transition proofs, 1st set, February 1928, §2B draft level 6

MS missing Draft details

— MEN! Jaun responded fullchantedly to her sororal sonority, with his chalished drink now well in hand. Ever gloriously kind! And I truly am
{f39, 462}
obligated. Well, ladies upon gentlermen and toastmaster general, health to song for Erin go dry! 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 solidbowl 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's the mightiest penumbrella I ever flourished on behond the shadow of a post!
{f10, 359}
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. Talk of wolf in a stomach, by all that's verminous! Isn't Jaunstown the small place after all? I knew I smelt the garlic league! Why, bless me quick, here he is, darling Dave, just in time as if he fell out of space, all draped in mufti, coming home to mourn mountains from his old continence after a blindfold passage by the 11.32 with the pork's pate in his paw and the gulls laughing lime on his natural skunk,
{f39, 463}
blushing like Pat's pig, begob! He's not too tom well ashamed to carry out onaglibtographikelly the testymonicals he gave his twenty annis for, showing the three white feathers, as a home cured emigrant in Paddyouare far below on the 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 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 mid bedewing tears under those wild wet lashes onto anny living girl's laftercheeks. He's a jarry queer fish betimes, I grant, but, lice and all and semicoloured stainedglasses, I'm enormously full of that foreigner, I'll say I am! We're as thick and thin now as two tubular jawballs. I hate him about his patent henesy but I love him. I love his portugal's nose. There's the nasturtium for ye now that saved manny a poor sinker from water on the grave. Isn't he after borrowing all before him, touching every distinguished Irishman he could ever distinguish before or behind from a Yourishman for the customary half of a crown and peace? Brayvo, senior chief! Famose! Sure there's nobody else in
{f10, 360}
touch anysides to hold a chef's candle 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
{f39, 464}
knows I have the highest of respect and sympathrick of annyone in my oweand smooth way for that intellectual debtor David R. Crozier. The most important man! Shervos! Ho, be 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, 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 that way! He is, really. Hold hard till you hear him clicking his bull's bones! You're welcome back, Wilkins, to red berries in the frost! Hat yourself! Give us your dyed hand here, frother, where's your watch!? I'm better pleased than ten guidneys! Faith, I'm proud of you, french davit!
{f39, 465}
You've surpassed yourself! This is me aunt Julia Bride, dying to have you languish to scandal in her bosky old manor. Shervorum! You haven't seen her since she stepped into her youth's smallclothes. Don't be shy, man! She has plenty of room for the
{f10, 361}
both of us, nephews push! Hatch yourself well! Embrace her by all means and tell her in your agglutinative how I was asking after her. Sure, she fell in line with our tripertight photos when we were stabled together, hungry and angry, in the Black Watch, me and you, shinners true, and pinchme that never talked or listened. Always raving how we had the wrinkles of a snailcharmer and the slits and smellers of a fellow that fell foul of the county de Loona, and the meattrap of the first vegetarian. Take her out of pure tuppenny luck before she goes off in pure treple funk. I'd give three shillings a pullet to the canon to shadow you kissing her liberally all over as if she was a crucifix. It's good for her labials. There's nothing like the mistletouch for finding a queen's earring false. Turn around, skeezy Sammy, till we feel are you still fond of poetry! Could you wheedle a staveling encore out of your imitationer's jubalharp, hey, Mr Jinglejoys? Grunt us your foreboden article in our own dear dockandoilish introducing the death of Nelson with coloraturas! Or come on and we'll scrap and then be as chummy as two bashed spuds. Attaboy! What, sir? Taurus periculosus, morbus pediculosus. Miserere mei in miseribilibus! Begob, there's not so much green in his Ireland's eye! The
{f39, 467}
bark is still there but the molars are gone. The misery billyboots I used to lend him before we split! Areesh! Areesh! Did you note that worried 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 shamlooking leaf creeping ghastly down his blousyfrock? Areesh! He won't. He's shoy. My oldfaher's uncle that was garotted, Caius Cocoa Codinhand, 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 lobscouse. But it's all deafman's duff to me, begob. Sam knows miles better than me how to work the miracle. And I see he's dropping the stammer out of his silenced bladder since I bonded him off to try and grow a muff and canonise his dead feet down on the river airy after he earned the reputation of being swift. He'll soon tune your Erin's ear for you to read the roman while I'm far away from wherever thou art going in for my varsatile examinations. So pick your stops with fondness now. And mind you twine the two strings of your nicenames. And pull up your furbelows as farabove as you're waisthigh. His hearing is in doubting just as my seeing is on believing. So dactylise him up to blankpoint and let him blink for himself where you speak the best ticklish. Fond namer, let me never see thee blame a kiss for shame a knee!