1st typescript, August 1927, I.6§4 draft level 2

MS missing Draft details

I.6§4 (FW 159.24 - 168)

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. I feel in symbathos for my ever devoted friend and halfaloafonwashed brother (darling gem! darling |2blank) blank) I love that man!)2| because he is such a barefooted rubber with my supersocks pulled over his face which I publicked in my bestback garden. |2And he wants my addition of meal, meat, bread, butter, |aalso dripping,a| eggs, tea and cabbage with a doorstep! I oughtº not to indulge on this stage still I will think he is so veryº allirish!º2| You will say it is most unenglish and I shall hope to hear that you will not be wrong about it. But |2I furtherº blank2|

Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly to each's other down below our voices. 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
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the deblinite. 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 recall with great leisure how at the outbreak before trespassing on the space question where even
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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.
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The older Kaeser, become unbeurrable from
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age, having been sort-of-nineknived and chewly removed the twinfreer types are billed to make their reupprearance on the deserted champ de bouteilles. I could paint you to that butter if you had some wash. Caseous may hethink himself a thought of a caviller but Burrus has the reachly roundered head that goes best with thoftthinking fideism. He has the lac of wisdom under every dent in his smile, while the other follow's blank. 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 wholeborough 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 fulltruth 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! |2What brunoesque pr poportiums, me Ercles!º2| And what a cheery ripe outlook, good help me Deus v Deus! If I were to speak
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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!
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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 sinequam to the heroicised furibouts of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophile swoors 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 turondunamon 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 are mutuearly polarised. Positing, as above, too male pooles, the one the pictor of the other and the omber the σκοτια 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 (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 bubblingpoint 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 turnedabout asses to meet Margareen.

We now romp through a period of pure lyricism of shamebred music 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! 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. 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, illtempor. I should advise any unborn singer who may still be among my heeders to forget her temporal diaphragm at home
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(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 |2it will2| send her.

I shall have a word to say in a few yards about the acoustic and orchidectural management of the tonehall but 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 |2of my “blank manner”º2| has seen |2with eyes wateredº2| my goulache of Marge which I titled The Very Picture of a Needlesswoman. The hatboxes which compose |2Rhomba, Ladyº Trabezond (Marge in |ahera| excelsis),º also compriseº2| the climactogram up which B and C may |2well fondlyº2| be imagined ascending 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
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more patent process after which they can be reduced to a fragment of their
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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 young woman whose types may be met with in any public garden ostentatiously hemming apologetically over the briefness of some “sweet” garment or at the movies swallowing sobs and blowing bixed bixcuits over |2childish “Childe”º2| chaplain's “latest” or on the verge of the gutter with some bobbedhair babyma's infant held hostage at armslength, teaching His Majesty how to make waters worse.

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
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with an elusive antonius 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
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talis one. And this is why any simple fool you like to dress 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 eyes as a boosted blasted bleating blatant bloaten blasphorus blesphorous idiot!

No! Twelve tabular times till now have I said it. My unchanging Word is sacred. The Word is my Wife and may the curlews crown our nuptias! Till Breath us depart! 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
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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 MacJeffet, four-in-hand, foot him out? — ay! — were he my own breastbrother, were we bread by the same fire and signed by the same salt, had we sold the same master and robbed the same till, were we tucked in the one bed and bit by the one flea, though it broke my heart to pray it, still I'd fear I'd hate to say …!

C 12. Sacer esto?

answer: Semus sumus!