to ring sadly ringless hands. The dame dowager to stay kneeled down how she is, as first mutherer with cord in coil. The two princes of the tower royal, daulphin and deevlin, to lie how they are without to see. The dame dowager’s duffgerent to present wappon, blade drawn to the full, and about wheel without to be seen of them. The infanta Isabella from her coign to do obeisance toward the duffgerent, as first futherer with drawn brand. Then the court to come into full morning. Herein see ye fail not!
— Vidu, porkego! Ili vi rigardas! Returnu, porkego maldelikato!
Gauze off heaven! Vision. Then. O, pluxty suddly, the sight entrancing! Hummels! That crag! Those hullocks! O Sire! So be accident occur is not going to commence! What have you therefore? Fear you the donkers? Of roovers? I fear lest we have lost ours (non grant it!) respecting these wildy parts. How is hit finister! How shagsome all and beastful! What do you show on? I show because I must see before my misfortune so a stark pointingpole. Lord of ladders, what for lungitube! Can you read the verst legend hereon? I am hather of the missed. Areed! To the Dunleary Obelisk via the Rock vhat myles knox furlongs: to the General’s Post Office howsands of patience: to the Wellington Memorial half a league wrongwards: to Sara’s Bridge good hunter and nine to meet her: to the Point, one yeoman’s yard. He, he, he! At what do you leer, a setting up? With a such unbuttoned belly? Two cascades? I leer (O my big, O my bog, O my bigbagbone!) because I must see a buntingcap of so a pinky on the poink! It is for a true glover’s greeting and many burgesses by us, greats and grosses, uses to pink it in this way at tet-a-tet. For long has it been effigy of standard royal when broken on roofstaff which to the gunnings shall cast welcome from Courtmilits’ Fortress, umptydum dumptydum. Bemark you these hangovers, those streamer fields! His influx. Do you not have heard that, the queen lying abroad from fury of the gales (meekname mocktitles her Nan Nan Nanetta), her liege of lateenth dignisties shall come on tomorrow, Michaelmas, mellems the third and fourth of the clock, thereto all the king’s aussies and all their kin’s men, knechts tramplers and cavalcaders, led of herald graycloak, Ulaf Goldarskield? Dog! Dog! Her lofts will be loosed for her and their tumblers broodcast. A progress shall be made in walk, ney? I trow it well, and uge by uge. He shall come, sidesmen accostant, by aryan Jubilarian and or brigadier-general Nolan or and buccaneer-admiral Browne, with—who can doubt it?—his golden beagles and his white elkox terriers for a hunting on our littlego illcome faxes. In blue and buff of Beaufort the hunt shall make their bay. It is poblesse noblige. Ommes will grin through collars when each rides other’s ass. Me Eccls! What catskillings overall! What popping out of guillotined widows! Quick time! Beware of waiting! Squintina plies favours on us from her rushfrail and Zosimus, the crowder, in his surcoat, sues us with souftwister. Apart we! Here are gantlets. I believe it, by Plentifolks Mixymost! Yet if I durst to express the hope how I might be able to be present. All these peeplers entrammed and detrained on bikeygels and troykakyls and those puny farting little solitires! Tollacre, tollacre! Polo north will beseem Sibernian and Plein Pelouta will behowl ne yerking at lawncastrum ne ghimbelling on guelflinks. Mauser Misma shall cease to stretch her and come abroad for what the blinkins is to be seen. A ruber, a rancher, a fullvide, a veridust, and as ceredulous behind as he was before behind a damson of a sloe cooch. Mbv! The annamation of evabusies, the livlianess of her laughings, such as a plurity of bells! Have peacience, pray you! Place to dames! Even the Lady Victoria Landauner will leave to loll and parasol, all giddied into gushgasps with her dickey standing. Britus and Gothius shall no more joustle for that sonneplace but mark one autonement when, with si so silent, Cloudia Aiduolcis, good and dewed up, shall let fall, yes no, yet now, a rain. Muchsias grapcias! It is howsweet from her, the wispful, and they ere soon seen swopsib so a sautril as a meise. Its ist not the tear on this movent sped. Tix sixpounce! Poum! Hool poll the bull? Fool pay the bill. Becups a can full. Peal, pull the bell! Still sayeme of ceremonies. O, much much more! So pleaseyour! It stands in Instopressible how Meynhir Mayour, our boorgomaister, thon staunch Thorsman (our Nancy’s fancy, our own Nanny’s Big Billy), his hod hoisted, in best bib and tucker, with Woolington bottes over buckram babbishkis and his clouded cane and necknoose aureal, surrounded of his full coorporation with fixed baronets and meng our pueblos, restrained by chain of hands, from pinchgut, hoghill, darklane, gibbetmeade, and beaux and laddes and bumbelly, shall receive Dom King at Broadstone Barrow meet a keys of goodmorrow on to his pompey cushion. Me amble dooty to your grace’s majers! Arise, Sir Pompkey Dompkey! Ear! Ear! Weakear! An allness eversides! We but miss that horse elder yet cherchant of the wise graveleek in cabbuchin garden. That his be foison, old Caubeenhauben! ’Twill be tropic of all days. By the splendour of Sole! Perfect weatherest prevailing. Thisafter, Swift’s mightmace deposing, he shall address to His Serenemost by a speechreading from his miniated vellum, alfi byrni gamman dealter etcera zezera eacla treacla youghta kaptor lomdom noo, who meaningwhile, that illuminatured one, Papyroy of Pepinregn, my Sire, great, big King (his scaffold is there set up, as to edify, by Rex Ingram, pageantmaster), will be poking out with his canule into the arras of what brilliant bridgecloths and joking up with his tonguespitz to the crimosing balkonladies: here’s a help undo their modest stays with a fullbelow may the funnyfeelbelong. Oddsbones, that may it! Carilloners will ring their gluckspeels. Rng rng! Rng rng! S. Presbytt-in-the-North, S. Mark Underloop, S. Lorenz-by-the-Toolechest, S. Nicholas Myre. You shall hark to anune S. Gardener, S. George-le-Greek, S. Barclay Moitered, S. Phibb, Iona-in-the-Fields with Paull-the-Aposteln. And audialterand: S. Jude-at-Gate, Bruno Friars, S. Weslen-on-the-Row, S. Molyneux Without, S. Mary Stillamarries with Bride-and-Audeons-behind-Wardborg. How chimant in effect! Alla tingaling pealabells! So a many of churches one cannot hear one’s own prayers. ’Tis holyyear’s day! Juin jully we may! Agithetta and Tranquilla shall demure upclaused but Marlborough-the-Less, Greatchrist and Holy Protector shall have open virgilances. Beata Basilica! But will be not pontification? Dock, dock, agame! Primatially. At wateredge. Cantaberra and Neweryork may supprecate when, by vepers, for towned and travalled, his goldwhite swaystick aloft ylifted, umbrilla-parasoul, Monsigneur of Deublan shall impart to all. Benedictus benedicat! To board! And mealsight! Unjoint him this bittern, frust me this chicken, display yon crane, thigh her her pigeon, unlace and allay rabbit and pheasant! Sing: Old Finncoole, he’s a mellow old saoul when he swills with his fuddlers free! Poppop array! For we’re all jollygame fellhellows which nobottle can deny! Here be trouts culponed for ye and salmons chined and sturgeons tranched, sanced capons, lobsters barbed. Call halton eatwords! Mumm me moe mummers! What, no Ithalians? How, not one Moll Pamelas? Accordingly! Playactors by us ever have crash to their gate. Mr Messop and Mr Borry will produce of themselves, as they’re two genitalmen of Veruno, senior Nowno and sanior Brolano (finaly! finaly!), all for love of a fair penitent that, ay she be broughton, rhoda’s a rosy she. Their two big skins! How they strave to gat her! Such a boyplay! Their bouchicaulture! What tyronte power! Buy our fays! My name is novel and on the Granby in hills. Bravose! Thou traitor slave! Mine name’s Apnorval and o’er the Grandbeyond Mountains. Bravossimost! The royal musick their show shall shut with songslide to nature’s solemn silence. Deep Dalchi Dolando! Might gentle harp addurge! It will give piketurns on the Tummliplads and forain dances and crosshurdles and dollmanovers and viceuvious pyrolyphies, a snow of dawnflakes, at darkfall for Grace’s Mamnesty and our fancy ladies, all assombred. Some wholetime in the hot town tonight! You do not have heard? It stays in book of that which is. I have heard anyone tell it jesterday (master currier with brassard, was’t?) how one should come on morrow here but it is never here that one today. Well, but remind tu think you where yestoday Ys Morganas war and that it is always tomorrow in toth’s tother’s place. Amen.
True! True! Vouchsafe me more soundpicture! It gives furiously to think. Is rich Mr Pornter, a squire, not always in his such strong health? I thank you for the best, he is in taken deal exceedingly herculaneous. One sees how he is lot stroutlier than of formerly. One would say him to hold whole a litteringture of kidlings under his aproham. He! Has handsome Sir Pournter always been so long married? O yes, Lord Pournterfamilias has been marryingman ever since so long time in Hurtleforth, where he appeers as our oily the active, and, yes indeed, he has his mic son and his two fine mac sons and a superfine mick want they mack metween them. She, she, she! But on what do you again leer? I am not leering, I pink your pardons! I am highly she she sherious.
Do you not must want to go somewhere on the present? Yes, O pity! At earliest moment! That prickly heat feeling! Forthink not me spill it’s at always so guey. Here we shall do a far walk (O pity!) anygo khaibits till the number one of Sairey’s place. Is, is. I want you to admire her sceneries illustrationing our national first rout, one ought ought one. We shall too downlook on that ford where Sylvanus Sanctus washed but hurdley those tips of his anointeds. Do not show ever retrorsehim, crookodeyled, till that you become quite crimstone in the face! Beware! Guardafew! It is Stealer of the Heart! I am anxious in regard you should overthrown your sillarsalt. I will dui sui, tefnute! These brilling waveleaplights! Please say me how sing you them. Seekhem seckhem! They arise from a clear springwell in the near of our park which makes the daft to hear all blend. This place of endearment! How it is clear! And how they cast their spells upon, the fronds that thereup float, the bookstaff branchings! The druggeted stems, the leaves incut on trees! Do you can their tantrist spellings? I can lese, skillmistress aiding. Elm, bay, this way, cull dare, take a message, tawny runes ilex sallow, meet me at the pine. Yes, they shall have brought us to the watertrysting by hedges of maiden fern, then here in another place is their chapelofeases, sold for song, of which you have thought my praise too much my price. O ma ma! Yes, sad one of Ziod? Sell me, my soul dear! Ah, my sorrowful, his cloister dreeping of his monkshood, how it is triste to death, all his dark ivytod! Where cold in dearth. Yet see, my blanching kissabelle, in the under close she is all so gay, her kirtles green, her curtsies white, her peony pears, her nistlingsloe! O, pipette, I must also quicklingly to tryst myself softly into this little easechapel! I would rather than Ireland! But, I pray, make so! Do your easiness! O, ppeace, this is heaven! O, Prince of Pouringtoher, whatever shall I pppease to do? Why do you so lifesighs, my precious, as I hear from you, with limmenings lemantitions, after that swollen one? I am not sighing, I assure, but only I am soso sorry about all in my saaras-place. Listen, listen! I am doing it. Hear more to those voices! Always I am hearing them. Hoarsehem coughs enough. Annshee lispes privily.
— He is quieter now.
— Legalentitled. Accesstopartnzz. Notwildebeestsch. Byrightofcaptz. Twainbeoneflesh. Haveandholdpp.
— S! Let us go. Make a noise. Slee …
— Obstructionwayszz. Beautofusion. Claimtopossessk.
— Qui … The li …
— Huesofrichunfoldingmorn. Wakenupriseandprove. Provideforsacrifice.
— Wait! Hist! Let us list!
For our netherworld’s bosomfoes are working tooth and nail overtime: in earthveins, toadcavities, cheeseganglions, saltklosters, underfed: nagging firenibblers knocking afterman up out of his hinterclutch. Tomb be their tools! When the youngdammers will be soon heartpocking on their betters’ doornoggers: and the youngfries will be backfrisking diamondcuts over their lyingin underlayers, spick and spat trowelling a gravetrench for their fourinhand forebears. Vote for your club!
— Wait!
— What?
— Her door!
— Ope?
— See!
— What?
— Careful!
— Who?
Cant ear! Her dorters ofe? Whofe? Her eskmeno daughters hope? Whope? Ellme, elmme, elskmestoon! Soon!
Live well! Inûvdluaritzas! Tone!
Let us consider.
The procurator Interrogarius Mealterum persends us this proposer.
Honuphrius is a concupiscent exservicemajor who makes dishonest propositions to all. He is considered to have committed, invoking droit d’oreiller, simple infidelities with Felicia, a virgin, and to be practising for unnatural coits with Eugenius and Jeremias, two or three philadelphians. Honuphrius, Felicia, Eugenius and Jeremias are consanguineous to the lowest degree. Anita, the wife of Honuphrius, has been told by her tirewoman, Fortissa, that Honuphrius has blasphemously confessed under voluntary chastisement that he has instructed his slave Mauritius, a widower, to facilitate their neighbour Magravius, a commercial emulous of Honuphrius, to solicit the chastity of Anita. Anita is informed by some illegitimate children of Fortissa with Mauritius (the supposition is Ware’s) that Gillia, the schismatical wife of Magravius, is visited clandestinely by Barnabas, the advocate of Honuphrius, an immoral person who has been corrupted by Jeremias. Gillia (a cooler blend, D’Alton insists), ex equo with Poppea, Arancita, Clara, Marinuzza, Indra and Iodina, has been tenderly debauched (in Halliday’s view) by Honuphrius, and Magravius knows from spies that Anita has formerly committed double sacrilege with Michael, vulgo Cerularius, a perpetual curate who wishes to seduce Eugenius. Magravius threatens to have Anita molested by Sulla, an orthodox savage (and leader of a band of twelve mercenaries, the Sullivani) who desires to procure Felicia for Gregorius, Leo, Vitellius and Macdugalius, four excavators, if she will not yield to him and also deceive Honuphrius by rendering conjugal duty when demanded. Anita, who claims to have discovered incestuous temptations from Jeremias and Eugenius, would yield to the lewdness of Honuphrius to appease the savagery of Sulla and the mercernariness of the twelve Sullivani and (as Gilbert at first suggested) to save the virginity of Felicia for Magravius, when converted by Michael after the death of Gillia, but she fears that by allowing his marital rights she may cause reprehensible conduct between Eugenius and Jeremias. Michael, who has formerly debauched Anita, dispenses her from yielding to Honuphrius who pretends publicly to possess his conjunct in thirtynine several manners (turpiter! affirm ex cathedris Gerontes Cambronses) for carnal hygiene whenever he has rendered himself impotent to consummate by subdolence. Anita is disturbed, but Michael comminates that he will reserve her case tomorrow for the ordinary Guglielmus even if she should practise a pious fraud during affrication which, from experience, she knows (according to Wadding) to be leading to nullity. Fortissa, however, is encouraged by Gregorius, Leo, Vitellius and Magdugalius, reunitedly, to warn Anita by describing the strong chastisements of Honuphrius and the depravities (turpissimas!) of Canicula, the deceased wife of Mauritius, with Sulla, the simoniac, who is abnegand and repents. Has he hegemony and shall she submit?
Translake a lax, you breed a bradaun. In the goods of Cape and Chattertone, deceased.
This, layreaders and gentilemen, is perhaps the commonest of all cases arising out of umbrella history in connection with the wood industries in our courts of litigation. D’Oyly Owens holds (though Finn Magnusson of himself holds also) that so long as there is a joint deposit account in the two names a mutual obligation is posited. Owens cites Brerfuchs and Warren, a foreign firm, since disseized, registered as Tangos, Limited, for the sale of certain proprietary articles. The action, which was at the instance of the trustee of the Heathen Church Emergency fund, suing by its trustee, a resigned civil servant, for the payment of tithes due, was heard by Judge Doyle and also by a common jury. No question arose as to the debt for which vouchers spoke volumes. The defence alleged that payment had been made effective. The fund trustee, one Jucundus Fecundus Xero Pecundus Coppercheap, counterclaimed that payment was invalid, having been tendered to creditor under cover of a crossed cheque, signed in the ordinary course, in the name of Wieldhelm, hurls cross, voucher copy provided, and drawn by the senior partner only by whom the lodgment of the species had been effected but in their joint names. The bank particularised, the National Misery (now almost entirely in the hands of the four chief bondholders for value in Tangos, Limited), declined to pay the draft, though there were ample reserves to meet the liability, whereupon the trusty Coppercheap negotiated it for and on behalf of the fund of the thing to a client of his, a notary, from whom, on consideration, he received in exchange legal relief as between trusthee and bethrust, with thanks. Since then the cheque, a good washable pink, embossed D you D no 11 hundred and thirty 2, good for the figure and face, had been circulating in the country for over thirtynine years among holders of Pango stock, a rival concern, though not one demonetised farthing had ever spun or fluctuated across the counter in the semblance of hard coin or liquid cash. The jury (a sour dozen of stout fellows all of whom were curiously named after Doyles) naturally disagreed, jointly and severally, and the belligerent judge, disagreeing with the allied jurors’ disagreement, went outside his jurisfiction altogether and ordered a garnishee attachment to the neutral firm. No mandamus could locate the depleted Whilom Breyfawkes as he had entered into an ancient moratorium, dating back to the times of the early barters, and only the junior partner Barren could be found, who entered an appearance and turned up, add woman in, among the male jurors, an obsolete turfwoman originally from the proletarian class with still a good title to her sexname of Ann Doyle, 2 Coppinger’s Cottages, the Doyle Country. Doyle (Ann), upon a notice of motion and after service of the motion by interlocutory injunction, having regretfully left the juryboxers, protested cheerfully on the stand in a long jurymiad in re corset checks, delivered in Doylish, that she had often, in supply to brusk demands rising almost to bollion point, discounted Mr Brakeforth’s first of all in exchange at nine months from date without issue and, to be strictly literal, unbottled in corrubberation a current account of how she had been made at sight for services rendered the payee-drawee of unwashable blank assignations, sometimes pinkwilliams (laughter) but more often of the crème-de-citron, vair émail paoncoque or marshmallow series, which she, as bearer, used to endorse, adhesively, to her various payers-drawers who in most cases were identified by the timber papers as wellknown tetigists of the city and suburban. The witness, at her own request, asked if she might and wrought something between the sheets of music paper which she had accompanied herself with for the occasion and, this having been handed up for the bench to look at in camera, Coppinger’s doll, as she was called (annias, MackErse’s Dar, the adopted child), then proposed to jerrykin and jureens and every jim, jock and jarry in that little green courtinghousie for her satisfaction and as a whole act of settlement to reamalgamate herself, tomorrow perforce, in pardonership with the permanent suing fond trustee, Monsignore Pepigi, under the new style of Will Breakfast and Sparrem, as, when all his cognisances had been estreated, he seemed to proffer the steadiest interest towards her, but this prepoposal was ruled out on appeal by Judge Jeremy Doyler who, reserving judgment in a matter of courts and reversing the findings of the lower correctional, found, beyond doubt of treason, fending the dissassents of the pickpackpanel, twelve as upright judaces as ever let down their thoms, and, occupante extremum scabie, handed down to the jury of the Liffey that, as a matter of tact, the woman they gave as free was born into contractual incapacity (the Calif of Man v the Eaudelusk Company) when, how and where Mamy’s Mancipium Act did not apply and therefore held supremely that, as no property in law can exist in a corpse (Hal Kilbride v Una Bellina), Pepigi’s pact was pure piffle (loud laughter) and Wharrem could whistle for the rhino. Will you, won’t you, pango with Pepigi? Not for, Nancy, how dare you do! And whew whewwhew whew.
— He sighed in sleep.
— Let us go back.
— Lest he forewaken.
— Hide ourselves.
While hovering dreamwings, folding round, will hide from fears my wee nee mannikin, keep my big wig long strong manomen, guard my bairn, mon beau.
— To bed!
Prospector projector and boomooster giant builder of all causeways woesoever, hoppingoffpoint and true terminus of straxstraightcuts and corkscrewn perambulaups, zeal whence to goal whither, wanderlust, in sequence to which every muckle must make its mickle, as different as York from Leeds, being the only wise in a muck’s world to look on itself from beforeland; mirrorminded curiositease and would-to-the-large which bring hills to molehunter, home through first husband, perils behind swine and horsepower down to hungerford, prick this man and tittup this woman, our forced payrents, Bogy Bobow with his cunnyngnest couchmare, Big Maester Finnykin with Phenicia Parkes, lame of his ear and gape of her leg, most correctingly, we beseach of you, down their laddercase of night-watch service and bring them at suntime flush with the nethernmost gangrung of their stepchildren: guide them through the labyrinth of their semilikes and the alteregoases of their pseudoselves: hedge them bothways from all roamers whose names are ligions, from loss of bearings deliver them; so they kreep to their rights and be ware of dutyfrees, neoliffic smith and magdalenian jinnyjones, mandragon mor and weak wiffeyducky, Morionmale and Thrydacianmade, basilisk glorious with his weeniequeenie, tigernack and swansgrace, he as hale as his ardouries, she as verve as her veines: this prime white arsenic with bissemate alloyed, martial sin with peccadilly, free to lease hold with first mortgage, dowser dour and dipper douce, stop-that-war and feel-this-feather, horsebloodheartened and lambswoolwashable, great gas with fun-in-the-corner, grand slam with fall-of-the-trick, solomn one and shebby, cod and coney, cash and carry, in all we dreamed the part we dreaded, corsair coupled with his dame, royal biber but constant lymph, boniface and bonnyfeatures, nazel nose and river mouth, bang-the-change and batter-the-bolster, big smoke and lickley roesthy, humanity’s fahrman by society leader, voguener and trulley, humpered and elf, Urloughmoor with Miryburrow, leaks and awfully, basal curse yet grace abunda, Regies Producer with screendoll Vedette, peg of his claim and pride of her heart, cliffscaur grisly but rockdove cooing, Hodinstag on Fryggabet, baron and feme: that he may dishcover her, that she may uncouple him, that none may come and crumple them, that they may soon recoup themselves: now and then, time on time again, as per periodicity: from Neaves to Willses, from Bushmills to Enos; to Goerz from Harleem, to Hearths of Oak from Skittish Widdas: via mala, hyber pass, heckhisway per alptrack: through lands vague and vain, after many mandelays: in their first case, to the next place, till their cozenkerries: the high and the by, both pent and plain: cross cowslips yillow, yellow, yallow, past pumpkins pinguind, purplesome: be they whacked to the wide other tied to husthings: long sizzleroads neath arthurseat, him to the derby, her to toun, til sengentide, do coddlam: in the grounds or unterlinnen: rue to lose and ca’canny: at shipside, by convent garden: monk and sempstress, in sackcloth silkily: curious dreamers, curious dramas, curious demon, plagiast dayman, playajest dearest, plaguiest dourest: for the strangfort planters are prodesting and the karkery felons dryflooring it and the leperties’ ladds railing the way, blump for Slogo Slee!
Stop! Did a stir? No, is fast. On to bed! So he is. It’s only the wind on the road outside for to wake all shivering shanks from snoring.
But, Oom Godd his villen, who will he be, this mitryman, some king of the yeast, in his chrismy greyed brunzewig, with the snow in his mouth and the Caspian asthma, so bulk of build? Relics of pharrer and livite! Dik Gill, Tum Lung or MacFinnan’s cool Harryng? He has only his bedcosycaskette on and his woolsey shirtplisse with peascod doublet, also his feet wear doubled width socks for he always must to insure warm sleep between a pair of fullyfleeced bankers like a finnoc in a cauwl. Can thus be Misthra Norkmann that keeps our hotel? Begor, Mr O’Sorgmann, you’re looking right well! Hecklar’s champion ethnicist. How deft as a fuchser schouws daft as a fish! He’s the dibble’s own doges for doublin existents! But a jolly fine daysent form of one word. He’s rounding up on his family.
And who is the bodikin by him, sir? So voulzievalsshie? With ybbs and zabs? Her trixiestrail is tripping her, vop! Luck at the way for the lucre of smoke she’s looping the lamp! Why, that’s old Missness Wipethemdry! Well, well, wellsowells! Donauwatter! Ardechious me! With her halfbend, as proud as a peahen, allabalmy, and her troutbeck quiverlips, ninyananya. And her sleptuajazzyma’s culunder buzztle. Happy tea area, naughtygay frew! Selling sunlit sopes to washtout winches and rhaincold draughts to the props of his pubs. She tried lipping the swells at Pont Delisle till she jumped the boom at Brounemouth. Now she’s borrid his head under Hatesbury’s Hatch and loamed his fate to old Love Lane. And she’s just the same old haporth of dripping. She’s even brennt her hair.
Which route are they going? Why? Angell Sitter or Amen Corner, Norwood’s Southwalk or Euston Waste? The solvent man in his upper gambeson withnot a breath against him and the wee wiping womanahoussy. They’re coming terug for their diamond wedding tour, giant’s inch by elfkin’s ell, vesting their characters vixendevolment, andens aller, athors err, our first day man and your dresser and mine, that Luxumburgher evec cettehis Alzette, konyglik shire with his queensh countess, Stepney’s shipchild with the waif of his bosun, Dunmow’s flitcher with duck-on-the-rock, down the scales, the way they went up, under talls and threading tormentors, shunning the startraps and slipping in sliders, risking a runway, ruing reveals, from Eldor Arbor to La Puirée, eskipping the clockback, crystal in carbon, sweetheartedly, hot and cold and electrickery with attendance and lounge and promenade free. In spite of all that science could boot or art could eke. Bolt the grinden. Postpone no bills. Thrive slowly. Cave and cane em. Single wrecks for the weak, double axe for the mail, and quick queck quocks for the radiose. Renove that bible. You will never have post in your pocket unless you have brass on your plate. Beggards outdoor. Goat to the Endth, thou Slowguard! Mind the Monks and their Grasps. Scrape your souls. Commit no miracles. Respect the uniform. Hold the raabers for the kunning his plethoron. Let leash the dooves to the cooin her coynth. Hatenot havenots. Share the wealth and spoil the weal. Peg the pound to tom the devil. My time is on draught. Bottle your own. Love my label like myself. Earn before eating. Drudge after drink. Credit tomorrow. Follow my dealing. Fetch my price. Buy not from Dives. Sell not to Freund. Herenow chuck english and learn to pray plain. Lean on your lunch. No cods before Me. Practise preaching. Think in your stomach. Import through the nose. By faith alone. Season’s weather. Gomorrha. Solong. Lots feed from my tidetable, oils wells in our lands. Let Earwigger’s wifable teach you the dance!
Now their laws assist them and ease their fall!
For they met and mated and bedded and buckled and got and gave and reared and raised and brought Thawland within Har danger and turned them, tarrying, to the sea and planted and plundered and pawned our souls and pillaged the pounds of the extramurals and fought and feigned with strained relations and broke all banks and hated the sights of one another and bequeathed us their ills and recrutched cripples’ gait and undermined lungachers, manplanting seven sisters while wan warmwooed woman scrubbs, and turned out coats and removed their origins and never learned the first day’s lesson and tried to mingle and managed to save and feathered foes’ nests and fouled their own and wayleft the arenotts and ponted vodavalls for the zollgebordened and escaped from liquidation by the heirs of their death and were responsible for congested districts and rolled olled logs into Peter’s sawyery and werfed new woodcuts on Paoli’s wharf and ewesed Rachel’s lea and rammed Dominic’s gap and struck rock oil and forced a policeman and looked haggards after lazatables and rode fourscore oddwinters and collaughsed at their phizes in Toobiassed and Zachary and left off leaving off and kept on keeping on and roused up drink and poured balm down the dustyfoot and tramped the world over to the court of pye powder and were cuffed by their customers and bit the dust at the foot of the poll when in her deergarth he gave up his goat after the battle of Multaferry. Pharoah with fairy, two lie let them! Yet they wend it back, qual his leif, himmertality, bullseaboob and rivishy divil, light in hand, helm on high, to peekaboo durk the thicket of Slumbwhere, till their hour with their scene be struck for ever and the book of the dates he close, he clasp and she seegn her tour d’adieu, Pervinca calling, Solosear hears (O Sheem! O Shaam!), and gentle Isad, Ysut gay, flispering in the nightleaves’ flattery, dinsiduously, to Finnegan, to sin again and to make grim grandma grunt and grin again, while the first grey streaks steal silvering by for to mock their quarrels in dollymount tumbling.
They near the base of the chill stair, that large incorporate licensed vintner, such as he is, from formor times, nine hosts in himself, in his hydrocomic establishment, and his ambling limfy peepingpartner, the slave of the ring that worries the hand that sways the lamp that shadows the walk that bends to his bane the busynext man that came on the cop with the Fenian’s bark that pickled his widow that primed the pope that passed it round on the volunteers’ plate till it croppied the ears of Purses Relle that kneed O’Connell up out of his doss that shouldered Burke that butted O’Hara that woke the busker that grattaned his crowd that bucked the jiggers to rhyme the rann that flooded the routes in Eryan’s isle from Malin to Clear and Carnsore Point to Slynagollov and cleaned the pockets and ransomed the ribs of all the listeners, lewd and lay, that bought the ballad that Hosty made.
Anyhow (the matter is a troublous and a peniloose) have they not called him at many’s their mock indignation meeting, vehmen’s vengeance vective volleying, inwader and uitlander, the notables, crashing libels in their Sullivan’s mounted beards about him, their right renownsable patriarch, Heinz Cans Everywhere, and the swanee her ainsell and Eyrewaker’s family sock that they smuggled for life betune them, roaring (Big Reilly was the worst)
Free boose for the Man from the Nark,
Sure, he never was worth a cornerwall fark,
And his banishee bedpan she’s a quer old bite of a tark
as they wendelled their zingaway wivewards from his Find Me Cool’s moist opulent vinery, highjacking through the nagginneck pass, as they hauled home with their hogsheads, axpoxtolating and claimand cowled consollation, sursumcordial, from the bluefunkfires of the dipper and the martians’ frost?
Use they not, our neosmall termtraders, to abhors offrom him, the yet unregendered thunderslog, whose sbrogue cunneth none lordmade undersiding, how betwixt wifely rule and mens conscia recti, then hemale man all umbracing to omniwomen but now shedropping his hitches like any maidavale oppersite orseriders in an idinhole? Ah, dearo, dearo, dear! And her illian! And his willyum! When they were all there now, matinmarked for lookin on. At the carryfour. With Awlus Plawshus, their happyass cloudious! And then and too the trivials! And their bivouac! And his monomyth! Ah ho! Say no more about it! I’m sorry! I saw, I’m sorry! I’m sorry to say I saw!
Gives there not too amongst us cismarines after all events (or so grunts a leading hebdromadary) some togethergush of stillandbutallyouknow that, insofarforth as all up and down the whole concreation any efficient first gets there finally every time as a complex matter of pure form, for those excesses and that pasphault hardhearingness from their eldfar, in gripes and rumblions, through fresh taint and sour treason, another like that alter but not quite such anander and stillandbut one not all the selfsame and butstillone just the maim and encore emmerhim may always, with a little difference, till the latest up to date so early in the morning, have evertheless been allmade amenable?
Yet he begottom.
Let us wherefore, tearing ages, presently preposterose a snatchvote of thanksalot to the huskiest coaxing experimenter that ever gave his best hand into chancerisk, wishing him with his famblings no end of slow poison and a mighty broad venue for themselves between the devil’s punchbowl and the deep angleseaboard, that they may gratefully turn a deaf ear clooshed upon the desperanto of willynully their shareholders from Taaffe to Auliffe that will curse them below par and mar with their descendants, shame, humbug and profit, to greenmould upon mildew over jaundice as long as ever there’s a wagtail surtaxed to a testcase on ever a man.
We have to had them whether we’ll like it or not. They’ll have to have us now then we’re here on their spot. Scant hope theirs or ours to escape life’s high carnage of semperidentity by subsisting peasemeal upon variables. Bloody certainly have we got to see to it ere smellful demise surprends us on this concrete that down the gullies of the eras we may catch ourselves looking foreword to what will in no time be staring you larrikins on the postface in that multimirror megaron of returningties, whirled without end to end. So there was a raughty … who in Dyfflinsborg did … with his soddering iron, spadeaway, hammerlegs and … where there was a fair young … who was playing her game of … and said she you rockaby … will you peddle in my bog … and he sod her in Iarland, paved her way from Maizenhead to Youghal. And that’s how Humphrey, champion emir, holds his own. Shy sweet, she rests.
Or show pon him now, will you, Hokoway, in his hiphigh bearserk? Third position of concord. Luk! Derg rudd face should take patrick’s purge. Excellent view from front. Sidome. Female imperfectly masking male. Red spot his browbrand. Woman’s the prey! Thon’s the dullakeykongsbyogblagroggerswagginline (private judgers, change here for Looterstown! onlyromans, keep your seats!) that drew all ladies please to our great mettrollops. Leary, leary, twentytun nearly, he’s plotting Kings down for his villa’s extension! Gaze at him now in momentum! As his bridges are blown to babbyrags, by the lee of his hulk upright on her orbits and the heave of his juniper arx in action, he’s naval, I see. Poor little tartanelle, her dinties are chattering, the straits she’s in, the bulloge she bears! Her smirk is smeeching behind for her hills. By the queer quick twist of her mobcap and the lift of her shift at random and the rate of her gate of going the pace, two thinks at a time, her country I’m proud of. The field is down, the race is their own. The galleonman jovial on his bucky brown nightmare. Bigbrob dignagging his lilyputtana. One to one bore one! The datter, io, io, sleeps in peace, in peace. And the twillingsons, ganymede, garrymore, turn in trot and trot. But old Pairamere goes it a gallop, a gallop, a gallop. Bossford and phospherine. One to one on!
O, O, her fairy setalite! Casting such shadows to Persia’s blind! The man in the street can see the coming event. Photoflashing it far too wide. It will be known through all Urania soon. Like jealousjoy titaning fear; like rumour rhean round the planets; like China’s dragon snapping japets; like rhodagrey up the east. Satyrdaysboost besets Phoebe’s nearest. Here’s the flood and the flaxen flood that’s to come over helpless irryland. Is there noone to malahide Liv and her bettyship? Or who’ll buy her rosebuds, jettyblack rosebuds, ninsloes of Nivia, nonpaps of Nan? From the fall of the fig to doom’s last post every ephemeral anniversary. While the park’s police peels peering by for to weigh down morrals from county bubblin. That trainer’s trundling! Quick! Pay up!
Kickakick. She had to kick a laugh. At her old stick-in-the-block. The way he was slogging his paunch about, elbiduubled, meet oft mate on, like hale King Willow, the roberer. Cainmaker’s mace and waxend capapee. But the tarrant’s brand on his hottoweyt brow. At half past quick in the morming. And her lamp was all askew and a trumbly wick-in-her, ringeysingey. She had to spofforth, she had to kicker, too thick of the wick of her pixy’s loomph, lickering jessup the smooky shiminey. And her duffed coverpoint of a wickedy batter, whenever she druv behind her stumps for a tyddlesly wink through his tunnilclefft bagslops after the rising bounder’s yorkers, as he studd and stoddard and trutted and trumpered, to see had lordherry’s blackham’s red bobby abbels, it tickled her innings to consort pitch at kicksoclock in the morm. Tipatonguing him on in her pigeony linguish, with a flick at the bails for lubrication, to scorch her faster, faster. Ye hek, ye hok, ye hucky hiremonger! Magrath he’s my pegger, he is, for bricking up all my old Kent road. He’ll win your toss and flog your old tom’s bowling, and I darr ye, barrackybuller, to break his duck! He’s posh. I lob him. We’re parring all Oogster till the empsy-seas run googlie. Declare to ashes and teste his metch! Three for two will do for me and he for thee and she for you. Goeasyosey, for the grace of the fields, or, hooley pooley, cuppy, we’ll both be bye and bye caught in the slips for fear he’d tyre and burst his dunlops and waken her bornybarnies making his boobybabies. The game old merrimynn, square to leg, with his lolleywide towelhat and his hobbsy socks and his wisden’s bosse and his norsery pinafore and his gentleman’s grip and his playaboy’s plunge and his flannelly feelyfooling, treading her hump and hambledown like a maiden wellheld, ovalled over, with her crease where the pads of her punishments ought to be by womanish rights, when, keek, the hen in the Doran’s shantyqueer began in a kikkery key to laugh it off, yeigh, yeigh, neigh, neigh, the way she was wuck to doodledoo by her gallows bird (how’s that? noball, he carries his bat!), nine hundred and dirty too not out, at all times long past conquering cock of the Morgans.
Cocorico! How blame us? Armigerend everfasting horde! Rico! So the bill to the bowe. As the belle to the beau. We herewith pleased return auditors’ thanks for those and their favours since safely enjoined. Cocoree! Tellaman tillamie. Tubbernacul in Tipherairy, sons, travellers in company and their carriageable tochters, tanks tight Anne Thynne for her contrectactions tugowards his personeel. Echo choree chorecho! O I you O you me! Well, we all unite thoughtfully in rendering gratias, well, between loves repassed, begging your honour’s pardon for, well, exclusive pigtorial rights of Herehear fond Tiplady, his wekreations, appearing in next eon’s issue of The Neptune’s Centinel and Tritonville Lightowler with, well, the widest circulation round the whole universe. Echoho choroh choree chorico! How me O my youhou my I youtou to I O? Thanks furthermore to modest Miss Glimglow and neat Master Mattresson who so kindly profiteered their serwishes as demysell of honour and, well, as strainbearer respectively. And a cordialest brief nod of chinchin dankyshin to, well, patient ringasend, as prevenient (by your leave) to all such occasions, detachably replaceable (thanks too! twos intact!), as well as his auricular of Malthus, the promethean paradonnerwetter which first (pray go! pray go!) taught love’s lightning the way (pity shown!) to, well, conduct itself (mercy, good shot! only please don’t mention it!). Come all ye goatfathers and groanmothers, come all ye markmakers and piledrivers, come all ye laboursaving devisers and chargeleyden dividends, firefenders, waterworkers, deeply condeal with him! All that is still life with death inyeborn, all verbumsaps yet bound to be, to do and to suffer, every creature, everywhere, if you please, kindly feel for her! While the dapplegray dawn drags nearing nigh for to wake all droners that drowse in Dublin.
Humpenfeldt and Annuska, wedded now evermore in annastomoses by a groundplan of the placehunter, whiskered beau and donahbella, Totumvir and Esquimeena, who so shall separate fetters to new desire, repeals an act of union to unite in bonds of schismacy. O yes! O yes! Withdraw your member! Closure. This chamber stands abjourned. Such precedent is largely a cause to lack of collective continencies among Donnelly’s orchard as lifelong the shadyside to Fairbrother’s field. Humbo, lock your kekkle up! Anny, blow your wickle out! Tuck away the tablesheet!! You never wet the tea! And you may go rightoway back to your Aunty Dilluvia, Humphrey, after that!
Retire to rest without first misturbing your nighboor, mankind of baffling descriptions. Others are as tired of themselves as you are. Let each one learn to bore himself. It is strictly requested that no cobsmoking, spitting, pubchat, wrastle rounds, coarse courting, smut, etc, will take place amongst those hours so devoted to repose. Look before behind before you strip you. Disrobe clothed in the strictest secrecy which privacy can afford. Water non to be discharged coram grate or ex window. Never divorce in the bedding the glove that will give you away. Maid Maud ninnies nay but blabs to mama (O, for your life, would you!): she, to her besom friend who does all chores (and what do you think my Madeleine saw?): this ignorant mostly sweeps it out along with all the rather old corporators (have you heard of one humbledown jungleman, how he bet Byrne-and-Bushe playing peg and pom?): the maudlin river then gets its dues (adding a din a ding or do): thence those laundresses (O, muddle me more about the maggies! I mean bawnee Madge Ellis and brownie Mag Dillon). Attention at all! Every ditcher’s dastard in Dupeling will know if you have paid the mulctman by whether your rent is open to be foreclosed or aback in your arrears. This is seriously meant. Here is a homelet not a hothel.
That’s right, old Oldun!
All in fact is soon as all of old right as anywas ever in very old place. Were he, hwen scalded of that couverfowl, to beat the bounds by here at such a point of time as this is for at sammel up all wood’s haypence and riviers argent (half back from three gangs multaplussed on a twentylot add allto a fiver with the deuce or roamer’s numbers ell a fee and do little ones) with the caboosh on him opheld for thrushes’ mistiles yet singing oud his parasangs in Cornish token: mean fawthery eastend appullcelery, old laddy he high hole: pollysigh patrolman Seekerseen, towney’s tanquam, crumlin quiet down from his hoonger, he would mac siccar of inket goodsforetombed ereshiningem of light turkling eitheranny of thuncle’s windopes. More, unless he were neverso wrongtaken, if he brought his boots to pause in peace, the one beside the other one, right on the road, he would seize no sound from cache or cave beyond the flow of wand was gypsing water, telling him now, telling him all, all about ham and livery, stay and toast ham in livery, and buttermore with murmurladen, to waker oats for him on livery. Faurore! Fearhoure! At last it past! Loab at cod then herrin or wind then mong them treen.
Hiss! Which we had only our hazelight to see with, cert, in our point of view, me and my auxy, Jimmy d’Arcy, hadn’t we, jimmy?—who to seen with? Kiss! No kidd, captn, which he stood us three jolly postboys first a couple of mountjoys and nutty woodbines with his cadbully’s choculars, pepped from our Theatre Regal’s drolleries puntomine, in the snug at the Cambridge Arms of Teddy Ales while we was laying, crown jewels to a peanut, was he stepmarm, old noseheavy, or a wouldower, which he said, lads, a taking low his Whitby hat, lopping off the froth and whishing, with all respectfulness to the old country, tomorrow comrades, we, his long life’s strength and cuirkscrween loan to our allhallowed king (Lawd lengthen him!), the pitchur that he’s turned to weld the wall, his standpoint was, to belt and blucher him afore the hole pleading churchale and submarine bar yonder but he made no class at all in port and cemented palships between our trucers, being a refugee, didn’t he, jimmy?—who true to me? Sish! Honeysuckler, that’s what my young lady here, Fred Watkins, bugler Fred, all the ways from Melmoth in Natal, she calls him when he dip the colours, pet, and commit his certain question vizaviz the secret empire of the snake which it was on a point of our sutton down, how was it, jimmy?—who has sinnerettes to declare? Phiss! Touching our Phoenix Rangers’ nuisance at the meeting of the waitresses, the daintylines, Elsies from Chelsies, the two legglegels in blooms, and those pest of parkies, twitch, thistle and charlock, were they for giving up their fogging trespasses, by order which we foregathered he must be raw in cane sugar, the party, no, Jimmy MacCawthelick?—who trespass against me? Briss! That’s him wiv his wig on, achewing of his maple gum, that’s our grainpopaw, Mister Beardall, an accompliced burgomaster, a great one among the very greatest, which he told us privates out of his own scented mouf he used to was, my lads, afore this Wineact come, what say, our jimmy the chapelgoer?—who fears all masters! Spiss! Hi, Jocko Nowlong, my own sweet boosy love, which he puts his feeler to me behind the beggars’ bush, does Freda, don’t you be an emugee! Carryone, he says, though we maroomed through this woylde. We must spy a half and half a hind on Honeysuckler now his old face’s hardalone wiv his defences down durin his wappin stillstand, says my Fred, and Jamessime here which, pip it, she simply must, she says, our pet, she’ll do a retroussy from her point of view (way you fly! like a frush!) to keep her flouncies off the grass while paying the wetmenots a musichall visit and pair her fiefighs fore him with just one curl after the cad came back which we fought he wars a gunner and His Corkiness lay up two bottles of joy with a shandy had by Fred and a fino oloroso which he was warming to, my right, jimmy, my old brown freer?—whose dolour, O so mine!
Following idly up to seepoint, neath kingmount shadow, the ilk for eke of us, whose nathem’s banned, whose hofd a-hooded, welkim warsail, how did you dew? Hollymerry, ivysad, whicher and whoer, Mr Black Atkins and you tanapanny troopertwos, were you there? Was truce of snow, moonmounded snow? Or did wolken hang o’er earth in umber hue his fulmenbomb? Number two coming! Full inside! Was glimpsed the mean amount of cloud? Or did pitter rain fall in a sprinkling? If the waters could speak as they flow! Tingle Tom, pull the bell! Izzy’s busy down the dell! Mizpah low, youyou, number one, in deep humidity! Listen, misled peerless, please! You are, of course. You miss him so, to listleto! Of course, my pledge between us, there’s no-one noel like him here to hear. Esch so eschess, douls a doulse! Since Allan Rogue loved Arrah Pogue it’s all Killdroughall fair. Triss! Only trees such as these, such were those, waving there, the Barketree, the O’Briertree, the Rowantree, the O’Corneltree, the Behanshrub near Windy Arbour, the Magill O’Dendron More. Trem! All the trees in the wood they trembold, humbild, when they heard the stoppress from Domday’s Erewold.
Tiss! Two pretty mistletots, ribboned to a tree, up rose liberator and, fancy, they were free! Four witty missywives, winking under hoods, made lasses like lads love maypoleriding, dotting Harold’s cross green with tricksome couples, fiftyfifty, their childern’s hundred. So childish pence took care of parents’ pounds and many made money the way in the world where rushroads to riches crossed slums of lice and, the cause of it all, he forged himself ahead like a blazing urbanorb, brewing treble to drown grief, giving and taking mayom and tuam, playing milliards with his three golden balls, making party capital out of landed selfinterest, light on a slavey but weighty on the bourse, our hugest commercial emporialist, with his sons booing home from afar and his daughters bridling up at his side. Finner!
How did he bank it up, swank it up, the whaler in the punt, a guinea by a groat, his index on the balance and such wealth into the bargain, with the bogey which he snatched in the baggage coach ahead? Going forth on the prowl, master jackill, under night and creeping back, dog to hide, over morning. Humbly to fall and cheaply to rise, exposition of failures. Through Duffy’s blunders and MacKenna’s insurance for upper ten and lower five the band played on. As one generation tells another. Ofter the fall. First, for a change of a seven days’ licence he wandered out of his farmer’s health and so lost his early parishlife. Then (’twas in fenland), occidentally of a suddom, six junelooking flamefaces straggled wild out of their turns through his parsonfired wicket, showing all shapes of striplings in sleepless tights. Promptly whomafter in undated times, very properly a dozen generations anterior to themselves, a main chanced to burst and misflooded his fortunes, wrothing foulplay over his fives’ court and his fine poultryyard wherein were spared a just two of a feather in wading room only. Next, upon due reflotation, up started four hurrigan gales to smithereen his plateglass housewalls and the slate for accounts his keeper was cooking. Then came three boy buglehorners who counterbezzled and crossburgled him. Later on in the same evening two hussyites absconded through a breach in his bylaws and left him, the infidels, to pay himself off in kind remembrances. Till, ultimatehim, fell the crowning barleystraw when an explosium of his distilleries deafandumped all his dry goods down to his most favoured sinflute and dropped him, what remains of a heptark, leareyed and lotterish, weeping worrybound on his bankrump.
Pepep. Pay bearer, sure and sorry, at foot of ohoho honest policiest. O never again, by Phoenix, swore on him Lloyd’s, not for beaten wheat, not after Sir Joe Meade’s father, thanks! They know him, the covenanter, by rote at least, for a chameleon at last, in his true falseheaven colours from ultraviolent to subred tissues. That’s his last tryon to march through the grand tryomphal arch. His reignbolt’s shot. Never again! How you do that like, Mista Chimepiece? You got nice yum premyums? Praypaid my promishles!
Agreed, Wu Welsher, he was chogfulled to beacsate on earn as in hiving of foxold conningnesses but who, hey honey, for all values of his latters, was, integer integerrimost, the formast of the firm? By folkmood hailed, at part farwailed. Accwmwladed concloud, Nuah-Nuah, Nebob of Nephilim! After all, what followed for apprentice’ sake? Since the now nighs nearing as the yetst hies hin. Jeebies, ugh, kek, ptah, that was an ill man! Jawboose, puddigood, this is for true one sweetish mand! But Jumbluffer, bagdad, sir, yond would be for a once over our all honoured christmastype easteredmanx.
Fourth position of solution. How johnny! Finest view from horizon. Tableau final. Two me see. Male and female unmask we hem. Begum by Gunne! Who now broothes oldbawn. Dawn! The nape of his nameshielder’s scalp. Halp! After having drummed all he dun. Hun! Worked out to an inch of his core. More! Ring down. While the queenbee he staggerhorned blesses her bliss for to feel her funnyman’s functions. Tag. Rumbling.
Tiers, tiers and tiers. Rounds.
Sandhyas! Sandhyas! Sandhyas!
Calling all downs. Calling all dawns to dayne. Array! Surrection! Eirewecker to the wohld bludyn world. O rally, O rally, O rally! Phlenxty, O rally! To what lifelike thyne of the bird can be. Seek you somany metters. Haze sea east to Osseania. Here! Here! Tass, Patt, Steff, Woff, Havv, Bluvv and Rutter! The smog is lofting. And already the olduman’s olduman has godden up on othertimes to litanate the bonnamours. Sonne feine, somme foehn avaunt! Guld modning, have yous viewsed Piers’ aube? Thane yaars agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther. Calling all daynes. Calling all daynes to dawn. The old breeding broadsted culminwillth of natures to Foyn MacHooligan. The leader, the leader! Securest jubilends albas Temoram. Clogan slogan. Quake up, dim dusky, wook doom for husky! And let Billey Feghin be baallad out of his humuluation. Confindention to churchen. We have highest gratifications in announcing to pewtewr publikums of pratician pratyusers: Genghis is ghoon for you.
A hand from the cloud emerges, holding a chart expanded.
The eversower of the seeds of light to the cowld owld sowls that are in the domnatory of Defmut after the night of the carrying of the word of Nuahs and the night of making Mehs to cuddle up in a coddlepot, Pu Nuseht, lord of risings in the yonderworld of Ntamplin, tohp triumphant, speaketh.
Vah! Suvarn Sur! Scatter brand to the reneweller of the sky, thou who agnitest! Dah! Arcthur is coming! Be! Verb imprincipiant through the entrancitive spaces! Kilt by kelt shall kithagain with kinagain. We elect for thee, Tirtangel. Svadesia salve! We, Durbalanars, theeadjure. A way, the Margan, from our astamite, through dimdom done till light kindling light has led, we hopas, but hunt me the journeyon, iteritinerant, the kal his course, amid the semitary of Somnionia. Even unto Heliotropolis, the castellated, the enchanting. Now if soomone felched a twoel and soomonelses warmt watter we could, while you was saying Morkret Miry or Smud, Brunt and Rubbinsen, make sunlike sylp om this warful dune’s battam. Yet clarify begins at. Whither the spot for? Whence the hour by? See but! Lever hulme! Take in! Respassers should be pursaccoutred. Qui stabat Meius quantum qui stabat Peius. As of yours. We annew. Our shades of minglings mengle them and help help horizons. A flasch and, rasch, it shall come to pasch, as hearth by hearth leaps live. For the tanderest stock with the rosinost top. Allen Hill’s, clubpubber, in general stores and. Blz! Atriathroughwards, Lugh the Brathwacker will be the listened after and he larruping sparks out of his teiney ones. The spearspid of dawnfire totouches ain the tablestoane ath the centre of the great circle of the macroliths of Helusbelus in the boshiman brush on this our peneplain by Fangaluva Bight whence the horned cairns erge, stanserstanded, to floran frohn, idols of isthmians. Over-where. Gaunt grey ghostly gossips growing grubber in the glow. Past now palls. Cur one beast, even Dane the Great, may treadspaths with sniffer he snout impursuant to byelegs. Edar’s chuckal humuristic. But why pit the cur afore the noxe? Let shrill their duan Gallus, han, and she, hon, the Sassqueehenna, makes ducksruns at crooked. Once for the chantermale, twoce for the pother and once twoce threece for the waither. So an inedible yellowmeat turns out the invasable blackth. Kwhat serves to rob with Alliman, saelior, a turnkeyed trot to Seapoint, pierrotettes, means Noel’s Bar and Julepunsch, by Joge, if you’ve tippertaps in your head or starting kursses, tailour, your right to Penmark, stommering silenced at Henge Ceollege, Exmooth, Ostbys for ost, boys, each and one? Death banes and the quick quoke. But life wends and the dombs spake! Whake? Hill of Hafid, knock and knock, nachasach, gives relief to the langscape as he strauches his lamusong upon gazelle channel and the bride of the Bryne, shin high shake, is dotter than evar for a damse wed her farther. Lambel on the up! We may plesently heal Geoglyphy’s twentynine ways to say goodbett an wassing seeoosoon liv. With the forty wonks winking please me your much as to. With her tup. It’s a long long ray to Newirelands premier. For korfs, for streamfish, for confects, for bullyoungs, for smearsassage, for patates, for steaked pig, for men, for limericks, for waterfowls, for wagsfools, for louts, for cold airs, for late trams, for curries, for curlews, for leekses, for orphalines, for tunnygulls, for clear goldways, for lungfortes, for moonyhaunts, for fairmoneys, for coffins, for tantrums, for armoires, for waglugs, for rogues’ comings, for sly goings, for larksmathes, for homdsmeethes, for quailsmeathes, kilaloolyoo. Tep. Come lead, crom lech! Top. Wisely for us Old Bruton has withdrawn his theory. You are alpsulumply wroght! Amsulummmm. But this is perforeteaguing youpoorapps? Namantanai! Sure it’s not kevieng your? Amslu! Good all so. We seem to understand apad vellumtomes muniment, Arans Duhkha, among hoseshoes, cheriotiers and etceterogenious bargain boatbarrows, ofver and umnder, since, evenif or although, in double preposition as in triple conjunction, how the mudden research in the topaia that was Mankaylands has gone to prove from the picalava present in the maramara melma that while a successive generation has been. In the deep deep deeps of Deepereras. Buried hearts. Rest here.
Conk a dook he’ll doo. Svap.
So let him slap, the sap! Till they take down his shatter from his shap. Hecanease. Fill stap.
Thus faraclacks the friarbird. Listening, Syd!
The child, a natural child, thenown by the mnames of (aya! aya!), wouldbewas kidnapped at an age of recent probably, possibly remoter; or he conjured himself from seight by slide at hand; for which the theatron is a lemoronage; at milchgoat fairmesse; in full dogdhis; sod on a fall; pat; the hundering blundering dunderfunder of plundersundered manhood; behold, he returns; renascenent; fincarnate; still foretold around the hearthside; at matin a fact; hailed chimers’ ersekind; foespurnant; fum in his mow; awike in wave risurging into chrest; victis poenis hesternis; fostfath of solas; fram choicest of wiles with warmen and sogns til Banba, burial aranging; under articles thirtynine of the reconstitution; by the lord’s order of the canon consecrandable; earthlost that we thought him; pesternost, the noneknown worrier; from Tumbarumba mountain; in persence of whole landslots; forebe all the rassias; sire of leery subs of dub; The Diggings, Woodenhenge, as to hang out at; with spawnish oel full his angalach; the sousenugh; gnomeosulphidosalamermanderman; the big brucer, fert in fort; Gunnar, of The Gunnings, Gund; one of the two or three forefivest fellows a bloke could in holiday crowd encounter; benedicted be the barrel; kilderkins, lids off; a roache, an oxmaster, a sort of heaps, a pamphilius, a vintivatniviceny, a hygienic contrivance so-called from the editor; the thick of your thigh; you know; quite; talking to the vicar’s joy and ruth; the gren, woid and glue been broking by the maybole gards; he; when no crane in Elga is heard; upout to speak this lay; without links, without impediments, with gygantogyres, with freeflawforms; parasama to himself; atman as evars; whom otherwise becauses; no puler as of old but as of young a paladin; whitelock not lacked nor temperasoleon; though he appears a funny colour; stoatters some; but a quite a big bug after the dahlias; place inspectorum sarchent; also the hullow chyst excavement; astronomically fabulafigured; as Jambudvispa Vipra foresaw of him; the last half-versicle repurchasing his pawned word; sorensplit and paddypatched; and pfor to pfinish our pfun of a pfan coalding the keddle mickwhite: sure, straight, slim, sturdy, serene, synthetical, swift.
By the antar of Yasas! Ruse made him worthily achieve inherited wish. The drops upon that mantle rained never around Fingal. Goute! Loughlin’s Salts. Will make a newman if anyworn. Soe? La! Lamfadar’s arm it has cocoincidences. You mean to see we have been hadding a sound night’s sleep? You may so. It is just, it is just about to, it is just about to rolywholyover. Svapnasvap. Of all the stranger things that ever not even in the hundrund and badst pageans of unthowsent and wonst nice or in eddas and oddes bokes of tomb, dyke and hollow to be have happened! The untireties of livesliving being the one substrance of a streamsbecoming. Totalled in toldteld and teldtold in tittletelltattle. Why? Because, graced be Gad and all giddy gadgets, in whose words were the beginnings, there are two signs to turn to, the yest and the ist, the wright side and the wronged side, feeling aslip and wauking up, so an, so farth. Why? On the sourdsite we have the Moskiosk Djinnpalast with its twin adjacencies, the bathhouse and the bazaar, allahallahallah, and on the spontlesite it is the Alcovan and the rosegarden, boony noughty, all puraputhry. Why? One’s apurr apuss a story about brid and breakfedes and parricombating and coushcoush but others is of tholes and outworn buyings, dolings and chafferings in heat, contest and enmity. Why? Every talk has his stay, vidnis Shavarsanjivana, and all-a-dreams perhapsing under lucksloop at last are through. Why? It’s a sot of a swigswag, systomy dystomy, which everybody you ever anywhere at all doze. Why? Such me.
And howpsadrowsay.
Lok! A shaft of shivery in the act, anilancinant. Cold’s sleuth! Vayuns! Where did thots come from? It is infinitesimally fevers, resty fever, risy fever, a coranto of aria, asleeperawakening, in the smalls of one’s back presentiment, gip, and again, geip, a flash from a future of maybe mahamayability through the windr of a wondr in a wildr is a weltr as a wirbl of a warbl is a world.
Tom.
It is perfect degrees excelsius. A jaladaew still stilleth. Cloud lay but mackrel are. Anemone activescent. The torporature is returning to mornal. Humid nature is feeling itself freely at ease with the all fresco. The vervain is to herald as the grass administers. They say, they say in effect, they really say. You have eaden fruit. Say whuit. You have snakked mid a fish. Tell whish. Every those personal place objects is nonthings wheresoevers and they just done been doing being in a dromo of todos withouten a bound to be by. You hild them, the upples, in your trowers. Forswundled. You hald him by the tap of the tang. Not a salutary sellable sound is since. Insteed for asteer, adrift with adraft. Nuctumbulumbumus wanderwards the Nil. Victorias neanzas. Alberths neantas. It was a long, very long, a dark, very dark, an allbut unend, scarce endurable, and we could add mostly quite various and somewhat stumbletumbling night. Endee he sendee. Diu! The has goning at gone, the is coming to come. Greets to ghastern, hie to morgning. Dormidy, destady! Doom is the faste. Well dawn, good other! Now day, slow day, from delicate to divine, divases. Padma, brighter and sweetster, this flower that bells, it is our hour of risings. Tickle, tickle. Lotus spray. Till herenext. Adya.
Take thanks, thankstum, Thamas. In that earopean end meets Ind.
There is something supernoctual about whatever you called him it. Panpan and vinvin are not alonely vanvan and pinpin in your Tamal without tares but simplysoley they are they. This utter follow is that odder fellow. Himkim kimhim. Old yeasterloaves may be a stale as a stub and the pitcher go to aftoms on the wall. Mildew, murk, leak and yarn now want the bad that they lied on. And the four last words todate in camparative accoustomology are going to tell stretch of a fancy through strength towards joyance, adyatanta, where he gets up. Allay for allay, a threat for a throat.
Tim!
To them in Ysat Loka. Hearing. The urb it orbs. Then’s now with now’s then in tense continuant. Heard. Who having has he shall have had. Hear! Upon the thuds trokes truck, chim, it will be exactlyso fewer hours by so many minutes of the ope of the diurn of the sennight of the maaned of the yere of the age of the madamanvantora of Grossguy and Littleylady, our hugibus hugibum and our weewee mother, actaman housetruewith, and their childer and their napirs and their napirs’ childers’ napirs and their chattels and their servance and their cognance and their ilks and their orts and their everythings that is be will was theirs.
Much obliged, Time-o’-Thay! But wherth, O clerk?
Whithr a clonk? Vartman! See you not soo the pfath they pfunded, oura vatars that arred in Himmal, harruad bathar namas, the gow, the stiar, the tigara, the liofant, when even thurst was athar vetals, mid trefoils slipped the sable rampant, hoofs hoofs hoofs hoofs, padapodopudupedding on fattafottafutt. Ere we are! Signifying, if tungs may tolkan, that primeval conditions having gradually receded but nevertheless the emplacement of solid and fluid having to a great extent persisted through intermittences of sullemn fulminance, sollemn nuptialism, sallemn sepulture and providential divining, making possible and even inevitable, after his a time has a tense haves and havenots hesitency, at the place and period under consideration a socially organic entity of a millenary military maritory monetary morphological circumformation in a more or less settled state of equonomic ecolube equalobe equilab equilibbrium. Gam on, Gearge! Nomomorphemy for me! Lessnatbe angardsmanlake! You jast gat a tache of army on the stumuk. To the Angar at Anker. Aecquotincts. Seeworthy. Lots thankyouful, polite pointsins! There’s a tavarn in the tarn.
Tip. Take Tamotimo’s topical. Tip. Browne yet Noland. Tip. Advert.
Where. Cumulonubulocirrhonimbant heaven electing, the dart of desire has gored the heart of secret waters and the poplarest wood in the entire district is being grown at present, eminently adapted for the requirements of pacnicstricken humanity, and between all the goings up and the whole of the comings down, and the fog of the cloud in which we toil and the cloud of the fog under which we labour, bomb the thing’s to be domb about it so that, beyond indicating the locality, it is felt that one cannot with advantage add a very great deal to the aforegoing by what, such as it is to be, follows, just mentioning however that the old man of the sea and the old woman in the sky if they don’t say nothings about it they don’t tell us no lie, the ghist of the phantomime, from cannibal king to the property horse, being, slumply and slopely, to remind us how, in this drury world of ours, Father Times and Mother Spacies boil their kettle with their crutch. Which every lad and lass in the lane knows. Hence.
Polycarp pool, the pool of Innalavia, Saras the saft as, of meadewy marge, atween Deltas Piscium and Sagittariastrion, whereinn once we lave ’tis alve and vale, minnyhahing here from hiarwather, a poddlebridges in a passabed, the river of lives, the regenerations of the incarnations of the emanations of the apparentations of Funn and Nin in Cleethabala, the kongdomain of the Alieni, an accorsaired race, infester of Libnud Ocean, Moylamore, let it be! Where Allbroggt Neandser tracking Vikkynette Neeinsee gladsighted her Linfian Falls and a teamdiggingharrow turned the first sod. Sluce! Caughterect! Goodspeed the blow! (Incidentally, ’tis believed that his harpened before Gage’s Fane for it has to be over this booty spotch, though some hours to the wester, that ex-Colonel House’s preterpost heiress is to return into the outstretcheds of Dweyer O’Michael’s loinsprung the blunterbusted pikehead which his had hewn in hers. Prolonged laughterwords.) There an alomdree begins to green, screen seen for loveseat, as we know that should she, for by essentience his law, so it make all. It is scainted to Vitalba. And her little white bloomkins, twittersky trimmed, are hobdoblins’ hankypanks. Saxens like our anscessers thought so darely on now they’re going soever to Anglesea, free of juties, dyrt chapes. There too a slab slobs, immermemorial, the only in all swamp. But so bare, so boulder, brag sagging such a brr bll bmm show that, wooly smools of Barindeus, the white alfred, it owed to have at leased some butchup’s upperon. Homos Circas Elochlannensis! His showplace at Leeambye. Old Wommany Wyes. Pfif! But, while gleam with gloom swan here and there, this shame rock and that whispy planter tell Paudheen Steel-the-Poghue and his perty Molly Vardant, in goodbroomirish, arrah, this place is a proper and this feist a ferial if so be hwo hwo would celibrate cardnal communial, the holy mystery, or that the pirigrim from Mainylands beatend, the calmleaved hutcaged by that look whose glaum is sure he means bisnisgels to empalmover. A naked yogpriest, clothed upon of sundust, his oakey doaked with frondest leoves, offrand to the ewon of her owen. Tasyam kuru salilakriyam! Pfaf!
Bring about it to be brought about and it will be, loke, our lake lemanted, that greyt lack, the citye of Is is issuant (atlanst!), urban and orbal, through seep froms umber under wasseres of Erie.
Lough!
Hwo? Hwy, dairmaidens! Asthoreths, assay! Earthsigh to is heavened.
Hillsengals, the daughters of the cliffs, responsen. Longsome the samphire coast. From thee to thee, thoo art it thoo, that thouest there. The like the near, the liker nearer. O sosay! A family, a band, a school, a clanagirls. Fiftines andbut fortines by novanas andor vantads by octettes ayand decadendecads by a lunary with last a lone. Whose every has her different from the similies with her site. Sicut campanulae petalliferentes they coroll in caroll round Botany Bay. A dweam of dose innocent dirly dirls.
Keavn! Keavn! And they all setton voicies about singsing music was Keavn! He. Only he. Ittle he. Ah! The whole clangalied. Oh!
S. Wilhelmina’s, S. Gardenia’s, S. Phibia’s, S. Veslandrua’s, S. Clarinda’s, S. Immecula’s, S. Dolores Delphin’s, S. Perlanthroa’s, S. Errands Gay’s, S. Eddaminiva’s, S. Rhodamena’s, S. Ruadagara’s, S. Drimicumtra’s, S. Una Vestity’s, S. Mintargosia’s, S. Mischa-La-Valse’s, S. Churstry’s, S. Innocycora’s, S. Aungiel Calzata’s, S. Clovinturta’s, S. Clouonaskiey’s, S. Bellavistura’s, S. Santamonta’s, S. Ringsingsund’s, S. Heddadin Drade’s, S. Glacianivia’s, S. Waidafrira’s, S. Thomassabbess’s and (trema! unloud!! pepet!!!) S. Loellisotoelle’s.
Prayfulness! Prayfulness!
Euh! Thaet is seu whaet shaell one naeme it!
The meidinogues have tongued togethering. Ascend out of your bed, cavern of a trunk, and shrine! Kathlins is kitchin. Soros cast aside, ma brone! You must be exterra acquarate to inter irrigate all the arkypelicans. The austrologer Wallaby Tolan, a brother, who farshook our showrs from Newer Aland, has signed the you and the now our mandate. Milenesia waits. Be smark!
One seekings. Not the lithe slender, not the broad roundish near the lithe slender, not the fairsized fullfeatured to the leeward of the broad roundish but, indeed and inneed, the curling, perfectportioned, flowerfleckled, shapely, highhued, delicate featured swaying to the windward of the fairsized fullfeatured.
Was that in the airabouts when something is to be said for it or is it someone imparticulant who will somewherise for the whole anyhow?
What does Coemhghen? Tell his hidings clearly! A woodtoogooder. Is his moraltack still his best of weapons? How about a little more goaling goold? Rowlin’s tun he gadder no must. It is the voice of Roga. His face is the face of a son. Be thine the silent hall, O Jarama! A virgin, the one, shall mourn thee. Roga’s stream is solence. But Croona is in adestance. The ass of the O’Dwyer of Greyglens is abrowtobayse afeald in his terroirs of the Potterton’s forecoroners, the reeks around the burleyhearthed. When visited by an indepondant reporter, “Mike” Portlund, to burrow burning the Latterman’s Resterant so is called the gortan in questure he mikes the fallowing for the Durban Gazette, firstcoming issue. From a collispendent. Any were. Deemsday. Bosse of Upper and Lower Byggotstrade, Ciwareke, may he live for river! The Games funeral at Valleytemple. Saturnights pomps, exhabiting that corricatore of a harss, revealled by Oscur Camerad. The last of Dutch Schulds, perhumps. Pipe in Dream Cluse. Uncovers Pub History. The Outrage, at Length. Affected Mob Follows in Religious Sullivence. Rinvention of vestiges by which they drugged the buddhy. Moviefigure on in scenic section. By Patethicus. And there, from out of the scuity, misty Londan, along the canavan route, that is with the years gone, mild beam of the wave his polar bearing, steerner among stars, trust Tonthena and you tread true turf, comes the sorter, Mr Hurr Hansen, talking alltheways in himself of his hopes to fall in among a merryfoule of maidens happynghome from the dance, his knyckle allaready in his knackskey fob, a passable compatriate proparly of the Grimstad galleon, ald pairs frieze, feed up to the noxer with their geese and peeas and oats upon a trencher and the toyms he’d lust in Wooming but with that smeoil like a grace of backoning over his egglips of the sunsoonshine. Here’s heeing you in a guessmasque, latterman! And such an improofment! As royt as the mail and as fat as a fuddle! Schoen! Shoan! Shoon the Puzt! A penny for your thoughtabouts! Tay, tibby, tanny, tummy, tasty, tosty, tay. Batch is for Baker who baxters our bread. O, what an ovenly odour! Butter butter! Bring us this days our maily bag! But receive me, my frensheets, from the emerald dark winterlong! For diss is the doss for Eilder Downes and dass is it duss, as singen sengers, what the hardworking straightwalking stoutstamping securelysealing officials who trow to form our G.M.P.’s pass muster generally shay for shee and sloo for slee when butting their headd to the pillow for a nightshared nakeshift with the alter girl they tuck in for sweepsake. Dutiful wealker for his hydes of march. Havd you the time, Hans ahike? Heard you the crime, senny boy? The man was giddy on letties on the dewry of the duary, be pursueded, whethered with entrenous, midgreys, dagos, teatimes, shadows, nocturnes or samoans, if wellstacked fillerouters, plushfeverfraus with dopy chonks, and this, that and the other, pigskins or muffle kinckles, taking a pipe course or doing an anguish, seen to his fleece in after his foull, when Dr Chart of Greet Chortles Street he changed his backbone at a citting. He had not the declaimation, as what with the foos as whet with the fays, but, so far as hanging a goobee on the precedings, wherethen the lag allaws, it mights be anything after darks. Which the deers alones they sees and the darkies they is snuffing of the wind up. Debbling. Greanteavvents! Hyacinssies with heliotrollops! Not once fullvixen freakings and but dubbledecoys! It is a lable iction on the porte of the cuthulic church and summum most atole for it. Where is that blinketey blanketer, that sound of a pealer, the sunt of a hunt what foxes good men? Where or he, our loved among many?
But what does Coemhghen, the fostard? Tyro a tora. The novened iconostase of his blueygreyned vitroils but begins in feint to light his legend. Let Phosphoron proclaim! Peechy peechy. Say he that saw him that saw! Man shall sharp run do a get him. Ask no more, Jerry mine, Roga’s voice! No pice soorkabatcha. The boy which puckerooed the posy. The vinebranch of Heremonheber on Bregia’s plane where Teffia lies is leaved invert and fructed proper but the cublic hatches endnot open yet for hourly rincers’ mess. Read Higgins, Cairns and Egan. Malthus is yet lukked in close. Withun. How swathed thereanswer alcove makes theirinn! Besoakers loiter on. And primilibatory silicates of limon sodias will be absorbable. It is not even yet the engine of the load with haled morries full of crates, you mattinmummur, for dombell dumbs? Sure and ’tis not then. The Greek Sidereal Reulthway, as it havvents, will soon be starting a smooth with its first single hastencraft danny buzzes instead of the vialact coloured milk train on the fartykket plan run with its endless gallaxion of rotatorattlers and the smooltroon our elderens rememberem as the cream of the service, Strubry Bess. Also the waggonwobbles are still yet everdue to precipitate after night’s combustion. Aspect, Shamus Rogua, or! Taceate and! Hagiographice canat Ecclesia. Which aubrey our first shall show. Inattendance who is who is will play that’s what’s that to what’s that what.
Oyes! Oyeses! Oyesesyeses! The primace of the Gaulls, protonotorious, I yam as I yam, mitrogenerand in the free state on the air, is now aboil to blow a Gael warning. Inoperation Eyrlands Eyot, Meganesia, habitant and the onebut thousand insels, Western and Osthern Approaches.
Of Kevin, of Increate God the servant, of the Lord Creator a filial fearer, who, given to the growing grass, took to the tall timber, slippery dick the springy heeler, as we have seen, so we have heard, what we have received, that we have transmitted, thus we shall hope, this we shall pray till, in the search for love of knowledge through the comprehension of the unity in altruism through stupefaction, it may be again how it may be again, shearing aside the four wethers and passing over the dainty daily dairy and dropping by the way the lapful of live coals and smoothing out Nelly Nettle and her lad of mettle, full of stings, fond of stones, friend of gnewgnawn sbones, and leaving all that messy messy to look after our douche douche, the miracles, death and life are these.
Yad. Procreated on the ultimate ysland of Yreland in the encyclical Yrish archipelago, come their feast of precreated holy whiteclad angels, whom-among the christener of his, voluntarily poor Kevin, having been graunted the praviloge of a priest’s postcreated portable altare cum balneo when espousing the one true cross, invented and exalted, in celibate matrimony at matin chime arose and westfrom went and came in alb of cloth of gold to our own midmost Glendalough-le-Vert by archangelical guidance where amiddle of meeting waters of river Yssia and Essia river on this one of eithers lone navigable lake piously Kevin, lauding the Triune Trishagion, amidships of his conducible altar super bath rafted centripetally, diaconal servent of orders Hibernian, midway across the subject lake surface to its supreem epicentric lake ysle, Inis Kevin, whereof its lake is the centrifugal principality, whereon by prime, powerful in knowledge, Kevin came to where its centre is among the circumfluent watercourses of Yshgafiena and Yshgafiuna, an enysled lakelet yslanding a lacustrine yslet, whereupon with beached raft subdiaconal bath propter altar, with oil extremely anointed, accompanied by prayer, holy Kevin bided till the third morn hour but to build a rubric penitential honeybeehivehut in whose enclosure to live in fortitude, acolyte of cardinal virtues, whereof the arenary floor most holy Kevin excavated as deep as to a depth of a seventh part of one full fathom, which excavated, venerable Kevin, anchorite, taking counsel, proceeded towards the lakeside of the ysletshore whereat seven several times he eastward genuflecting in entire ubbidience at sextnoon collected Gregorian water sevenfold and with Ambrosian eucharistic joy of heart as many times receded carrying the lustral domination contained within his most portable previliged altar unacumque bath, which severally seven times into the cavity excavated, a lector of water levels, most venerable Kevin then effused, thereby letting there be water where was theretofore dry land, by him so concreated, who now, confirmed a strong and perfect Christian, blessed Kevin, exorcised his holy sister water, perpetually chaste, so that, well understanding, she should fill to midheight his tubbathaltar, which hand-bathtub most blessed Kevin ninthly enthroned in the interconcentric centre of the translated water whereamid, when violet vesper vailed, Saint Kevin Hydrophilos, having girded his sable cappa magna as high as to his cherubical loins, at solemn compline sat in his sate of wisdom, that hipbathtub, whereverafter, recreated doctor insularis of the universal church, keeper of the door of meditation, memory extempore proposing and intellect formally considering, recluse, he meditated continuously with seraphic ardour the primal sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of all man by affusion of water. Yed.
Bisships, bevel to rock’s rite! Sarver buoy, extinguish!
Nuotabene. The rare view from the three Benns under the bald heaven is on the other end, askan your blixom on dimmen and blastun, something to right hume about. They were erected in a purvious century as a hen fine coops and, if you know your Bristol and have trudged the trolly ways and elventurns of that old cobbold city, you will sortofficially scribble a mental Peny-Knox-Gore. Whether they were franklings by name also has not been fully probed. Their design is a whosold word and the charming details of light in dark are freshed from the feminiairity which breathes content. O ferax cupla! Ah, fairypair! The first exploder to make his ablations in these parks was indeed that lucky mortal which the monster trial showed on its first day out. What will not arky paper, anticidingly inked with Penmark, push, per sample prof, kuvertly falted, when style, stink and stigmataphoron are of one sum in the same person? He comes out of the soil very well after all just where Old Toffler is to come shuffling alongsoons Panniquanni starts showing of her peequuliar talonts. A waywrong wandler siuking to a rightrare rute for his plain utterrock sukes, appelled to by her fancy claddaghs. You plied that pokar, gamesy, swell as aye did, while there were flickars to the flores. He may be humpy, nay, he may be dumpy, but there is always something racey about, say, a sailor on a horse. As soon as we sale him, gee, we gates a sprise! He brings up tufatufa and that is how we get to Missas in Massas. Thee old Marino tale. We veriterse verity notafew demmed lustres priorly magistrite maximollient in ludubility learned. Facst. Teak off that wise head! Great sinner, good sonner, is in effect the motto of the MacCowell family. The gloved fist (skrimmhandsker) was intraduced into their socerdatal tree before the fourth of the twelfth and it is even a little odd all four horolodgeries still gonging restage Jakob van der Bethel, smolking behind his pipe, with Esav of Message-postumia, lentling out his borrowed chafingdish, before cymbaloosing the apostles at every hours of changeover. The first and last rittlerattle of the anniverse: when is a nam nought a nam whenas it is a. Watch! Heroes’ Highway where our fleshers leave their bonings and every bob and joan to fill the bumper fair. It is their segnall for old Champelysied to seek the shades of his retirement and for young Chappielassies to tear a round and tease their partners lovesoftfun at Finnegan’s Wake.
And it’s high tigh tigh. Titley, hi ti ti. That my dig pressed in your dag si. Gnug of old Gnig. Ni, gnid mig brawly! I bag your burden! Mees is thees knees. Thi is Mi. We have caught oneselves, Sveasmeas, in somes incontigruity coumplegs of heoponhurrish marrage from whose I most sublumbunate. A polog, my engl! Excutes. Om still so sovvy. Whyle om till ti ti.
Ha!
Daysgreening gains in schimninging. A summerwint springfalls, abated. Hail, regn of durknass, snowly receassing, thund lightening thund, into the dimbelowstars departamenty whitherout, soon hist, soon mist, to the hothehill from the hollow, Solsking the Frist (attempted by the admirable Captive Bunting and Loftonant-Cornel Blaire) will processingly show up above Tumplen Bar whereupout he was much jubilated by Boergemester “Dyk” ffogg of Isoles, now Eisold, looking most plussed with (exhib 39) a clout-capped sunbubble anaccanponied from his bequined torse. Up.
Blanchardstown mewspeppers pleads coppyl. Gracest goodness, heave mensy upponnus! Grand old Manbatton, give your bowlers a rest!
It is a mere mienerism of this vague of visibilities, mark you, as accorded to by moisturologist of the Brehons Assorceration for the Advauncement of Scayence, because, my dear, mentioning of it under the breath, as in pure (what bunkum!) essenesse, there have been disselving forenenst you just the draeper, the two drawpers assisters and the three droopers assessors confraternitisers. Who are, of course, Uncle Arth, your two cozes from Niece and (project a bit now!) our own familiars, Billyhealy, Ballyhooly and Bullyhowley, surprised in an indecorous position by the Sigurd Sigerson Sphygmomanometer Society for bledprusshers.
Knightsmore. Haventyne?
Ha ha!
This Mister Ireland? And a live?
Ay, ay. Aye, aye, baas.
The cry of Stena chills the vitals of slumbring off the motther has been pleased into the harms of old salaciters, meassurers soon and soon, but the voice of Alma gladdens the cocklyhearted dreamerish for that magic moning with its ching chang chap sugay kaow laow milkee muchee bringing beckerbrose, the brew with the foochoor in it. Sawyest? Nodt? Nyets, I dhink I sawn to remumb or sumbsuch. A kind of a thinglike all traylogged then pubably it resymbles a pelvic or some kvind then props an acute-backed quadrangle with aslant off ohahnthenth a wenchyoumaycuddler, lying with her royalirish uppershoes among the theeckleaves. Signs are on of a mere by token that wills still to be be coming upon this there once a here was world. As the dayeleyves unfolden them. In the wake of the blackshape, Nattenden Sorte; whenat, hindled firth and hundled furth, the week of wakes is out and over; as a wick weak woking from ennemberable Ashias unto fierce force fuming, temtem tamtam, the Phoenican wakes.
Passing. One. We are passing. Two. From sleep we are passing. Three. Into the wikeawades warld from sleep we are passing. Four. Come, hours, be ours!
But still. Ah dior, ah dior! And stay!
It was allso agreenable in our sinegear clutchless, touring the no placelike no timelike absolent, mixing up pettyvaughan populose with the magnumoore genstries, lloydhaired mersscenary blookers with boydskinned pigthetailors and goochlipped gwendolenes with duffyeyed dolores, like so many unprobables in their poor suit of the improssable. With Mata and after please with Matamaru and after please stop with Matamaruluka and after stop do please with Matamarulukajoni.
And anotherum. Ah ess, dapple ass! He will be longing after the Grogram Grays. And, Weisingchetaoli, he will levellant ministel Trampleasure be. Sheflower Rosina, younger Sheflower fruit Amaryllis, youngest flower-fruityfrond Sallysill or Sillysall. And house with heaven roof occupanters they are continuatingly attraverse of its milletestudinous windoors, ricocoursing themselves, as staneglass on stonegloss, in playn unglish Wynn’s Hotel. Brancherds at: Bullbeck, Oldboof, Sassondale, Jorsey, Uppygard, Mundelonde, Abbeytotte, Bracqueytuitte with Hockeyvilla, Fockeyvilla, Hillewille and Wallhall. Hoojahoo managers the thingaviking. Obning shotly. When the messanger of the risen sun (see other oriel) shall give to every seeable a hue and to every hearable a cry and to each spectacle his spot and to each happening her houram. The while we, we are waiting, we are waiting for. Hymn.
| MUTA: |
Quodestnunc fumusiste volhvuns ex Domoyno? |
| JUVA: |
It is Old Head of Kettle puffing off the top of the mornin. |
| MUTA: |
He odda be thorly well ashamed of himself for smoking before the high host. |
| JUVA: |
Dies is Dorminus master and commandant illy tonobrass. |
| MUTA: |
Diminussed aster! An I could peercieve amonkst the gatherings who so ever they wolk in process? |
| JUVA: |
Khubadah! It is the Chrystanthemlander with his porters of bonzos, pompommy plonkyplonk, the ghariwallahs, moveyovering the cabrattlefield of slaine. |
| MUTA: |
Pongo da Banza! An I would uscertain in druidful scatterings one piece tall chap he stand one piece same place? |
| JUVA: |
Bulkily: and he is fundementially theosophagusted over the whorse proceedings. |
| MUTA: |
Petrificationibus! O horrild haraflare! Who his dickhuns now re-arrexes from undernearth the memorialorum? |
| JUVA: |
Beleave, beleave filmly! Fing Fing! King King! |
| MUTA: |
Ulloverum? Fulgitudo ejus Rhedonum teneat! |
| JUVA: |
Rolantlossly! Till the tipp of his ziff. And the ubideintia of the savium is our ervics fenicitas. |
| MUTA: |
Why soly smiles the supremest with such for a leary on his rugular lips? |
| JUVA: |
Bitchorbotchum! Eebrydime! He has helf his crewn on the burkeley boy but he has holf his crown on the Eurasian Generalissimo. |
| MUTA: |
Skulkasloot! The twyly velleid is thus then paridicynical? |
| JUVA: |
Ut vivat volumen sic pereat pouradosus! |
| MUTA: |
Haven money on Stablecert? |
| JUVA: |
Tempt to wom Outsider! |
| MUTA: |
Suc? He quoffs. Wutt? |
| JUVA: |
Sec! Wartar wartar! Wett. |
| MUTA: |
Ad Piabelle et Purabelle? |
| JUVA: |
At Winne, Woermann og Sengs. |
| MUTA: |
So that when we shall have acquired unification we shall pass on to diversity and when we shall have passed on to diversity we shall have acquired the instinct of combat and when we shall have acquired the instinct of combat we shall pass back to the spirit of appeasement? |
| JUVA: |
By the light of the bright reason which daysends to us from the high. |
| MUTA: |
May I borrow that hordwanderbaffle from you, old rubberskin? |
| JUVA: |
Here it is and I hope it’s your wormingpen, Erinmonker! |
Shoot.
Rhythm and Colour at Park Mooting. Peredos Last in the Grand Natural. Velivision victor. Dubs newstage oldtime turftussle, recalling Winny Willy Widger. Two draws. Heliotrope leads from Harem. Three ties. Jockey the Ropper jerks Jake the Rape. Paddrock and bookley chat.
And here are the details.
Tunc. Bymby bullocky vampas tappany bobs topside joss pidgin fella Belkelly, archdruid of islish chinchinjoss, in the his heptachromatic seven-hued septicoloured roranyellgreeblindigan mantle finish he show along the his mister guest Patholic with alb the whose throat hum with of sametime all the his cassock groaner fellas of greysfriaryfamily he fast all time what time all him monkafellas with Same Patholic, quoniam speeching yeh speeching noh man liberty is, he drink up words belongahim, scilicet tomorrow till recover will not, all too many much illusiones through photoprismic velamina of hueful panepiphanal world spectacurum of lord Joss, the of which zoantholithic furniture, from mineral through vegetal to animal, not appear to full up together fallen man than under but one photoreflectione of the several iridals gradationes of solar light, that one which that part of it (furnit of huepanepi world) had shown itself (part of fur of huepanwor) unable to absorbere, whereas for numpa one puradduxed seer in seventh degree of wisdom of Entis-Onton he savvy inside true inwardness of reality, tha Ding hvad in idself id ist, all objects (of panepiwor) all-side showed themselves in trues coloribus resplendent with sextuple gloria of light actually retained, untisintus, inside them (obs of epiwo). Rumnant Patholic, stareotypopticuss, no catch all that preachybook, utpiam tomorrow recover thing even is not, bymby vampsybobsy tappanasbullocks topside joss pidgin fella Bilkilly-Belkelly say patfella, ontesantes, twotime hemhaltshealing, with other words verbigratiagrading from murmurulentous till stridulocelerious in a hunghoranghoangoly tsinglontseng while his comprehendurient, with diminishing claractinism, augumentationed himself in caloripeia to vision so throughsighty, you anxioust melancholic, High Thats Hight Uberking Leary his fiery grassbelonghead all show colour of sorrelwood herbgreen, again, niggerblonker, of the his essixcoloured holmgrewnworsteds costume the his fellow saffron pettikilt look same hue of boiled spinasses, other thing, voluntary mutismuser, he not compyhandy the his royal golden twobreasttorc look justsamelike curlicabbis, moreafter, to pace negativisticists, verdant readyrainroof belongahim Exuber High Oberking Leary very dead, what he wish to say, spit of superexuberabundancy plenty laurel leaves, afterthat commander bulopent eyes of Most Highest Ardreetsar same thing like thyme choppy upon parsley, alongsidethat, if pleasesir no displace tanttung sowlofabishospastored, enamel Indian gem in maledictive fingerfondler of High High Siresultan Emperor all same like one fellow olive lentil, otherlongsidethat, by andesendas, kirikirikiring, violaceous warwon contusiones of facebits of Highup Big Cockywocky Sublissimime Autocrat, for that with pure hueglut intensely saturated one, tinged uniformly allaroundside upinandoutdown very like you seecut chowchow of plentymuch sennacassia. Hump cumps Ebblybally. Sukkot?
Punc. Bigseer, refrects the petty padre, whackling it out to take a tumble, tripeness to call thingany to call if say is good while, you pore shiroskuro blackinwhitepaddynger, by thiswise aposterioprismically apatstrophied and paralogically periparolysed, celestial from principalest of Iro’s Irismans ruinboon pot before (for beingtime monkblinkers timebeinged completamentarily murkblankered in their neutrolysis between the possible viriditude of the sager and the probable eruberuption of the saint), as My tappropinquish to Me wipenmeselps gnosegates a handcaughtsheaf of synthetic shammyrag to hims hers, seemingsuch four three two agreement cause heart to be might, saving to Balenoarch (he kneeleths), to Great Balenoark (he kneeleths down), to Greatest Great Balenoarch (he kneeleths down quitesomely), the sound sense sympol in a weedwayedwold of the firethere the sun in his halo cast. Onmen.
That was thing, bygotter, the thing, bogcotton, the very thing, begad! Even to uptoputty Bilkilly-Belkelly-Balkally. Who was for shouting down the shatton on the lamp of Jeeshees. Sweating on to stonker and throw his seven. As he shuck his thumping fore features apt the hoyhop of His Ards.
Thud.
Good safe firelamp! hailed the heliots. Goldselforelump! alled they. Awed. Where thereon the skyfold high, trampatrampatramp. Adie. Per ye oomdoom doominoom noonstroom. Yeasome priestomes. Fullyhum toowhoom.
Taawhaar?
Sants and sogs, cabs and cobs, kings and karls, tentes and taunts.
’Tis gone in farover. So fore now, dayleash. Pour dedag! To trance-fixureashone. Feist of Taborneccles, scenopegia, come! Shamwork, be in our scheining! And let every crisscouple be so crosscomplimentary, little eggons, youlk and meelk, in a farbiger pancosmos. With a hottyhammyum all round. Gudstruce!
Yet is no body present here which was not there before. Only is order othered. Nought is nulled. Fuitfiat!
Lo, the laud of laurens now orielising benedictively when saint and sage have said their say.
A spathe of calyptrous glume involucrumines the perinanthean Amenta: fungoalgaceous muscafilicial graminapalmular planteon; of increasing, livivorous, feelful thinkamalinks; luxuriotiating everywhencewhithersoever among skullhullows and charnelcysts of a weedwastewoldweirld when Ralph the Retriever ranges to jawrode his knuts knuckles and her theas thighs; one gugulp down of the nauseous forere brarkfarsts oboboomaround and you’re right as paint and spickspan as a rainbow; wreathe the bowl to rid the bowel; no runcure, no rank heat, sir; amess in amullium; chlorid cup.
Health, chalce, endnessnessessity! Arrive, lukkypiggers, in a poke! The folgor of the frightfools is olympically optimominous; there is bound to be a lovleg day for mirrages in the open; Murnane and Aveling are undertoken to berry that ortchert: provided that. You got to make good that breachsuit, seamer. You going to haulm port houlm, toilermaster. You yet must get up to kill (nonparticular). You still stand by and do as hit (private). While for yous, Jasminia Aruna and all your likers, affinitatively must it be by you elected if Monogynes his is or hers Diander, the tubous, limbersome and nectarial. Owned or grazeheifer, ethel or bonding, Mopsus or Gracchus, all your horodities will incessantlament be coming back from the Annone Wishwashwhose, Ormepierre Lodge, Doone of the Drumes, blanches bountifully and nights end made up, every article entrusted to care going through several latherings and every lathering leaving several rinsings so as each rinse results with a dapperent rolle, cuffs for meek and chokers for sheek and a kink in the pacts for namby. Forbeer, forbear! For nought that is has bane. In mournenslaund. Themes have thimes and habit reburns. To flame in you. Ardor vigor forders order. Since ancient was our living is in possible to be. Delivered as. Caffirs and culls and onceagain overalls, the fittest survivalives that blued, iorn and storridge can make them. Whichus all claims. Clean. Whenatscleeps. Close. And the mannormillor clipper-clappers. Noxt. Dose.
Fennsense, finnsonse, awarn! Tuck upp those wide shorts. The pink of the busket for sheer give. Peeps. Stand up to hard ware and step into style. If you soil may, puett, guett me prives. For newmanmaun set a marge to the merge of unnotions. Innition wons agame.
What has gone? How it ends?
Begin to forget it. It will remember itself from every sides, with all gestures, in each our word. Today’s truth, tomorrow’s trend.
Forget, remember!
Have we cherished expectations? Are we for liberty of perusiveness? Whyafter what forewheres? A plainplanned liffeyism assemblements Eblania’s conglomerate horde. By dim delty Deva.
Forget!
Our wholemole millwheeling vicociclometer, a tetradomational gazebocroticon (the “Mamma Lujah” known to every schoolboy scandaller, be he Matty, Marky, Lukey or John-a-Donk), autokinatonetically preprovided with a clappercoupling smeltingworks exprogressive process (for the farmer, his son and their homely codes, known as eggburst, eggblend, eggburial and hatch-as-hatch can), receives through a portal vein the dialytically separated elements of precedent decomposition for the verypetpurpose of subsequent recombination so that the heroticisms, catastrophes and eccentricities transmitted by the ancient legacy of the past, type by tope, letter from litter, word at ward, with sendence of sundance, since the days of Plooney and Columcellas when Giacinta, Pervenche and Margaret swayed over the all-too-ghoulish and illyrical and innumantic in our mutter nation, all, anastomosically assimilated and preteridentified paraidiotically, in fact, the sameold gamebold adomic structure of our Finnius the old One, as highly charged with electrons as hophazards can effective it, may be there for you, Cockalooralooraloomenos, when cup, platter and pot come piping hot, as sure as herself pits hen to paper and there’s scribings scrawled on eggs.
Of cause, so! And in effect, as?
Dear. And we go on to Dirtdump. Revered. May we add majesty? Well, we have frankly enjoyed more than anything those secret workings of natures (thanks ever for it, we humbly pray) and, well, was really so denighted of this lights time. Mucksrats which bring up about uhrweckers they will come to know good. Yon clouds will soon disappear looking forwards at a fine day. The honourable Master Sarmon they should be first born like he was, with a twohangled warpon, and it was between Williamstown and the Mairrion Ailesbury on the top of the longcar, as merrily we rolled along, we think of him looking at us yet as if to pass away in a cloud. When he woke up in a sweat besidus it was to pardon him, goldylocks, me having an airth, but he daydreamsed we had a lovelyt face for a pulltomine. Back we were by the jerk of a beamstark, backed in paladays last, on the brinks of the wobblish, the man what never put a dramn in the swags but milk from a national cowse. That was the prick of the spindle to me that gave me the keys to dreamland. Sneakers in the grass, keep off! If we were to tick off all that cafflers head, whisperers, for his accomodation, the brothers me craw namely, and their bacon what harmed butter! It’s margarseen oil. Thinthin thinthin. Stringstly is it forbidden by the honorary tenth commendment to shall not bare full sweetness against a nighboor’s wiles. What those slimes up the cavern door around you, keenin, the lies is coming out on them frecklefully, had the shames to suggest, can we ever? Never! So may the law forget him their trespasses against Molloyd O’Reilly, that hugglebeddy fann here in my bed now about to get up, the hartiest that Coolock ever! A nought in nought Eirinishmhan called Ervigsen by his first mate. May all similar douters of our oldhame story have that fancied widning! For a pipe of twist or a slug of Hibernia metal we could let out and, by jings, someone would make a carpus of somebody with the greatest of pleasure by private shootings. And, in contravention to the constancy of chemical combinations, not enough of all the slatters of him left for Peeter the Picker to make their threi sevelty filfths of a man out of. Good wheat! How delitious for the three Sulvans of Dulkey and what a sellpriceget the two Peris of Monacheena! Sugars of lead for the chloras ashpots! Peace! He possessing from a child of highest valency for our privileged beholdings ever complete hairy of chest, hamps and eyebags in pursuance to salesladies’ affectionate company. His real devotes. Wriggling reptiles, take notice! Whereas we exgust all such sprinkling snigs. They are pestituting the whole time neverwithstanding we simply agree upon the committee of amusance! Or would bring above under same notice for it to be able to be seen.
About that coerogenal hun and his knowing the size of an eggcup. First he was a skulksman at one time and then Cloon’s fired him through guff. Be sage about sausages! Stuttutistics shows with he’s heacups of teatables the old firm’s fatspitters are most eatenly appreciated by metropolonians. While we should like to drag attentions to our Wolkmans Cumsensation Act. The magnets of our midst being foisted upon by a plethorace of parachutes. Did speece permit the bad example of setting before the military to the best of our belief in the earliest wish of the one in mind was the mitigation of the king’s evils. And how he staired up the step after it’s the power of the gait. His giantstand of manunknown. No brad wishy washy wathy wanted neither! Once you are balladproof you are unperceable to haily, icy and missilethroes. Order now before we reach Ruggers’ Rush! As we now must close hoping to Saint Laurans all in the best.
Moral. Mrs Stores Humphreys: So you are expecting trouble, Pondups, from the domestic service questioned? Mr Stores Humphreys: Just as there is a good in even, Levia, my cheek is a compleet bleenk. Plumb. Meaning. One two four. Finckers. Up the hind hose of hizzars.
Whereupon our best again to a hundred and eleven ploose one thousand and one other blessings will now concloose thoose epoostles to your great kindest, well, for all at trouble to took. We are all at home in old Fintona, thank Danis, for ourselfsake, that direst of housebonds, whool wheel be true unto loves end so long as we has a pockle full of brass. Impossible to remember persons in improbable to forget position places. Who would pellow his head off to conjure up a, well, particularly mean stinkerlike funn make called Foon MacCrawl brothers, mystery man of the pork martyrs? Force in giddersh! Tomothy and Lorcan, the bucket Toolers, both are Timsons now they’ve changed their characticuls during their blackout. Conan Boyles will pudge the daylives out through him, if they are correctly informed. Music, me ouldstrow, please! We’ll have a brand rehearsal. Fing! One must simply laugh. Fing him aging! Good licks! Well, this ought to wake him to make up. He’ll want all his fury gutmurdherers to redress him. Gilly in the gap. The big bad old sprowly allsome uttering foon! Has now stuffed last podding. His fooneral will sneak pleace by creeps o’clock, toosday. Kingen will commen. Allso brewbeer. Pens picture at Manshem House Horsegardens shown in Morning post as from Boston transcripped. Femilles will be preadaminant as from twentyeight to twelve. To hear that lovelade parson, of case, a bawl gentlemale, pour forther moracles. Don’t forget! The grand fooneral will now shortly occur. Remember. The remains must be kind of removed before eaght hours shorp. With earnestly conceived hopes. So help us to witness to this day to hand in sleep. Of Mayasdaysed most duteoused.
Well, here’s lettering you erronymously anent other clerical fands allieged herewith. I wisht I wast be that dumb tyke and he’d wish it was me yonther heel. How about it? The sweetest song in the world! Our shape as a juvenile being much admired from the first with native copper locks. Referring to the Married Woman’s Improperty Act, a correspondent paints out that the Swees Aubumn vogue is hanging down straith fitting to her innocenth eyes. O, felicious coolpose! If all the MacCrawls would only handle virgils like Armsworks, Limited! That’s handsel for gertles! Never mind Micklemash! Chat us instead! The cad with the pope’s wife, Lily Kinsella, who became the wife of Mr Sneakers for her good name in the hands of the kissing solicitor, will now engage in attentions. Just a prinche for tonight! Pale bellies our mild cure, back and streaky ninepence. The thicks off Bully’s Acre was got up by Sully. The Boot Lane brigade. And she had a certain medicine brought her in a licenced victualler’s bottle. Shame! Thrice shame! We are advised the waxy is at the present in the Sweeps hospital and that he may never come out! Only look through your leatherbox one day with P.C.Q. about 4.32 or at 8 and 22.5 with the quart of scissions masters and clerk and the bevyhum of Marie Reparatrices for a good allround sympowdhericks purge, full view, to be surprised to see under the grand piano Lily on the sofa (and a lady!) pulling a low and then he’d begin to jump a little bit to find out what goes on when love walks in besides the solicitous bussness by kissing and looking into a mirror.
That we were treated not very grand when the police and everybody is all bowing to us when we go out in all directions on Wanterlond Road with my cubarola glide? And, personably speaking, they can make their beaux to my alce, as Hillary Allen sang to the opennine knighters. Item, we never were chained to a chair, and, bitem, no widower whithersoever followed us about with a fork on Yankskilling Day. Meet a great civilian (proud lives to him!) who is as gentle as a mushroom and a very attractable when he always sits forenenst us for his wet; while to all whom it may concern Sully is a thug from all he drunk, though he is a rattling fine bootmaker in his profession. Would we were herewith to lodge our complaint on Sergeant Laraseny in consequence of which in such steps taken his health would be constably broken into potter’s pance which would be the change of his life by a Nollwelshian which has been oxbelled out of crispianity.
Well, our talks are coming to be resumed by more polite conversation with a huntered persent human over the natural bestness of pleisure after his good few mugs of humbedumb and shag. While for whoever likes that urogynal pan of cakes one apiece it is thanks, beloved, to Adam, our former first Finnlatter and our grocerest churcher, as per Grippith’s varuations, for his beautiful crossmess parzel.
Well, we simply like their demb cheeks, the Rathgarries, wagging here about around the rhythlms in me amphybed and he being as bothered that he pausably could by the fallth of hampty damp. Certified reformed peoples, we may add to this stage, are proptably saying to quite agreeable deef. Here gives your answer, pigs and scuts! Hence we’ve lived in two worlds. He is another he what stays under the himp of holth. The herewaker of our hamefame is his real namesame who will get himself up and erect, confident and heroic when but, young as of old, for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one woos.
Alma Luvia, Pollabella.
Ps! Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart. And she’s about fetted up now with nonsery reams. And rigs out in regal rooms with the ritzies. Rags! Worns out. But she’s still her deckhuman amber too.
Soft morning, city! Lsp! I am Leafy speafing. Lfp! Folty and folty all the nights have being falling on to long my hair. Not a sound, falling. Lispn! No wind, no word. Only a leaf, just a leaf and then leaves. The woods are fond always. As were wee their babes in. And robins in crews so. It is for me goolden wending. Unless? Away! Rise up, man of the hooths, you have slept so long! Or is it only so mesleems? On your pondered palm. Reclined from cape to pede. With pipe on bowl. Terce for a fiddler, sixt for makmerriers, none for a Cole. Rise up now! And aruse! Norvena’s over. I am Leafy, your goolden, so you called me, may me life, yea your goolden, silve me solve, exsogerraider! You did so drool. I was so sharm. But there’s a great poet in you too. Stout Stokes would take you offly. So has he as bored me to slump. But am good and rested. Taks to you, toddy, tan ye! Yawhawaw. Helpunto min, helpas vin. Here is your shirt, the day one, come back. The stock, your collar. Also your double brogues. A comforter as well. And here your iverol and everthelest your umbr. And stand up tall. Straight. I want to see you looking fine for me. With your brandnew big green belt and all. Blooming in the very lotust and second to nill, Budd! When you’re in the buckly shuit Rosensharonals near did for you. Fiftyseven and three, cosh, with the bulge. Proudpurse Alby with his pooraroon Eireen, they’ll. Pride, comfytousness, enevy! You make me think of a wonderdecker I once. Or somebalt thet sailder, the man megallant with the bangled ears. Or an earl was he, at Lucan? Or, no, it’s the Iren duke’s I mean. Or sombrey erse from the Dark Countries. Come and let us! We always said we’d. And go abroad. Rathgreany way perhaps. The childher are still fast. There is no school today. Them boys is so contrairy. The Head does be worrying himself. Heel trouble and heal travel. Galliver and Gellover. Unless they changes by mistake. I seen the likes in the twinngling of an aye. Som. So oft. Sim. Time after time. The sehm asnuh. Two bredder as doffered as nors in soun. When one of him sighs or one of him cries ’tis you all over. No peace at all. Maybe it’s those two old crony aunts held them out to the water front. Queer Mrs Quickenough and odd Miss Doddpebble. And when them two has had a good few there isn’t much more dirty clothes to publish. From the Laundersdale Minssions. One chap googling the holyboy’s thingabib and this lad wetting his widdle. You were pleased as Punch, recitating war exploits and pearse orations to them jackeen gapers. But that night after, all you were wanton! Bidding me do this and that and the other. And blowing off to me, hugly Judsys, what wouldn’t you give to have a girl! Your wish was mewill. And, lo, out of a sky! The way I too. But her, you wait. Eager to choose is left to her shade. If she had only more matcher’s wit. Findlings makes runaways, runaways a stray. She’s as merry as the gricks still. ’Twould be sore should leaden sorrow. I’ll wait and I’ll wait. And then if all goes. What will be is. Is is. But let them. Slops hospodch and the slusky slut too. He’s for thee what she’s for me. Dogging you round cove and haven and teaching me the perts of speech. If you spun your yarns to him on the swishbarque waves I was spilling my yearns to her over cottage cake. We’ll not disturb their sleeping duties. Let besoms be bosuns. It’s Phoenix, dear. And the flame is, hear! Let’s our joornee saintomichael make it. Since the lausafire has lost and the book of the depth is. Closed. Come! Step out of your shell! Hold up you free fings! Yes. We’ve light enough. I won’t take our laddy’s lampern. For them four old windbags of Gustsofairy to be blowing at. Nor you your rucksunck. To bring all the dannymans out after you on the hike. Send Arctur guiddus! Isma! Sft! It is the softest morning that ever I can ever remember me. But she won’t rain showerly, our Ilma. Yet. Until it’s the time. And me and you have made our. The sons of bursters won in the games. Still, I’ll take me owld Finvara for my shawldhers. The trout will be so fine at brookfisht. With a taste of roly polony from Blugpuddels after. To bring out the tang of the tay. Is’t you fain for a roost brood? Oaxmealsturn, all out of the woolpalls! And then all the chippy young cuppinjars cluttering round us, clottering for their creams. Crying, me, grownup sister! Are me not truly? Lst! Only but, there’s a but, you must buy me a fine new girdle too, nolly. When next you go to Market Norkwall. They’re all saying I need it since the one from Isaacsen’s slooped its line. Mrknrk? Fy arthou! Come. Give me your great bearspaw, padder avilky, fol a miny tiny. Dola. Mineninecyhandsy. In the languo of flows. That’s my Jorgen Jargonsen. But you understood, nodst? I always know by your brights and shades. Reach down. A lil mo. So. Drow back your glave. Hot and hairy, hugon, is your hand! Here’s where the falskin begins. Smoos as an infams. One time you told you’d been burnt in ice. And one time it was chemicalled after you taking a lifeness. Maybe that’s why you hold your hodd as if. And people thinks you missed the scaffold. Of fell design. I’ll close me eyes. So not to see. Or see only a youth in his florizel, a boy in innocence, peeling a twig, a child beside a weenywhite steed. The child we all love to place our hope in for ever. All men has done something. Be the time they’ve come to the weight of old fletch. We’ll lave it. So. We will take our walk before in the timpul they ring the earthly bells. In the church by the hearseyard. Pax goodmens will. Or the birds start their treestirm shindy. Look, there are yours off, high on high! And, cooshes, sweet good luck they’re cawing you, Coole! You see, they’re as white as the riven snae. For us. Next peaters’ poll you will be elicted or I’m not your elicitous bribe. The Kinsella woman’s man will never reduce me. A MacGarath O’Cullagh O’Muirk MacFewney sookadoodling and sweepacheeping round the lodge of Fjorn na Galla of the Trumpets! It’s like potting the po to shambe on the dresser or tamming Uncle Tim’s Caubeen on to the brows of a Viker Eagle. Not such big strides, huddy foddy! You’ll crush me antilopes I saved so long for. They’re Penisole’s. And the two goodiest shoeshoes. It is hardly a Knut’s mile or seven, possumbotts. It is very good for the health of a morning. With Buahbuah. A gentle motion all around. As leisure paces. And the helpyourselftoastrool cure’s easy. It seems so long since, ages since. As if you had been long far away. Afartodays, afeartonights, and me as with you in thadark. You will tell me some time if I can believe its all. You know where I am bringing you? You remember? When I ran berrying after hucks and haws. With you drawing out great aims to hazel me from the hummock with your sling. Oar cries. I could lead you there and I still by you in bed. Les go dutc to Danegreven, nos? Not a soul but ourselves. Time? We have loads on our hangs. Till Gilligan and Halligan call again to hooligan. And the rest of the guns, Sullygan eight, from left to right. Olobobo, ye foxy theagues! The moskors thought to ball you out. Or the Wald Unicorn’s Master, Bugley Captain from the Naul, drawls up by the door with the Honourable Whilp and the Reverend Poynter and the two Lady Pagets of Tallyhaugh, Ballyhuntus, in their riddletight raiding hats for to lift a hereshealth to their robost, the Stag, evers the Carlton hart. And you needn’t host out with your duck and your duty, capapole, while they reach him the glass he never starts to finish. Clap this wis on your poll and stick this in your ear, wiggly! Beauties don’t answer and the rich never pays. If you were the enlarged they’d hue in cry you, Heathtown, Harbourstown, Snowtown, Four Knocks, Flemingtown, Bodingtown to the Ford of Fyne on Delvin. How they housed to house you after the Platonic garlens! And all because, loosed in her reflexes, she seem she seen Ericoricori coricome huntsome with his three poach dogs aleashing him. But you came safe through. Enough of that horner corner! And old mutthergoosip! We might call on the Old Lord, what do you say? There’s something tells me. He is a fine sport. Like the score and a moighty went before him. And a proper old promnentory. His door always open. For a newera’s day. Much as your own is. You invoiced him last Eatster so he ought to give us hockockles and everything. Remember to take off your white hat, ech? When we come in the presence. And say hoothoothoo, ithmuthisthy! His is house of laws. And I’ll drop my graciast kertssey too. If the Ming Tung no go bo to me homage me hamage kow bow tow to the Mong Tang. Ceremonialness to stand lowest place be! Saying: What’ll you take to link to light a pike on porpoise, plaise? He might knight you an Armor elsor daub you the first cheap magyarstrape. Remember Bomthomanew vim vam vom Hungerig. Hoteforme, chain and epolettes, botherbumbose. And I’ll be your aural eyeness. But we vain. Plain fancies. It’s in the castles air. My currant bread’s full of silly-mottocraft. Aloof is enoof. We can take or leave. He’s reading his ruffs. You’ll know our way from there, surely? Flura’s way. Where once we led so many car couples have follied since. Clatchka! Giving Shaughnessy’s mare the hillymount of her life. With her strulldeburgghers! Hnmn hnmn! The rollcky road adondering. We can sit us down on the heathery benn, me on you, in quolm unconsciounce. To scand the arising. Out from Drumleek. It was there Evora told me I had best. If I ever. When the moon of mourning is set and gone. Over Glinaduna. Lonu nula. Ourselves, oursouls alone. At the site of salvocean. And watch would the letter you’re wanting be coming may be. And cast ashore. That I prays for be mains of me draims. Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer. And what scrips of nutsnolleges I pecked up be meself. Every letter is a hard but yours sure is the hardest crux ever. Hack an axe, hook an oxe, hath an ans, heth hithences. But once done, dealt and delivered, tattat, you’re on the map. Based on traumscrapt from Maston, Boss. After rounding his world of ancient days. Carried in a caddy or screwed and corked. On his mugisstosst surface. With a bob, bob, bottledby. Blob. When the waves give up yours the soil may for me. Sometime then, somewhere there, I wrote me hopes and buried the page when I heard Thy voice, ruddery dunner, so loud that none but, and left it to lie till a kissmess coming. So content me now. Lss. Unbild and be buildn our bankaloan cottage there and we’ll cohabit respectable. The Gowans, ser, for Medem, me. With acute bubel runtoer for to pippup and gopeep where the sterres be. Just to see would we hear how Jove and the peers talk. Amid the soleness. Tiltop, bigmaster! Scale the summit! You’re not so giddy now any more. All your graundplotting and the little it brought! Humps, when you hised us, and dumps, when you doused us! But sarra one of me cares a brambling ram, pomp porteryark! On limpidy marge I’ve made me hoom. Park and a pub for me. Only don’t start your stunts of Donachie’s yeards agoad. I could guessp to her name who tuckt you that one, tufnut! Bold bet backwords. For the loves of sinfintins! Before the naked universe. And the bailby pleasemarm rincing his eye! One of these fine days, lewdyculler, you must redoform again. Blessed shield Martin! Softly so. I am so exquisitely pleased about the love-leavest dress I have. You will always call me Leafiest, won’t you, dowling? Whordherfhull Ohldhbhoy! And you won’t urbjunk to me parafume, oiled of kolooney, with a spot of marashy. Sm! It’s Allpine Smile from Yesther late Yhesters. I’m in everywince nasturtls. Even in Houlth’s nose. Medeurscodeignus! Astale of astoun. Grand old marauder! If I knew who you are! When that hark from the air said it was Captain Finsen makes cumhulments and was mayit pressing for his suit I said are you there here’s nobody here only me. But I near fell off the pile of samples. As if your tinger winged ting to me hear. Is that right what your brothermilk in Bray bes telling the district you were bragged up by Brostal because your parents would be always tumbling into his foulplace and losing her pentacosts after drinking their pledges? Howsomendeavour, you done me fine! The only man was ever known could eat the crushts of lobsters. Our native night when you twicetook me for some Marienne Sherry and then your Jermyn cousin who signs hers with exes and the beardwig I found in your Clarksome bag. Pharaops you’ll play you’re the king of Aeships. You certainly make the most royal of noises. I will tell you all sorts of makeup things, strangerous. And show you to every simple storyplace we pass. Cadmillersfolly, Bellevenue, Wellcrom, Quid Superabit, villities valleties. Change the plates for the next course of murphies! Spendlove’s still there and the Canon going strong and so is Claffey’s habits endurtaking and our parish pomp’s a great warrent. But you’ll have to ask that same four that named them that is always snugging in your barsalooner, saying they’re the best relicts of Conal O’Daniel and writing Finglas Since the Flood. That’ll be some kingly work in progress. But it’s by this route he’ll come some morrow. And I can signal you all flint and fern are rasstling as we go by. And you’ll sing thumb a bit and then wise your selmon on it. It is all so often and still the same to me. Snf? Only turf, wick dear! Clane turf. You’ve never fogodden batt on tarf, have you, at broin burroow, what? Mch? Why, them’s the muchrooms, come up during the night. Look, agres of roofs in parshes. Dom on dam, dim in dym. And a capital part for olympics to ply at. Steadyon, Cooloosus! Mind your stride or you’ll knock. While I’m dodging the dustbins. Look what I found! A lintil pea. And look at here! This cara weeseed. Pretty mites, my sweetthings, was they poorloves abandoned by wholawidey world? Neighboulotts for newtown. The Eblanamagna you behazyheld loomening up out of the dumblynass. But the still sama sitta. I’ve lapped so long. As you said. It fair takes. If I lose my breath for a minute or two don’t speak, remember! Once it happened, so may it again. Why I’m all these years within years in soffran, allbeleaved. To hide away the tear, the parted. It’s thinking of all. The brave that gave their. The fair that wore. All them that’s gunne. I’ll begin again in a jiffey. The nik of a nad. How glad you’ll be I waked you! My! How well you’ll feel! For ever after. First we turn by the vagurin here and then it’s gooder. So side by side. Turn agaze, weddingtown! Laud, men of Londub! I only hope whole the heavens sees us. For I feel I could near to faint away. Into the deeps. Annamores leep. Let me lean, just a lea, if you le, bowldstrong bigtider. Allgearls is wea. At times. So. While you’re adamant evar. Wrhps, that wind as if out of norewere! As on the night of the Apophanypes. Jumpst shootst throbbst into me mouth like a bogue and arrohs! Ludegude of the Lashlanns, how he whips me cheeks! Sea, sea! Here weir, reach, island, bridge. Where you meet I. The day. Remember! Why there that moment and us two only? I was but teen, a tiler’s dot. The swankysuits was boosting always, sure him, he was like to me fad. But the swaggerest swell off Shackvulle Strutt. And the fiercest freaky ever followed a pining child round the sluppery table with a forkful of fat. But a king of whistlers. Scieoula! When he’d prop me atlas against his goose and light our two candles for our singers duohs on the sewingmachine. I’m sure he squirted juice in his eyes to make them flash for flightening me. Still and all he was awful fond to me. Who’ll search for Find Me Colours now on the hillydroops of Vikloefells? But I read in Tobecontinued’s tale that while blubles blows there’ll still be sealskers. There’ll be others but none so for me. Yed he never knew we seen us before. Night after night. So that I longed to go to. And still with all. One time you’d stand fornenst me, fairly laughing, in your bark and tan billows of branches for to fan me coolly. And I’d lie as quiet as a moss. And one time you’d rush upon me, darkly roaring, like a great black shadow, with a sheeny stare to perce me rawly. And I’d frozen up and pray for thawe. Three times in all. I was the pet of everyone then. A princeable girl. And you were the pantymammy’s Vulking Corsergoth. The invision of Indelond. And, by Thorror, you looked it! My lips went livid for from the joy of fear. Like almost now. How? How you said how you’d give me the keys of me heart. And we’d be married till delth to uspart. And though dev do espart. O mine! Only, no, now it’s me who’s got to give. As duv herself div. Inn this linn. And can it be it’s nnow fforvell? Illas! I wisht I had better glances to peer to you through this baylight’s growing. But you’re changing, acoolsha, you’re changing from me, I can feel. Or is it me is? I’m getting mixed. Brightening up and tightening down. Yes, you’re changing, sonhusband, and you’re turning, I can feel you, for a daughterwife from the hills again. Imlamaya. And she is coming. Swimming in me hindmoist. Diveltaking on me tail. Just a whisk brisk sly spry spink spank sprint of a thing theresomere, saultering. Saltarella come to her own. I pity your oldself I was used to. Now a younger’s there. Try not to part! Be happy, dear ones! May I be wrong! For she’ll be sweet for you as I was sweet when I came down out of me mother. My great blue bedroom, the air so quiet, scarce a cloud. In peace and silence. I could have stayed up there for always only. It’s something fails us. First we feel. Then we fall. And let her rain now if she likes. Gently or strongly as she likes. Anyway let her rain for my time is come. I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it’s all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. I thought you were all glittering with the noblest of carriage. You’re only a bumpkin. I thought you the great in all things, in guilt and in glory. You’re but a puny. Home! My people were not their sort out beyond there so far as I can. For all the bold and bad and bleary they are blamed, the seahags. No! Nor for all our wild dances in all their wild din. I can see meself among them, allaniuvia pulchrabelled. How she was handsome, the wild Amazia, when she would seize to my other breast! And what is she weird, haughty Niluna, that she will snatch from my ownest hair! For ’tis they are the stormies. Ho hang! Hang ho! And the clash of our cries till we spring to be free. Auravoles, they says, never heed of your name! But I’m loothing them that’s here and all I lothe. Loonely in me loneness. For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I’ll slip away before they’re up. They’ll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me. And it’s old and old it’s sad and old it’s sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold mad father, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the mere size of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me seasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms. I see them rising! Save me from those therrble prongs! Two more. Onetwo moremens more. So. Avelaval. My leaves have drifted from me. All. But one clings still. I’ll bear it on me. To remind me of. Lff! So soft this morning, ours. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like you done through the toy fair! If I seen him bearing down on me now under whitespread wings like he’d come from Arkangels, I sink I’d die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup. Yes, tid. There’s where. First. We pass through grass behush the bush to. Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take. Bussofthlee, mememormee! Till thousendsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a lost a last a loved a long the
PARIS,
1922–1939.
Appendix 1
It was a seminal moment in the progress of relationships between the James Joyce Estate and Joyce scholarship – though ‘neither first nor last nor only nor alone’ but rather ‘the last … of a preceding series, even if the first … of a succeeding one’ (U 17, 2130; 2128-9) – when in 1975 a group of us sat together outside a café on Place Vendôme in Paris with Peter du Sautoy, then Trustee of the Estate, as well as a director of Faber & Faber, and in that office, as it so happens, a successor to T. S. Eliot, who in his turn was the Faber & Faber director presiding over the publication in 1939 of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake.
The encounter in 1975 took place late one morning during the International James Joyce Symposium held that year in Paris, the city where between 1923 and 1939 James Joyce wrote ‘Work in Progress’, metamorphosed ultimately into Finnegans Wake. It followed a session where I had laid out the procedures I intended to adopt for editing Ulysses from scratch on the foundation of all surviving manuscript, typescript and proof materials. This editing would both elucidate Joyce’s writing processes and result in a thoroughly re-established text.
As a publisher (and no doubt too with Finnegans Wake in mind), Peter du Sautoy confessed his unease: ‘An author entrusts his text to us, his publishers. We have a duty to preserve it intact as it has been handed to us.’ To which I had the temerity to respond: ‘But in those cases where – as with James Joyce – it is demonstrable and already widely recognized that what was published is in much detail not Joyce’s authentic text, do you not, as Trustee of the Estate, have a duty and responsibility towards Joyce that must override your publisher’s conscientiousness?’ The point was taken, gloriously to the benefit – I believe – of documentary and textual scholarship in Joyce. If anything, the awareness it entailed strengthened the Estate’s continuing support of the James Joyce Archive. From out of it, too, both our Ulysses edition and Danis Rose’s and John O’Hanlon’s editorial work on Finnegans Wake were set on their tracks. The Critical and Synoptic Edition of Ulysses was published in 1984 and celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary in 2009.
Respective conceptions for a comprehensive compositional and textual analysis of Finnegans Wake, on the one hand, and a genetically oriented edition of Ulysses, on the other hand, began separately. But when Clive Hart, the Joyce world’s unrivalled authority on Finnegans Wake in the 1970s (and, as it happened, soon to join Peter du Sautoy as Trustee of the James Joyce Estate) learnt of the plans for Ulysses, he put Rose and Gabler in touch with one another; for, already relied on for advice on Finnegans Wake, he recognized the similar innovative approaches of both to their respective target works in Joyce’s œuvre.
Approaches for both enterprises were soon to diverge. The James Joyce Estate encouraged them both, acknowledged the scholarly independence of each, and devised the contractual framework for the scholarly editions eventually to be published. Here, in patient consultation between Peter du Sautoy for Faber & Faber, London, and Marshall Best for Viking, New York – the two original Finnegans Wake publishers – a contractual matrix was worked out, tailored mainly to Finnegans Wake. It was only when the work on Ulysses was nearing completion (while Finnegans Wake still had a long way to go) that the matrix was adapted to the Ulysses edition of 1984. The Finnegans Wake enterprise remained what it had been since the late 1970s: an autonomous project of comprehensive textual research with complex editorial aims, understood to be progressing towards eventual publication with the cognizance and encouragement of the James Joyce Estate, as well as the enthusiastic cooperation of Gavin Borden of Garland Publishing Inc., the publisher of both the James Joyce Archive (1978-1980) and the Critical and Synoptic Edition of Ulysses (1984).
In the present volume we see the first public result of Danis Rose’s and John O’Hanlon’s immersion of some thirty years into the Finnegans Wake universe of documents and texts. It offers a re-established text of the last literary endeavour in Joyce’s writing life, an endeavour first published whole, as one book, in 1939. This circumlocutory description of what we have before us is not a gratuitous one: if Finnegans Wake is in every respect a special case in the world of literary art and writing, it is also so as a book, and as a text in a book.
For almost the entire final third of his lifetime, Joyce’s creative energies were trained on accomplishing the single work in his œuvre to succeed Ulysses. This new work, which he was so extensively engaged upon, he called ‘Work in Progress’ and he insisted that its several sections, diversely and successively published in literary journals and individually in slim booklets, should be bracketed under that title. Throughout the years of gestation, there appears to have been a master plan – or had one better say a blueprint – to inform and, one suspects, to re-energize the writing in progress. Nonetheless, the several units of ‘Work in Progress’ individually published over the years may legitimately claim their autonomy as texts. Only in retrospect, as it were, do they become ‘pre-publications’ towards Finnegans Wake. Yet this they eventually do by virtue of the major creative effort that went into fusing the work-in-progress into one book. Nobody could more succinctly have indicated the metamorphosis this represented than did James Joyce himself, who would not reveal the title for the work until it had all been brought together in one book: Finnegans Wake.
Finnegans Wake stands as witness to outstanding creativity, imagination and thought. Today, we may say it is a widely recognized cultural landmark of the twentieth century. Both as a work and as a book – meaning in terms of its materiality, both as an artefact of the printing trade and in respect of the text imprinted in its pages – it is man-made. This is a condition with which in our cultural awareness we must always engage. By way of explication and interpretation, we will wish to reassure ourselves of the significance of the text, and thereby the work, that a book conveys. But to do so, we need to reassure ourselves equally of the book, and to do so first in terms of the book’s materiality as artefact and as text-in-print. For this, our culture has for millennia developed the techniques of textual criticism and editing. Thanks to these, we trust editors to mediate material transmissions in editions, for the edited texts of which, on their own responsibility and the strength of their integrity as scholars, they answer.
The book Finnegans Wake of 1939 – to be questioned, in principle, as is every book – receives its edited counterpart in the present volume. This is not to say, however, that this volume, as a book, replaces the first edition of 1939 as the cultural landmark it is. Nor does the text it presents invalidate (let alone erase) the text of the first edition. Instead, the text offered in this volume positions itself in dialogue with the text of the first edition. This dialogue, while insistently inscribed throughout into the material realization of the present volume, needs yet to be vitalized through acts of comparative reading. What these will comprehensively confirm is that Finnegans Wake has not become other as a work, or as a reading experience, through the editing. A main quality of conscientious and critically informed editing is to sharpen our perception of the work through adjusting text that has been, on occasion, disturbed and perhaps deteriorated in transmission; clarifying it time and again and thus focusing it; and, frequently, correcting straightforward errors in it. The success of the editorial measures undertaken to accomplish this fresh bid for a reading text for Finnegans Wake should stand the test of the reader’s engaging in the dialogue between the presentation of Finnegans Wake unmediated as in its first-edition public appearance and the work’s text as here editorially mediated.
Adjustments of the text in print followed immediately upon the publication of the first edition. Acting as corrector was the author himself; and, needless to add, he was thereby the first to acknowledge the man-made nature of both the text and its realization in print as it had gone through his own mind and hands, as well as the hands of his amanuenses and the publisher’s editors and typesetters. Listing blemishes that caught his eye in the reading of the book in print, he (in one sense) extended his attention to the text of Finnegans Wake beyond its moment of publication. In another sense, the corrections he stipulated were probably the least characteristic ever of the labours expended on ‘Work in Progress’ over the years of its evolution towards Finnegans Wake, and thus less than even the tip of the iceberg of that evolution.
In order consistently to establish an edited text responding to the first-edition text involved for the editors the casting of an immensely wider net than simply registering, and working in, the post-publication corrections stipulated by the author. These corrections had over the years already, though reluctantly, been seen to by the Finnegans Wake publishers, loath as they had otherwise been to reset the text that had been apparently ‘once-and-for-all’ laboriously accomplished typographically in the 1939 first setting. (Every edition over the past seventy years has essentially continued to reproduce that setting.) A universe of materials, one may be tempted to say, has been preserved from the years of conception, composition and revision of the writing and the texts that coalesced in Finnegans Wake. It is these materials – notebooks, drafts, typescripts, proofs; individual (pre-)publications; revisions of the typescripts, proofs, and pre-publications; and lastly printers-copy and proofs again for the book – that all needed to be analyzed together to serve as seedbed for establishing this volume’s critically revised text for Finnegans Wake.
If there can be talk of the tip of an iceberg at all, it is the text of the first edition of 1939. That text should be seen as raised above the subaquacious mass of materials confluent towards Finnegans Wake. What has been raised now is a twin peak over those same masses: in shape, once more, of a text for Finnegans Wake. It results from Rose’s and O’Hanlon’s endeavours of thirty years, in the course of which the entire complex of Finnegans Wake-related materials preserved for posterity among Joyce’s papers has been digitized, scrutinized, analyzed, interlinked and, most importantly, digitally interwoven with the correspondingly digital record of the published text of 1939. The interweaving has sharpened the textual focus throughout. The first-edition text has consequently been found to be in need of modification appreciably beyond James Joyce’s own initial corrections. The text now offered in newly typeset book pages is, as said, an end result of the editors’ engagement with the ‘Work in Progress’ materials. The fruits of their long-sustained and complex text-critical and editorial labour are for the present laid out as a freshly considered reading text alone for Finnegans Wake.
A puzzling insistence, perhaps. Is ‘a freshly considered reading text’ not always the be-all and end-all of scholarly editing? We must grant, it is true, that editors need to battle with every scrap of preserved evidence for the text, or texts, of a work so as to be in a sufficiently safe position of awareness and knowledge out of which critically to establish the edited text they offer. Yet we do not, as general readers and users of their editions, demand of them to lay open to us every cranny of that material. By traditional understanding, admittedly, their mediating texts through editions puts the onus on editors to provide all necessary information to buttress their edited texts, so as to enable the assessment of the quality of their editorial labour. But by standard conventions, this duty is fulfilled by means of arcane systems of meta-coding and apparatus listing. These are considered largely inessential for the mere reading of the edited text. An independent interest in an edition’s supplementary provision of materials is usually not recognized. That these should have an autonomous standing and quality is commonly neither expected nor granted.
In exemplary fashion, the case is otherwise with the two works central to Joyce’s œuvre, Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. Literary criticism today recognizes the dimension of time in the writing process as co-equal in interpretive significance to the integrity the literary text achieves at the moment of its publication as a work of literature. Consequently, literary criticism nowadays reaches out for the material basis from which the dimension of time in writing can be measured and assessed. This basis is given in the documents of conception, composition and revision. Such documents, to be assumed for every work, though irretrievable for many, have been preserved to a breathtaking extent for Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. This is not fortuitous. It was James Joyce himself who, with a growing awareness of the autonomy of the processes of writing he was engaged in, saved his manuscripts in increasing numbers. For ‘Work in Progress’, the saving became a systematic habit. Regularly over the years, he mailed to Harriet Shaw Weaver, his benefactress in London, bundles of papers he no longer needed. Even so, situations occurred when, even after many years, the need to inspect these again would arise: Joyce remembered specific documents in Harriet Weaver’s keeping and would ask to have them returned. Harriet Weaver, on her part, towards the end of her life entrusted her Joyce papers to the British Library. This was an important, though not the only, mode by which the materials for ‘Work in Progress’ were preserved for posterity.
James Joyce himself ensured the rich survival of the materials that went into the writing. This sometimes happened by accident, though also in a sustained manner by design; and always as if by uncanny foresight – as if by foreknowledge of the use to which these would one day be put and the insights that would be gained from them. The material documents constitute the objective correlatives – together of course with the texts he published – of Joyce’s much-cited assertion that he would ensure his survival in memory by keeping the professors busy for hundreds of years.
Here is yet another field in which the opening sentence of Richard Ellmann’s Joyce biography of fifty years ago stands proven once more: We are still learning to be James Joyce’s contemporaries. The significance of his working materials that Joyce intuited is only now becoming seriously recognized, and hence actively explored, in Joyce studies. What is publicly accessible so far is the core of the Critical and Synoptic Edition of Ulysses: its left-hand pages with their stratification of the compositional and revisional development of the text from fair copy to first edition. This edition was published in 1984, yet it is only in our present day that what it reveals about Joyce’s writing processes is beginning to be exploited. One reason for this advance is the intense exploratory energy invested over the past decade or so, under precepts of genetic criticism (or critique génétique, in France), in the Finnegans Wake Notebooks. This is currently the prime area of genetic study in Joyce criticism and scholarship. A tremendous leap could be made – in terms of a pre-ordered accessibility to the entire, digitally multiply cross-linked body of ‘Work in Progress’ / Finnegans Wake materials from which the present offer of a fresh reading text is derived – the moment the entire data bank is allowed to go public.
A subsidiary function of this data bank will be that of explaining and, where need be, of justifying the text proposed in this volume. It is regrettable that an ‘apparatus’ comes neither here, with the reading text, nor separately in electronic form. However, what we are thus saved from (for the time being) is jumping straight to conclusions as to whether the readings we find to differ from those in the first edition are ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. Simply setting the two texts in dialogue with each other – and, with hope, finding the exercise stimulating – we may naturally surmise that an alteration encountered in this printing is indeed a correction to the 1939 edition. On other occasions we may feel less sure, while curious about where the frequent verbal modifications that we observe might be in the ‘Work in Progress’ materials. In a passage, for example, where the narrative happily gives its audio record of HCE’s stutter (‘Shsh shake, co-comeraid! … I am woowoo willing to take my stand, sir, upon the monument, that sign of our ruru redemption’), we now find HCE overtaken by his speech impediment yet once more: ‘… upon the Open Bible and befu before the Great Taskmaster’s eye (I lift my hat)…’ (page 29 in the present edition, as against page 36 in the rendering of 1939, which reads: ‘… upon the Open Bible and before the Great Taskmaster’s (I lift my hat)…’). Are we to suppose design behind the elided ‘eye’ (with ‘apostrophe-s’ left standing)? Is the omission collateral damage, perhaps, owing to the stutter, that we – securely versed in Milton as we are – easily compensate? Such rationalization is of course possible. Yet it does not disprove the modified text that spells out the intertextual reference.
While we await information from the data bank on support for the reading offered in this case, we may take it on general trust from the editors that modifications such as this one are not extraneous emendations. Rather, they are amendments to the first-edition text drawn from the array of compositional and revisional documents scrutinized. They represent textual paths not taken into the particular rose garden of the first edition. Yet these untaken paths generally occur at points of less than full authorial command over the course of the pre-publication progress of the text. It follows that the amendments – which are not, to be distinct in terminology, emendations, let alone conjectures – to the text in this edition are essentially restorative. They introduce textual elements where such elements for no definable reason fell by the wayside during the stages of writing, pre-publication transmission and interim publication. Cueing this general assertion to our example, what we will appreciate is that the alternatives ‘before the Great Taskmaster’s’ and ‘befu before the Great Taskmaster’s eye’ both have the true Wakean ring. Neither of them can be adjudicated as strictly ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. The range of usage allowed in the universe of language erected in Finnegans Wake as a whole renders both phrasings possible; and the documents for the book realize them both materially. In their dialogic relationship the alternatives highlight the nature of texts as artefacts in language: man-made as they are in their writing as in their reception and interpretation, texts can always also be otherwise.
Activating a dialogue between the two reading texts for Finnegans Wake may open up for us a window on the work’s ubiquitous dialogic reflection upon itself. Its echo-chamber reverberations are already familiar from the text as first given to the public. It will become all the more manifest from the wealth of materials testifying to the processes of gestation and writing. The full digital record of these materials we will one day eagerly explore. Finnegans Wake in the multiplicity of its texts and textual states promises to stand out through such exploration as being what we always already have intuited it to be: a radically textual universe, an artefact in language originating in one mind, realized (since materialized) in multiple acts of writing, yet released through these acts of materialization into an autonomy as text beyond ultimate subjection to authority or intention.
Conventionally invoked by editors and readers alike, authority or intention should be rightly seen for what they are: namely, controlling forces to arrest written and published texts as supposedly stable and definitive. Reaching out to the limits and beyond of literary art in language, Finnegans Wake has the power to question this cultural assumption. The stability of texts is, in truth, ever only momentary. Once their temporal dimension is taken into consideration, inscribed in the processes of their writing and progressive revision, intention can be tied but to fleeting instances of stability, each reflecting an author’s intention valid only at its moment in time. The range of materials preserved for Finnegans Wake manifests and offers for analysis the continuous dialogue enacted between such moments. This renders the notion of a ‘definitive text’ an illusion. Instead, the pervasive dynamics generated from the ‘Work in Progress’ / Finnegans Wake body of materials are indicative of a vitality inherent in a work and its texts, ever re-energized from the life forces of language itself. With the present offering of a reading text alongside the first-edition text of 1939, we gain a second window onto the ceaseless dynamics of Finnegans Wake, ultimate achievement of James Joyce’s art.
HANS WALTER GABLER
Appendix 2: ‘Begin Again … Stop!’
If a work has no beginning, middle and end, how can it have an introduction? Leaving this as a conundrum to be taken up later, I turn to the father figure of textuists, W.W. Greg, the begetter of so-called copytext editing – the most influential school of Anglo-American textual editing in the twentieth century. In a rare moment of speculation, he set a strange challenge: in ‘Bibliography: An Apologia’, published in The Library,1 he mused that it might be ‘an interesting exercise … to edit a text that had no meaning’, having earlier asserted that ‘the study of textual transmission involves no knowledge of the sense of a document but only of its form; the document may theoretically be devoid of meaning or the critic ignorant of its language’.
What would Greg, who was well versed in the idiosyncrasies of Renaissance scribes and printers, have made of Finnegans Wake? Would he have recognized that its layers of textuality were based on English? What would editing Finnegans Wake have meant, in both theory and practice, to a textuist who is most remembered for having made a distinction between the substantives (the words themselves) and the accidentals (the surface features: spelling, punctuation, capitalization and so on) of a text?2
Until the publication of the present edition,3 all editions of Finnegans Wake reproduced both accidentals and substantives of the 1939 first edition,4 even though the composition process of the Work in Progress stretches over decades and can be accessed not only in serial publication but also in the numerous notebooks, manuscripts, typescripts and proofs that have been subjected to intense critical attention by the Joyce industry. In fact, the existence of this textual cornucopia could be invoked as a reason for not following Greg’s eclectic theory, which was founded on the lack of similar evidence in the textual production of English Renaissance drama.
One might argue that there is too much Joyce to make the most influential editorial procedure of the last century viable for editing his work. Yet even that admission of defeat does not begin to address what Greg meant by the challenge of an ‘unreadable/meaningless/unEnglish/inaccessible’ text. Surely a text to be edited must first be readable?
We can approach this problem through two other texts, the first being Lewis Carroll (specifically ‘Jabberwocky’), although Joyce – perhaps disingenuously – claimed not to have read Carroll.1 Anthony Burgess2 writes that the ‘verbal technique comes straight out of Lewis Carroll … and it is Humpty Dumpty who explains the dream-language’. Jabberwocky’s ‘slithy’ is a portmanteau-word carrying the shards of ‘sly’ and ‘lithe’ and ‘slimy’ and ‘slippery’. While this recognition may provide an entry into the dream language of Finnegans Wake, it is not a guide to editorial principles: ‘slithy’ is not an error or variant for any of these other words any more than, say, Joyce’s coinages ‘scripchewer’ (FW2, 320.08) or ‘pennis in the sluts maschine’ (FW2, 384.37-8) could validly be normalized to ‘scripture’ or ‘pennies in the slot machine’. An editor who subscribed to such a reductive procedure would need to be familiar not only with the extant textual forms but with a residue of morphological, phonological and semantic linguistic analogues, roots and connotations. If anything, such an editor would need to know more about the language and its potential meaning than an editor content to submit to the tyranny of the copytext. Being aware that Joyce’s portmanteaus are related to, even descend from, Lewis Carroll, is a textually useless tool.
This dismissal rests on considering the portmanteau in its singularity, as an isolated verbal play without syntactic context. Context is all in ‘Jabberwocky’ and in most of Finnegans Wake, as it has to be in English, a language in which meaning derives from word position more than from inflections. ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe’ ought to make sense as a grammatical construction even though the vocabulary is not part of the English lexicon. The same can be said a fortiori of ‘riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle & Environs’ (FW2, 3.01-3). Once sentence structure rather than vocabulary is accepted as normative, variant becomes more usable and error acceptable. If the opening and closing of Finnegans Wake read ‘shore of swerve’ or ‘swerve shore of’ instead of ‘swerve of shore’ then the regulatory function of word order could be called on to question the reading.
The second exemplar for the Wake (or at least its method) could be Dr Seuss’s Oh, the Thinks You Can Think.1 The ‘thinks’ are, in Milton’s phrase, ‘things unimagined yet in prose or rime’ and include ‘snuvs and their gloves’ and ‘Schlopp. Schlopp. Beautiful schlopp. Beautiful schlopp with a cherry on top.’ Again, sentence structure can be used as a corrective even though the vocabulary is, at best, incipient and lacks the conflation of Carroll and Joyce. Children love the strange and even disturbing challenge of Seussian vocabulary. This experimentation by Seuss and his child readers is demonstrated at both syntactic and morphological level in Kornei Chukovski’s From Two to Five,2 where some of the linguistic formulations made by children not yet fully constrained by the grammatical or semantic rules of adult language could very well be the products of Dr Seuss or James Joyce,3 especially when Joyce himself co-opts the language of children’s verse as the linguistic base for his puns: ‘This liggy piggy wanted to go to the jampot. And this leggy peggy spelt pea’ (FW2, 385.24-5). Even the neologistic title of the Seuss book is prefigured in a phrase that encapsulates the basic linguistic technique of Finnegans Wake: ‘two thinks at a time’ (FW2, 454.06-7).
Are Seuss and ‘Jabberwocky’ editable? Do they meet Greg’s speculation about a ‘meaningless’ text, and what are the implications for Finnegans Wake? Both ‘Jabberwocky’ and Dr Seuss create their strangeness in language by constructing neologisms, and while an occasional portmanteau word from ‘Jabberwocky’ has made it into the common stock of English (e.g., ‘chortled’ = ‘chuckle’ + ‘snort’, ‘galumphing’ = ‘gallop’ + ‘triumphant’ and ‘burbled’ = ‘bleat’ + ‘murmur’), most of the invented lexicon of ‘Jabberwocky’ is peculiar to that poem. A nonce-word absorbed into common language can be regarded as having acquired a recognized meaning.
None of the neologisms in Dr Seuss have made this transfer into common language and they do not consistently attempt the double- or triple-portmanteau sense of ‘Jabberwocky’, although a coinage like ‘schlopp’ might be regarded as derived from German schlag (= ‘cream’) + ‘slop’. However, the reader should probably regard the unrecognized words as pure nonsense, as glossable but uneditable, especially in the sense of restoring a putative correct reading from which the text version is an error.
My first editorial assignment – a section of John Trevisa’s ‘On the Properties of Things’ – presented similar editorial problems, since Trevisa (1342-1402), a Cornish contemporary of Chaucer, was translating the Latin of Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ De Proprietatibus Rerum into Middle English, which lacked the fuller lexicon of the original Latin. Trevisa had to invent possible Middle-English words derived from the Latin, and he is frequently cited by the Oxford English Dictionary as having successfully created neologisms that did make it into the common stock. But his attempts at neologisms were not always taken up, particularly by the scribes charged with copying this new language into general transmission. For example, Trevisa coined the word ‘constrain’ (as a translation of the Latin coartatur) but the scribes did not recognize the word and rendered it as ‘contained’ or ‘conveyed’ or even ‘conceived’. They thus produced a nonsensical text.1 In these cases, an editor might postulate that a lost ‘correct’ neologistic reading from the scribal variant was morphologically acceptable, but did not carry the right meaning of the text.
Can the editorial treatment of ‘Jabberwocky’, Dr Seuss or Trevisa provide any guidance to the neologistic creativity in Finnegans Wake? The text of Finnegans Wake has not generally added to the common language, even though it is usually made up of that stock as portmanteau words. The occasional transfers are mostly conveyed by a deliberate linguistic gesture. The most-cited example of this determined co-option is of quark by Murray Gell-Mann, which is worth quoting in full as it shows how an intelligent reader can both negotiate and make use of Joyce’s text:
None of this suggests that the text of Finnegans Wake can be edited to produce ‘quart’ rather than ‘quark,’ even if Gell-Mann’s speculation about the calls at the bar is correct. Joyce is closer to Carroll and Seuss in the use of neologisms, and not to Trevisa, whose transmitted text can indeed be edited back to a putative correct form.
The compounding of meaning in Finnegans Wake presents the opposite of Greg’s challenge: there is more rather than less meaning in Joyce’s text, but these neologisms are, like those in Dr Seuss, nonce-words not intended for adoption into the lexicon of English or any other language. Yet they have a special function in Finnegans Wake that is very different from the ‘pure’ nonsense of Dr Seuss. Joyce laid out his plan for this Wake-specific language in a letter to Max Eastman:
In the same vein, Joyce told Beckett ‘I have put the language to sleep’, so that, on waking, the language would presumably return to its daytime clarity. The same claim of linguistic specificity could be made of ‘Jabberwocky’, of Thinks You Can Think, and even of Trevisa.
The answer as to whether these works fall within Greg’s formula for the editing of meaningless text is twofold: yes, in our recognizing if something has gone ‘wrong’ with the syntactic or more often the semantic system; but equally clearly no, in that doing so would still require the skeletal outlines of a language-type (if not a specific embodiment of this type) and would thus still require meaning. And it is this assumption that Joyce is determined that we recognize: ‘For if the iridated lingo gasped between kicksheets, however basically English, were to be preached from the homosapuel mouths of wickerchurchwardens and metaphysicians …’ (FW2, 92.29-31). The ‘lingo’ is so ‘basically English’ that even the compound nouns (‘kicksheets’ and ‘wickerchurchwardens’) are no longer semantically extraordinary once the units of the compounds are separable, and even ‘homosapuel’ and ‘iridated’ could arguably be regarded as morphological variants on an underlying correct English usage. In fact, John Bishop claims1 that the very concept of the ‘foreign’ is more limited than we might imagine, with ‘languages like German, French, or Latin, that are historically related to English’ operating under roughly the same principles as the English vocabulary. Bishop prefers the identification of foreign states rather than languages in Finnegans Wake’s use of, for example, Armenian and Swahili in their appropriate narrative contexts.2 And while Armenian and Swahili are clearly linguistically distant from English, they are not meaningless in Greg’s sense.
If we turn to Alice as a gauge of readerly response to apparent meaninglessness, we find at least two voices: the first is ‘ “It seems very pretty,” she said when she had finished it, “but it’s rather hard to understand!” ’ – an aesthetic judgment apparently independent of meaning. But she then goes on: ‘ “Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas – only I don’t exactly know what they are!” ’ Edmund Epstein acknowledges3 that, when confronted by the plenitude of Finnegans Wake, he ‘began with a state of complete bewilderment’ from which he has been moving ‘into a condition of partial enlightenment’. And isn’t this precisely what the richness of the language of Finnegans Wake might hope to achieve: to fill the reader with ideas without necessarily making every idea distinct and separable? It’s unclear whether Greg’s speculation would allow for this aesthetic response and semantic abundance without clarity, but Alice’s two critiques seem to give some focus to the editorial challenge of ‘meaninglessness’. A text like ‘Jabberwocky’ or Finnegans Wake may acquire meaning as the veins of its archaeology are uncovered: such partial enlightenment may be the most satisfying way to experience these texts, especially if we accept Bishop’s warning that ‘the only way not to enjoy Finnegans Wake is to expect that one has to plod through it word by word making sense of everything in linear order’.
A traditional scholarly editor (against whom we must assume that Greg was reacting) would probably respond that plodding through a text word by word is exactly what is required of the philological method whose aim is indeed to make sense of everything, even while acknowledging that such an aim may well be beyond any individual competence. As G. Thomas Tanselle has frequently reminded textual critics, full access to meaning in our literary monuments is usually unattainable: ‘we shall never know with certainty’ what is the ultimate meaning of a text since the ‘written statements’ that comprise the received forms of the text are ‘alien’ and ‘damaged’ … ‘through the intractability of the physical’.1
But what if a text constructs and celebrates its ‘alien’ status as something beyond such traditional philological aims? Insofar as these philological aims are often conceived in terms of the elimination of error, surely Vicki Mahaffey in justified in claiming that ‘intentional error’ is built into the ‘errorland’ (Ireland) of Finnegans Wake, which ‘welcome[s] adulteration, chance, the transmigration of written characters through time’, so that if the main editorial task is indeed to remove error, then ‘if literally carried out in the editing of Joyce [this] would obscure his modus operandi in Ulysses and eliminate Finnegans Wake entirely’.2 Of course, this is a very narrow interpretation of error, linked to Shillingsburg’s acceptance and promotion (1986) of what he calls a ‘feasible grammar’.3 Given the earlier analysis of the formal requirements of a recognizable syntax (or at least potential syntactic relationships based on word position) in both Finnegans Wake and ‘Jabberwocky,’ it is by no means clear that the whole of Finnegans Wake would be eliminated by the sort of error Mahaffey has in mind. Indeed, the fact that Joyce could have issued a list of ‘misprints’ in the 1939 edition should surely be enough to suggest that, even at the morphemic level, errors are recognizable as such.4
A few years ago Finnegans Wake was an inevitable exhibit in a exploration of ‘late style’ that my musicologist colleague Richard Kramer and I mounted – using Edward Said’s unfinished book on Late Style as our template – in an interdisciplinary doctoral seminar in which Professor Epstein was our guest expert on late Joyce. This exploration of Shakespeare’s Tempest, Britten’s Death in Venice, the Mozart/Da Ponte Così fan tutte, Wagner’s Parsifal, and so on, gave us the opportunity to place the Wake among a group of works that might have something in common in view of their ‘lateness’.1 In some cases, this contemporary befuddlement at new and strange style became a recognizable cultural response, especially in confronting the work of a formerly revered master of the craft. It is well known that even among Joyce’s earlier supporters and fellow modernists (Pound, Nabokov, Lawrence, Wells) there was a suspicion that Joyce had taken an improper step in composing in the dense, conflated language of ‘Work in Progress’ or Finnegans Wake.2 How, then, did those who had similarly respected, say, Beethoven, as a master of his craft respond to the late quartets? And might these responses be instructive in evaluating the status of late Joyce?
A contemporary critic of the Beethoven Quartet in E flat, Op. 127 (first performed on 6 March 1825) was unable to come to a position on the work, claiming that ‘one would have to hear it several times’. When confronted by the ‘monster’ of quartets (Quartet in B flat, Op. 130), the audience was bewildered by the ‘welter of discords’ and ‘the confusion of Babel’, especially in the long final movement, the Grosse Fuge (which Beethoven had to withdraw and for which he substituted a more conventional movement). But the words of the music critic for the Leipzig Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung (10 May 1826) are perhaps most pertinent to Joyce: ‘However, we do not want to judge too hastily: perhaps the time will come when what appeared to us at first to be obscure and confused will be recognized as being clear and well constructed.’3 In other words, the musical ‘language’ of the Op. 130 could not be seen as falling within Beethoven’s familiar expressive or communicative norms.
In the context of such a reaction to an acknowledged master in another field, the range of contemporary responses to Finnegans Wake does not appear unusual. Against the rejection by Pound and Lawrence we must set not only the enthusiasm of Eliot and the collective support of Beckett, William Carlos Williams et al in Our Exagmination (1929),1 but the more measured account by B. Ifor Evans, writing in the Manchester Guardian (12 May 1939), that, due to its difficulties, the book ‘does not admit of review’ and claiming that perhaps ‘in twenty years’ time, with sufficient study and with the aid of the commentary that will doubtless arise, one might be ready for an attempt to appraise it’. This is precisely the position taken by the Leipzig Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung with regard to the Beethoven Op. 130. The similarity becomes even more striking when Evans goes on: ‘The easiest way to deal with the book would be […] to write off Mr Joyce’s latest volume as the work of a charlatan. But the author of Dubliners, A Portrait of the Artist and Ulysses is not a charlatan, but an artist of very considerable proportions. I prefer to suspend judgment.’
Another way of measuring cultural acceptance is the degree to which a work is adopted as a text in other media: literature in, for example, musical settings – an appropriate test given the musicality of Joyce’s language.2 And while there have been several settings of Joyce’s earlier work, particularly the poetry (with Joyce happy to promote such settings), the most widely known settings of passages from Finnegans Wake are by those composers with a reputation for the same sort of rejection of traditional expressive modes as found in the Wake itself. For example, John Cage’s Roaratorio: an Irish circus on Finnegans Wake combines a ‘collage of sounds’, with Cage reading his Writing for the Second Time through Finnegans Wake, itself one of a series of five writings based on the Wake. Cage also set two passages from Finnegans Wake as songs, ‘The Wonderful Widow of Eighteen Springs’ (1942) and ‘Nowth upon Nacht’ (1984). In both of these songs, Cage refuses any concession to expected or accepted performance norms, by, for example, restricting the soprano vocal line to three pitches and instructing the pianist not to touch or even open the keyboard but to rap, tap and bang on the cover.
A more overt link between literary and musical sensibilities occurs in Tod Machover’s Soft Morning City, where the composer clearly regards the music as a parallel expression of Anna Livia Plurabelle’s final monologue in the Wake:
Music is of course a linear art, the melody balanced by the simultaneity of the harmony. But a second sort of linearity – a recursive, circular mode – has also always been vital to a reader’s understanding of Joyce’s method in Finnegans Wake. In an interview with Adolph Hoffmeister,2 Joyce made it clear that ‘[the action of the Wake] is a simultaneous action, represented by the novel’s circular construction. Wherever the book begins it also ends.’ This insistence is reinforced by Joyce in a letter to Harriet Shaw Weaver of 8 November 1926: ‘The book really has no beginning or end … It ends in the middle of a sentence and begins in the middle of the same sentence.’ The latter quotation just means that ‘A way a lone a lost a last a loved a long the’ at the apparent end of the text links directly with ‘riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s’ at the beginning, a recursive continuation of the second part of the same sentence.3 Whether or not Joyce was playing on the religious inference of alpha and omega and ‘in my end is my beginning’, a sort of ‘eternal golden braid’, the circularity is obvious as long as we recognize that it is still linear; that is, one must read through to omega before proceeding on to alpha. But the first quotation is more significant: it is not just that the end is the beginning but that there is no beginning and end, unlike the clear chronological structure of Ulysses. The important word in the first quotation is ‘wherever’: at any point in the book there is a beginning and an ending. The snake swallows its tail.
There is an external structure to the Wake as a ‘night’ narrative, with the Liffey’s tidal turns determining where we are, so that the ‘turn’ of ‘loved a long the’ is not completely arbitrary. It comes at that moment on the cusp of night and day, just as the more overtly structured external reference of Ulysses takes us from morning, through the events of a day, and back to the beginning of another day. So while the text of Finnegans Wake might, by Joyce’s prescription, begin and end anywhere, the correlation with a putative nocturnal pattern – what we could call ‘external fact’, a matter of great concern to textuists1 – would be compromised by a decision to start at, say, ‘there and then, on a lovely morning’ and to end at ‘after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada, all scattered, and all officially drowned’ (FW2, 301.10-11). Some critics have declared that chronology is not uniformly used throughout Finnegans Wake. Epstein, for example, following Rose, declares that Book I ‘shows very little narrative flow. It is only at the end of I, viii that Time truly “begins” ’ and then cites2 Geert Lernout’s claim that ‘the Wake may well be one of the first books to lack an overall temporal framework’. But while Finnegans Wake does not have Ulysses’ rigorous relationship of external reality to fictive representation, the progress of the night is a continuous presence in the organization of Finnegans Wake, especially in Books II (nightfall) and III (the ‘watches of the night’). Without the constant corrective of external fact, the lack of another level of meaning takes the Wake closer to Greg’s formulation that any of Joyce’s preceding works.
Given this non-linear negotiation of the text of Finnegans Wake, it would be easy to argue that no fixed-print edition of the novel is a proper representation of its formal properties – it might be possible to incorporate an endless loop into a digital edition, but even electronic text tends to use pages as if they were meaningful units. And while it is tempting to take Joyce at his word and to start and end Finnegans Wake at a different moment from the familiar ‘riverrun’, the problem is that this so-called opening phrase has become so culturally familiar that an edition with another beginning would be regarded as inauthentic – an error at the macro level of structure.
We are back to Greg’s challenge on the text without meaning, and because the beginning and the end of the text are constantly shifting, these have multiple and even infinite meanings. ‘Meaning’ now involves largescale form as well as linguistic expression. Even Greg could be nervous about abandoning form: despite his previously cited rejection of linguistic meaning he still held on to form, though this can be interpreted at the level of specific local signs in a text and not its shape as a whole.3
Lurking behind the Finnegans Wake conundrum there is another Finnegan, as in the children’s ditty:
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He grew whiskers on his chin-again,
They grew out and then grew in again
Poor old Michael Finnegan, begin again…
Joyce was clearly aware of Michael as well as Tim, as shown in the passage ‘a good clap, a fore marriage, a bad wake, tell hell’s well; such is manowife’s lot of lose and win again, like he’s gruen quhiskers on who’s chin again, she plucketed them out but they grown in again. So what are you going to do about it? O dear!’ (FW2, 93.03ff).
The significance of ‘Michael Finnegan’ to the structure of Finnegans Wake goes beyond the good-natured jollity of Tim Finnegan’s whiskey-soaked funerary celebrations that are the source of much of the comic element in the Wake. In the eternally recursive loss and re-growth of Michael Finnegan’s whiskers, it is the unavoidable ‘begin again’ at every verse of the rhyme that best captures the alpha and omega of the form of the Wake. The song is so open-ended that it is continually in danger of careering out of control, with ‘begin again’ being shouted by the children, unwilling to let the song come to a close.1 It is only in the concessive ‘stop’ thrown in quite arbitrarily at any point that we can escape out of ‘Poor old Michael Finnegan’. Joyce’s use of both Finnegans – Michael and Tim – gives the novel in one case its form, and in the other its tone. … Stop!
DAVID GREETHAM
Afterword
The electronic hypertext edition of Finnegans Wake, out of which the new reading text was generated, is, to put it succinctly, a model – an attempted re-creation – of the entire sixteen-year-long history of the composition of the novel. As such, it is a natural extension of the procedures that led to the Critical and Synoptic Edition of Ulysses published in 1984. If a modern website developer were to look at the system of paired diacritics dotting the left-hand pages of that edition, he or she would surely exclaim: why, these are hypertext mark-up tags – the stuff you’d see if you clicked on a source file on the World Wide Web. In the mid-1970s, however, when the diacritics were devised (at first independently, then jointly, by the present editors and Hans Walter Gabler), the Web was still a long way in the future. The diacritic display was originally intended to permit a reader to visually deconstruct a ‘synoptic’ text into the sequence of drafts that led to the final reading text.
Those 1984 Ulysses pages probably approach the manageable limit of a visual presentation. Logic is logic, nonetheless. What a scholar can do by following a rule, a computer can do a lot faster: it can go through all the motions and it can generate the results (the earlier drafts) in a matter of seconds. Nor will it balk at any level of increase in the number and complexity of the interlocking diacritics (the tags). It will also allow any number of linkages and inter-linkages between any other number of other tags in other documents.
Such is the logical prehistory of the hypertext of Finnegans Wake. Having begun life as a parallel project to the Ulysses edition, it soon became clear, however, that our isotext1 might exceed the limit of reasonable readerly ease of comprehension – a consequence of the relatively greater number of draft stages in Finnegans Wake and the even greater number of both inter- and intra-documentary revisions we needed to code. Matters became yet more complex when we came to incorporate the notebook information into the system.
The manuscripts of Finnegans Wake are grouped into two major classes: the manuscripts proper, the drafts, which comprise handwritten drafts, typescripts, proofs and marked-up copies of the interim publication of sections of the book in transition magazine and elsewhere; and the notebooks, a sequence of ‘textual diaries’ in which, in the form of long lists of words and phrases, we find the accumulated gatherings of Joyce’s reading over the entire period of the writing of his book. The notebooks, it turns out, provided the raw materials out of which the early drafts were crafted and by means of which these drafts were subsequently repeatedly revised and expanded.
Once Joyce had re-copied a manuscript of composition (a draft), or when it had been typed or printed (with revisions incorporated), he sent it to his patron Harriet Shaw Weaver. She in turn bequeathed these to the British Library.1 A smaller number of pertinent drafts went astray and never reached Miss Weaver. Of these, many have re-surfaced and are now part of the holdings of the National Library of Ireland, the University of Texas at Austin, the Zurich James Joyce Foundation, Yale University and the University of Buffalo. A very few are in private hands.
Joyce retained the notebooks, keeping them by him in case he needed (which he usually did) further words and phrases to stitch into his work in progress. After his death, the set of Joyce’s notebooks was sold en bloc to the University of Buffalo.2
The manuscript of the novel is spread out over several hundred separate documents comprising some 20,000 pages. No single document contains the full text of any of the chapters or other significant sections of the book in Joyce’s hand. At the same time, no document is identical with any other. Our first task, prior to editing the text, was to identify, order and date all the documents involved: that is, to establish the correct interrelationships of all extant and inferred non-extant manuscripts and to ascribe to each a stable code reference. These references provide the basis for the system of diacritics (or tags). They also provided the basis for a page-by-page rearrangement of the facsimiles from their arrangement in the British Library and elsewhere as presented in volumes 44-63 of The James Joyce Archive, a monumental facsimile edition of all the then-known and available manuscripts relating to the works of James Joyce.1 In this way, the draft coding underpinning the Finnegans Wake hypertext matches point for point the arrangement of the facsimiles in the Archive.2
In putting these pages into a coherent order for the Archive, we divided them into seventeen groups of papers, each relating to one of the Wake’s seventeen chapters. If one examines the genesis of the book, it soon becomes clear that Joyce did not compose the individual chapters at one time as a single extended narrative unit,3 as was the case with the episodes of Ulysses; rather, he created each chapter by combining individually pre-developed subunits, or narrative blocks. These sub-units are termed sections. This division of the chapters into sections is not apparent from the printed text, but only from the evidence of the manuscripts. Sometimes, sections themselves are comprised of even smaller narrative modules, or subsections, which form the smallest structural units.
Working from a scheme (or skeletal plan) of the narrative events planned for inclusion, Joyce invariably began by drafting the text of a single (sub)section developing one of these events. This he then revised, copied at least once and laid aside before he moved on to the drafting/revising of another (sub)section developing another narrative event, and so on, with the number of (sub)sections and acts of revision/transcription varying according to chapter.
At some point, in making a fresh copy of some part of the work in progress he joined together the text of two or more previously drafted (sub)sections to form a larger unit, a copy of which he then revised as a newly formed textual continuum. Finally, joining all these components together, he formed a new stretch of text – that of the chapter – which, from then on, he revised as an unbroken unit. When one chapter had been completed to a sufficient degree, he laid it aside and went on to the next, beginning once again with the drafting of a section or subsection and repeating the process.4
Eventually, the different chapters, when developed, were juxtaposed to form larger units, the four Books (or ‘Parts’) into which the text is structurally divided. These larger units were then subjected to further levels of revision. Finally, in the summer of 1940,1 a year after the book had been published, he read through the first-edition text one last time with the help of his friend Paul Léon, concerning himself mainly with the correction of minor typographical errors. He was not allowed to alter the typesetting.
The classification of the documents of transmission into print is determined by two main headings: the spatial division into sections and subsections, and the temporal succession of drafts and revisions. Combining these we can succinctly set out all the information regarding the history of a chapter in coded form in a table or ‘stemma’.
The stemmata provide an overall architectural structure for the hypertext.
Having developed this model of the compositional process, we devised a methodology to facilitate the coherent analysis and recording of all types of textual events revealed in the manuscript record: additions, replacements, transpositions, scribal as opposed to authorial inscription, virtual transformations, and so on. The method is logically and mathematically consistent and allows us to generate the extraction from the isotext of all possible constituent subtexts and/or editorial interventions, including, naturally, the final clear-reading text. A grand synthesis of all the ‘pre-texts’ of Finnegans Wake was thereby created.
With each of the drafts available for inspection and comparison, the hypertext acts as a rich and relevant ‘author’s commentary’ on Joyce’s frequently obscure text. Looking at any part of the book thus analysed backwards or forwards, as it were, we can see it shrink (or expand), occasionally reform, simplify (or complicate) itself, and finally reduce itself to its seminal condition (or crystallize into its final form) in a process that at each step sheds new light on what is going on. What might at first seem an arid classification of manuscripts thus opens up a whole field for future interpretation and exegesis.
Turning now to the notebooks, research over the past thirty years has confirmed the hypothesis first put forward by Danis Rose2 that, for the most part, the Wake text – from the first draft onwards – is a composite of words and phrases: words and phrases that we find inscribed in a completely different arrangement in one or more of the fifty-odd notebooks.1 Analysis of their contents has revealed that they are primarily straightforward (though unacknowledged and usually untitled) lists of words and phrases that Joyce jotted down from whatever book, magazine or newspaper he was reading at the time. When, after diligent searching in libraries,2 we identify the source for any such list (and one notebook can contain dozens of these lists or indexes) we can establish the original meaning and context of the notebook contents where Joyce first encountered them, and can therefore use that original sense in the explication of the word or phrase as it is used in the Wake. This enables us to penetrate the text’s obscurity in thousands of instances.3
The hypertext allows one to link the words in the text directly to their counterparts in the notebooks, to commentaries and glosses, and, where known, to the original sources. In this way it provides a system of annotation of the individual words of Finnegans Wake grounded on manuscript – and therefore historical – evidence. The annotations, coupled with the deconstruction of the sentences into their genetic profiles, assist a reader to resolve much of the ambiguity of the text and to clarify it to a point of illumination not hitherto imagined possible.
The process of composition is not random; it can be demonstrated to be a complex, highly rational series of acts of compilation and agglutination. Although we may at first glance be perplexed at Joyce’s apparent lack of traditional ‘creative’ imagination in composition, stringing a text together in this way from apparently random strands of words, we can only marvel at his unprecedented brilliance in superimposing onto it a complex and coherent narrative. Indeed the very constraints that he imposed upon himself as a writer by working in this way seem to have acted continuously as a necessary spur to his bizarre creativity. In a very real sense, Joyce surveyed and pillaged the library of mankind to make the lesser world inhabited by his own protagonists a microcosm of our own. The scale of this undertaking dwarfs even his ambitions to make Ulysses encyclopaedic.1
Apart from their value in the study of the text of Finnegans Wake in which their component elements are embedded, the notebooks allow us to map out alongside the draft development of the text a chronological sequence of the broad themes with which Joyce was concerned. Thus, some periods show an intense interest in the history of languages, others in hagiography, others in popular ballads, and so on. We can identify in a precise and specific way the classes of information that Joyce gradually introduced into the work in progress. We can see, for example, that he was at one point concerned with Armenian elements and was enriching the text of a particular draft with words in that language. A complete analysis of the notebooks as allied with the drafts allows us to discern what particular words (used to) ‘mean’, while giving us an idea of the concentration of certain themes in Finnegans Wake.
Given the scale and complexity of Finnegans Wake, it is hardly surprising that a gradual accumulation of transmissional error arose through the convolute process of composition. Many of these would have been hard to avoid even under optimal conditions. In fact, the heroic sixteen-year-long process took place in circumstances that not only impeded a smooth error-free transmission of the text but continually threatened to bring down the whole edifice. Most serious were the unpredictability of Joyce’s physical and emotional health and the series of eye operations that periodically brought his work to a halt. Sporadic bouts of ill-health or depression wreaked havoc with the work in progress. For example, one extended passage (the longest chapter, III.3) had to be typed ENTIRELY IN CAPITALS so that Joyce could read it; yet on being subsequently retyped as regular text hundreds of previously present and intended capitals were inadvertently reduced to lower case, and vice versa, with only inadequate and intermittent subsequent re-correction.
Incidental participants in the enterprise included numerous typists Joyce employed and the typesetters for the little magazines wherein early-draft versions of his work appeared. The printed versions (which Joyce tore out of the magazines) were then used as documents of transmission, subjected to revision and dragged inexorably into the compositional record. Few of his collaborators were able to cope competently with Joyce’s manuscripts and each draft stage introduced a new crop of errors. This was made worse by his poor eyesight and also by his reading of proofs not solely to correct errors but, more emphatically, to add another layer of fresh material, leaving typists and printers to set still more handwritten text.
As a result of the author’s working methods and the complexities of the text’s development, an exceptionally high level of demonstrable, unintended variation contaminates the first edition of Finnegans Wake.
In the versions of the Finnegans Wake drafts critically edited for the hypertext, ascertainable textual corruptions are rectified and described. In most cases they are relatively easy to detect: the careful collation of a typescript, say, against the original from which it was typed will readily reveal the most glaring of these, particularly omissions and misplacements of text elements. Where the context remains invariant thereafter, the correction can be safely made.
Through the linking up of the draft reading with the notebook index we have a powerful tool to assist us in determining otherwise elusive errors arising in the transmission. In many cases, even when Joyce aimed at clarity of inscription, ambiguities remain in the unfamiliar, apparently nonsense words. For example, in many documents it is difficult to distinguish between such common letters as ‘u’ and ‘n’.
In a well-known pioneering essay1 on the dilapidated state of the printed text of Finnegans Wake, the late Jack Dalton pointed out the inherent instability of both Ulysses and the Wake.2 He intended to highlight the difficulties faced by commentators and glossators in view of the clearly demonstrable inadequacies of the published text of Finnegans Wake in all its available forms. In one sample section of Book IV, Dalton was able to detail how the accidental eye-skipping of a line of text in its copying from one level to another wrecked the rainbow of carefully constructed patterns that Joyce had painstakingly embedded in the narrative.1
In preparing the present clear-reading text – in which the dynamics of its shaping and reshaping is of course invisible – the editors, vigilant of this dynamism, have naturally concerned themselves with correcting the many manifest errors that occurred as the text was repeatedly copied. This was nonetheless the less important of the editorial tasks in seeking to arrive at a stable, relatively error-free version.
The greater task lay in the restoration through emendation of the syntactical coherence of individual sentences as they underwent periodic amplification under the writer’s revising hand. What is important is that the root sentence, considered as a logical linguistic structure expressed through syntax, retains its essential structure irrespective of its often complex expansion. In practice, yet not invariably, damage to this coherence was corrected by Joyce or one of his helpers. Otherwise it is visible in collation as a simple error. In other instances the loss or part-absence of the syntactical structure was not noticed and, as the sentence was further amplified, the damage intensified, often to the extent that its original and essential coherence is irrecoverable short of a full genetic analysis.
The ultimate function of a book, however, is to be read, not to be looked or picked at. As this pervasive form of corruption is repaired, the text of Finnegans Wake is greatly clarified and can thus be read with substantially greater ease.
James Joyce declared that he wanted his books to be pored over by scholars for a hundred years. Soon, he will have had that wish fulfilled. But he also wanted something more – much more – namely, that his books should be read by ordinary people for pleasure.
Textual criticism is the area of scholarship that has kept, at least for most of its existence, both these ends simultaneously in view. The hypertext model of Finnegans Wake may seem on its own sufficient to control the potentialities of an intrinsically unstable text within a spectrum and superposition of valid texts. This, however, is not the case. The hypertext was created for a dual purpose. First, for the furtherance of scholarship; second, to facilitate the production of the most authoritative clear-reading text that can be achieved using rational principles of editorial judgment: a text faithful to the art of its author in a material form designed for lovers of literature.
DANIS ROSE and JOHN O’HANLON
, 
, 
. Hoodle doodle, fam?