Fair copy, April 1926, §2B draft level 3

MS British Library 47483 125-128 Draft details

— Well, ladies on gentlemen and toastmaster general,º health |3and to3| song |3and for3| Erin go dryº! To stir up |3love and love's young3| fizz I |3lift tilt |ato witha|3| this bridle's cupº |3of her3| champagne, dimmydouce, |3to her peepair of hideseek at hers,º3| |3tightsqueze for tightsqueezed on3| my snowybreasted,º and while my pearlies in their sparkling |3wisdom wiseheightº3| are nippling her bubblets I swear (and let you swear!) by the |3bumper3| roundº of |3our dear our own3| old Snaggletooth's solidbowl I ne'er will prove I'm untrue to your liking (|3swear theare3|!) so long as my hole looks down.

So |3gullaby, me poor Isley! But3| I'm not |3for3| forgetting my inner man monophone for I'm leaving my darling proxy behind for |3you your consolering3|, |3lost3| Dave the |3Dancer |aDanskerl Dancekerla|3|, a squamous runaway and a dear old |3man3| pal of mine too. He's the mightiest penumbrella I ever flourished on beyond the shadow of a post!
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|3blank3| Be sure and link him, my treasure, as often as you learn,º provided there's nothing between you but a plain deal table only don't encourage him to cry lessontimes over Leperstown. Talk of wolf in a stomach,º by all that's verminous! |3Isn't Ireland a small place after all.3| I knew I smelt the garlic league. Why, bless me quick, here he is, darling Daveº, just in time as if he fell out of space, all draped in mufti, coming |3back home to mourn mountains blindtofold3| from his |3old3| continence after a bad passage by the 11.32 withº the pork's pate in his paw and the gulls laughing lime on his natural skunk,
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blushing like Pat's pig,º begob!º He's not |3damn too tom3| well ashamed to carry out |3onaglibtog onaglibtoographikelly3| the testimonicals he |3got |abought gave twenty |bannas anniesb| forº, showing his three white feathers,a|3| as a home cured emigrant in Paddyouare far |3beyond below on3| the |3sea sealevel3|. Bearer may leave the church, signed, Figura Porca|3, Magnafica3|. He's the sneaking likeness of me, faith, |3in miniature3| and every biter's bit as nasal a romeo as I am, for ever cracking quips on himself, that merry, the jeenjakes, he'd soon arise mother's roses |3with mid3| bedewing tears |3with those wild wet lashes3| onto anny living girl's laftercheeks. He's a jarry queer fish betimes, I grant, but,º lice and all and semicoloured stainedglasses, I'm enormously |3proud full3| of that foreigner, I'll say I am. We're as thick and thin now as two tubular jawballs. I hate him about his henesy but I love him. I love his portugal's |3nose. nose|a.º That's the nasturtum nowa| that saved many a poor |afellow sinkera| from |aa watery water on thea| grave.3| Isn't he after |3borrowing all before him,º3| touching every distinguished Irishman he could ever distinguish |3before & behind3| from a Yourishman for the |3customary3| half of a crown and peace? |3Bravo Brayvoº3|, |3senior3| chief! |3Famose!3| Sure there's nobody else |3to in3|
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touch |3anysides to hold his candle for3| the darling at all for sheer dare with that |3potful prison potful3| of Spanishº breens on him |3like the knave of trifles3|! A jollytan fine cemented brick |3and the prince of goodfellows3|! Dave
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knows I have the highest of respect of anyone in my own smooth way for |3that intellectual debtor3| David Crozier. The most important man! |3Servos!3| Ho, by the holy! Someone has shaved his rough diamond skull for him as clean as Nuntius' piedish! He's the spatton spit, so he is, of Shemuel Tulliver, the old crusader! |3when he took off the paudeen. That was to let the crowd |aof Fluº Flux Fansa| behind him see me proper. Ah, he's very thoughtful that way. He is, really.3| Hold hardº till you hear him clicking his bull's bones! You're welcome back, Wilkins,º to red berries in the frost! |3Hat yourself!3| Give us your dyed hand here, |3frater! frother. Where's your watch?3| I'm better pleased than ten |3pounds. |akidneys. guidneys.a|3| Faith, I'm proud of you, french davit!
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You've surpassed yourself!º This is my aunt Julia Bride dying to have you languish to scandal in her bosky old manor. |3Servorum!3| You haven't seen her since she |3went stepped3| into |3her3| youth's smallclothes. |3She has plenty of room for the
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both of us. Hat yourself well &
3| Embrace her |3by all meansº |awhen you stop scratchinga| and tell her |ain your agglutinativea| I was asking for her. She fell in love with our picture when we were |astabled togethera| in the Black Watch together, you & me & meº & you,º |ahungry & angry,a| & pinch me. Always saying we had the wrinkles of a snailcharmerº and the slits and smellers of a fellow that fell foul of the county de Luna, & the meathtraps of the first vegetarian.3| out of pure |3tuppennyº3| luck before she goes off |3in out of3| pure |3|atuppenny threefolda|3| |3love funk3|. I'd give three shillings |3a pound3| to the canon to |3see shadow3| you |3kiss kissing3| her |3|aliberallyºa| all over3| as if she was a crucifix. |3It's good for her labials. |aThere's nothing like a mistletouch for finding a queen's earring.a|3| Turn around, skeezy Sammy, till we |3see feel3| are you still |3full fond3| of poetry. Could you |3sing us |astammer wheedlea|3| a |3stave staveling3| encore |3on out of3| your |3imitationer's3| jubalharp, eh,º Mr Jinglejoys? |3Show Grunt3| us your |3imitation |aforebodena| article introducing the3| death of Nelson |3in coloraturas3|!º What, sir? Taurus periculosus,º morbus pediculosus.º miserere mei |3et in3| miseribilibus! Hoho! Begob, there's not so much green in his Ireland's eye! The
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bark is still there but the molars |3are have3| gone. Areesh! Areesh! |3The misery billyboots I used to lend him before we split!º3| Did you note that worried expressionismº on his megalogue! |3A full octavio beyond me! Did you hear his threeº browrings rattlemaking?3| And did you twig the |3sham shamlooking3| leaf creeping |3ghastly3| down his blousyfrock? My oldfellow's uncle |3that was garotted,3| Caius Codinhand, |3that was garotted,3| used to chop that tongue of his, japlatin, with my younkle'sº owlseller,º Wolfe Woodenbeard, that went stone bothered in the tower of Balbus,º as brisk, man,º as I'd scoff up lobscouse. But it's all deafman's duff to me, begob. Sam knows miles better than me how to work the miracle. |3And I |ahear seea| he has stop he's dropping the stammer out of his bladder since I sent him to |agrow |bhis ab| muffa| |abathe camomisea| his feet down |ain ona| the river airyº after he earned the reputation of being swift.º3| He'll soon tune your Erin's ear for you to read the roman while I'm away from wherever thou art going in for my |3varsatile3| examinations. So pick your stops with fondness. And mind you tie the two strings of your nicenames. And pull up your |3words furbelows3| as |3far farabove3| as |3you can you're waisthigh3|. His hearing is doubting just as my seeing is believing. So let him blink for himself where you speak the bestº ticklish. Fond namer, let me never see thee blame a kiss for shame a knee.