|3⇒ |saBounce Boumcesa|! 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 flaskonsº in nodunder ycholerd for their poopishers, ahull onem!º Fyre
|amaynooter maynoothera| endnow! Shatten up ship! |saBouououounce!
Bouououmce!sa| Nomoº |aclandolskines clandoilskinsa| cheakinlevers! All ashored for Capolic Gizzards! Stowlaway there, glutany of
stainks. Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters!º Oooomº oooom!
As these vitupetards in his bosum boasum he did strongleholder, bushbrows, nobblynape, swinglyswanglers, sunkentrunk, that from tin of the clucken hadded runced slapottleslup. For him had |ahard horda| from fard a piping. Dan As? Of? Dour |saDoochey Douchyºsa| was a |saseaguldson, sieguldson,sa| He cooed that loud nor he was young, He cud bad caw nor he was gray, Like water wather parted from the say.
Ostia, lift it! Lift at it, Ostia! From the say. Away from the say.
Hearhasting he, himmed,º |areremembered reromemberedºa| all the chubbs, chipps, chaffs, chuckinpucks and chayney |sachinebells chimebellssa|, That he had mistributed in |saports portsa|, pub, park, pantry and |apoultryshop |bpoultrybooth poultryhouseºb|a|, |awhile Whilea| they, thered, the others, that are, were most emulously concernedº to cupturing the lastº 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.
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 probonopubblicoesº clamatising for an extinsion on on his hostillery With his chargehand bombing their ears eres. Tideº, genmen, plays, she been goin shoother off aff allmaynootherº onawares.
You here |anorta| farwellens rouster? Ashiffle ashuffle the wayve they.
|3⇒ Lelong Awaindhoo's a selverbourne enrouted to Rochelle Lane and
libreties those Mullinguard minstrelsers are marshalsing |apar tunepiped road a| under where |atopped
perkeda| on hollowy hill that poor man of Lyones, |agood Dook Weltington,a|
|aHugon hugona| come errindwards,
had hircomed to the belles'º |abow bowsa| and been catattrappedº 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,º the rouged |aand generant engeneranda|, |a|b|ca |dbartler barttlerd| of the beauyneº,c| still our benjamin liefest, sometime frankling to |cthis |dthese thised|c| citye,b| whereas |bbegranted bigrentedb| him a |bpier of piers halfb| subporters for his arms,a| Josiah Pipkin, Amos Love, Raoul Le Febber, Blaize Taboutot, Jeremy Yopp, Francist de Loomis, Hardy Smith and and Sequin Pettit followed by the snug saloon seanad of our Café Béranger. The |asenectottlers scenictutorsa|. Because they wonted to get out by the goatweigh afore the sheep was looset for to wish the Wobbleton Whiteleg Welshers kaillykaillyº kellykekkle and |asafehome savebecka| to brownhazelwood from all the dinnasdoolins on the labious banks of their swensewn snewwesnerº, turned again weastinghome, and they onely, duoly, thruely, fairly after rainydraining fountybuckets (chalkem up, hemptyempty!) till they caught the wind abroad (alley loafers passingjeeringº!) all the rockers on the roads and all the boots in the stretesº.
Oh dere! Ah hoy!
Last ye, |salandsmen lundsminsa|, hasty hosty! (+For an anondation of mirification and the lutification of our paludination.+) |a
His battle's broke, his drum is sli tore, For spuds we'll keep the hat he wore, And roll in clover o'er his clay, By wather parted from the say.a|
From |aThree Freeºa| Rogueº Mountone till |aTwo Dewa| Mild Well to |acarry corrya| awen and glowry. Are now met by Bawnaboy Fuinnuiguinn'sº 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 like andº nowhere a keener.
The fore oldersº were aspolootly at their wetsendsº in the moilingº waltersº, trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! Because number one lived at Botthersby North and he was trying
to. Hide! Seek! Hide!
Seek! And number two digged up Poors Coort South and number three down Lally's Lane, trying to.º Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! And last withº the sailullod sailuloyd donggieº he was berthed on the Bohermore and they were all, |atrying toa| and baffling with the walters of, w hoompsydoompsy walters of. High! Sinkº! High!º Sink!3|
|3⇒ Horkus chiefest ebblynunciesº!
He shook be ashaped of hempshelves|a, heaving that shepe in his goata|. Stop his laysense. You would think he was Alddaublin.º |aStakingº his lordsure like a gourd
on puncheon. Deblinity |bdivined devinedb|!ºa| Wholehunting the pairk |aon a
myth methylogical missiona| whenever theres imberillas! |a|bAnd calling Rina Roner Reinette Ronayne. Arderleys, beedles and postbillers heard him.b|
Ericusº Vericus corrupted to ware eggs.a| Begetting a wife which begame his niecesº |aby pouring her youngthings into
skintightsa|. |aThat was when he had dizzy spells. Tillº Gladstools Pillools made him ride as the mall.a|
|aThanks to his huedobrassº beerd.a| Lodebrokeº the Longman, now he canseels under veerious
persons |abut is always that Rorkeºa| relly.º On consideration for the musickers he ought to have down it. This is not the end of this by no manners means. In preplayº to
Anonymay's lefthintedº palinode obviously |ainspitered inspiterabledºa| by a sibspecious
connexion.3| |3Errorsure he's the mannork of Arrahland oversense he horrhorrd his name in thuthunder. Rrrwwwkkkrrr! |aOf the
rollorrishrattillary.a| And seen it rudden up in fusefiressence on the fashmurket. P.R.C.R.L.L. Royloy. The lewdningbluebolteredallucktruckalltraumconductor!º
|xBut we're molting superstituettes out of his fulseº thorotinº guts.x| Coucous! Find his causcaus! From Motometusolum
throughº Bulley and Cowlieº and pass in your checkmates down to baseness'sº usuall usual.º There's a light there
|astill. still, by Mike. Loose afore!a| Bung! Bring out your deed! Bang! Till is the right time. Tiemore moretis tisturb badday! The playgue will be soon over, rats! We
dinned unnerstunned why you |asad sassada| about |athirty thurteena| to |aeleven aloafena|, |asor,a| kindly repeat! |aOr ledn us alonese of your lungorge|b., parsonifier |cpropoundeunread propoundec| of del |courc| edelweissed idol worts!b| Shaw and Shea are lorning obsen so |bharry hurgleb| up, and farder, and gurgle me gurk. You can't impose on frayshouters like os. Every tub here spucks his own fat. |bHang coersion everyhow! And smotthermock Gramm's laws!b| But we're a drippindhrue gaeleague all at ones. In the buginningº is the woid, in the muddle is the sounddance and thoreinofterº |bcomes you're inb| the unbewised again|b, vund vulsyvolsyb|. You talker dunsker's brogue men we ourº souls speech obstruct hostery. Silence in thoughtº! Speech! |bWear an artfulº of outer nocense!b|a| Momerry twelfths, noebroed! That was a good one, ha!º So it will be quite a material what May farther be unveloped for you, old Mighty, when it's aped to foul a delfian in the Mahnung., haº ha! |aTalk of Paddybarke's
echo!a| Kick |anack nucka|, Knockcastle.,º Muck.º |aAndº you'll noseº it, O you'll nose it without warnword from we.a| We don't know the sendor towhomeº. And,º be the seem talkin,º wharabahts hosetanzies, dat sure is sullibrated word?º Bing bong! Saxolooter! Forº congesters are salders' prey. Woes to the wormquashedº, aye, and worsº to the winner! Give him another for |atoa| volleyholley doodlem! His lights not |aalla| out yet, the liverpooser! Boohoohoo it oose! With seven hores always in the home of his thoughts, |ahis nodsloddledome of his noiselisslesoughts,a| two Idas, two Evas, two Nessies and Rubyjuby. Phook! No wonder, pipes and gurgls, that he sthings like a rheinbok. One bed night he had the delysiumsº that they were all queens mobbing him. |aFeelº stiff.a| Oh, ho, ho, ho, ah, he, he! |aIt just gegs ourº goad!a| He'll be the deaf of us|a, pappappoppopcuddle,a| samblind dairudder. daiyrudder. Yus, sord, |afathe,a| yoh yuo |awill woll|b, putty our wraughtherºb|a|! Beng!º We sincerestly trust that Missus with the kids |aof sweet Gorteena| has not been B I N K |ato their very least tittlesa| deranged if in B U N K and we greesiously |aoffer to augur fora| Yourº Meggers a B E N K B A N Kº B O N K to sloop in with all sorts of odceterasº and adsaturas. So we'll leave it to Keyhoe, |aDamnally Danellya| and |aPikemham Pykemhyme|b, the three muskrateers,b|a|
that had it from |aVariants'a| Katey Sherratt that had it from Variants' Katey Sherratt's man for the bonnefaciesº of Blanchewhite and Blushred to |awind up and toa| tells of all befells |aafter thata| to Mocked Majesty in the Malincurred Mansion.
So you were saying, boys? Anyhow he what?3|
So anyhow after that to wind up that long to be chronicled get together day |3at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle3|, the anniversary of his first holy communion, after that same barbecue beanfeast was all over poor
old hospitable King Roderick O'Conor, the paramount chief polemarch and last preelectric king of all Ireland who was anything you say yourself between fiftyfour and fiftyfive years of age at the time after the socalled last
|3'|~free~|3'| supper he greatly gave those maltknights and beerchurls in his umbrageous house of the hundred bottles 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 |3'|~in the
dienasty~|3'| King Art MacMurrough Kavanagh of the leather leggings, now of parts unknown, God guard his generous 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
|3and died under the grass quilt on usº3| nevertheless the year the sugar was scarce
|3|xand weº to lather and shave and frizzle himº like a bald surging
buoyºx|3| 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, |3going through
|asummersultryngs ofa| snow and sleet withº the widow Nolan's goat and the Brownes girls
neats,º3| 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 historic pile after all of them had all gone off with themselves
|3to their castles of
mud3| as best they could on footback |3owing to the leak ofº McCarthy's mare3| in extended order a tree's length from the longest way out down the switchbackward road, the unimportant Parthalonians with the mouldy Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Danaan googs |3and the ramblers from Clane3| 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 |3Lanty Leary3| cant on him |3|aandº Mike Brady's shirt and |bhis green Greene'sb| linnet socks collarbow and his ghenter's gaunts and his Macclefield's swasha| and his readymade Reillys |aand his panprestuberian ponchoºa|3|, 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 |3allocutioningº in bellcantes McGuiney'sº Dreans of Ergen Adams3| and |3singing thrummingº through3| all to himself |3with diversed tonguesed3| through his old tears |3and his ould plaised drawl3| starkened by the most regal |3of3| belches |3like a |ablurneya| Cashelamagh crooner |a|bthat larkingº Clare air,b| the blackbard'sº ballada|3| |3I've a terrible errible lot todo today todo toderribleday I've a terrible errible lot todo today todo toderribleday3| 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 |3he could not tell what he did ale|x, |asoa| bothered from the head to the tail,ºx|3| and |3wishawishawish3| leave it |3what the Irish, boys, can do3| if he didn't |3goº sliggymaglooralº reemyround and3| 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 |3the that whole hogsheaded firkin family ofº3| departed honourable homegoers
such as it was|3, fallº and fall about,3| 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 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 |3till|a, welcome be from us here, till the rising of the morn, |btill that hen of |cheaven Kaven'sc| shows her beaconeggº and Chapwellsendows stain our horyhistoricold and Father MacMichael stampsº for aitch o'clerk |cmass, messc| and the Litvian Newestlatter is seen, sold and delivered,ºb|a| till likeº his ancestors to this day after him he came acrash a crupper sort of a
sate |ain ona| accomondation |aand the very boxst in all his composs a| whereuponce|a, heave hone, leave lone, Larry's on the focse and Feag MacHugh O'Byrne at the wheel,a| 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 throne3|.
|3⇒ So sailed the |abrave stouta| ship Nansy Hans. |saFrom Liff away.sa| For Nattenländer. |saAs who has come returns.sa| Farvel, |safarers farernesa|! Goodbark, goodbye!
|saAnd Nowsa| follow we out by Starloe!3|