transition proofs, 5th set, June 1928, §2C draft level 12, 12', 12'', 12'''

MS British Library 47483 228-229; 234-235; 236-237; 238-239 Draft details

Well, I hate to look at alarms but however they put on my watchcraft must now close as I hear from my seeless socks 'tis time to be up and ambling. Tempus fidgets. This shack's not big enough for me now. |12'And there's the witch on the heath, |asister sistraa|!12'| |12''Bansheebaº peeling hourihaared while her Orcotron is hoaring
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12''| |12'''And whinn |v+mittanight muinnuittºv+| flitts bittwinn her ttitts flittsbit twinn her ttittshe cries tallmidy!12'''| I'm going. I know I am. I could bet I am. Somewhere I must get, far away from Banba shore, wherever I
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am. 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, |s12bick buck bickbucks12|! Geejakers! 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? Squall aboard for Kew, hop! Farewell awhile to her and thee! The brine's my bride to be. It's nunc or nimmer, siskinder! Here goes the enemy! Bennydick hotfoots onimpudent stayers. Sorry! I bless alls to the wished with this panroman apological which Whatllwewhistlem sang to the kerrycoys. Break ranks! Fik yew! I'm through. Won. Toe. Adry. You watch my smoke.

After poor Jaun the Boast's last fireless words of his soapbox speech ending in's heaven, twentyaid add one with a flirt of wings were pouring to his bysistance but, repulsing all attempts
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at first hands on, 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 |12'''midnight meednight12'''| sunflower and splattering together joyously the pats of their tappyhands as, with a cry of genuine distress, they viewed him, the just one, their darling, away.

Eh jourd'weh! Oe jourd'woe! Dosiriously it psalmodied. Guesturn's lothlied answring to-maronite's wail.

Oasis, cedarous esaltarshoming Leafboughnoon!

Oisis, coolpressus onmountof Sighing!
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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, 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 expectoration 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 from under the shag of his parallel brows. It was then he made as if he … but he waved |s12insteads12| a hand across the sea as notice to quit while the pacifettes made their armpacts widdershins (Frida! Freda!
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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 toppled a lipple on to the off and, making a brandnew start for himself by blessing hes sthers with the sign of the southern cross, his bungaloid borsaline with the hedgygreen |s12bounds12| blew off in a loveblast and Jawjon Redhead, bucketing after, meccamaniac (the headless shall have legs!), kingscouriered round with an easy rush by the bridge beyond Ladycastle (and he narrowly missed fouling her buttress for her but for he acqueducked) and then away with him at the double, the hulk of a garron, pelting after the road on Shanks's mare, let off like a windhound 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 and a tempest of good things in packetshape teeming from all accounts into the funnel of his shrimpnet, along the highroad of the nation, Traitors' Trot, following which
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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, la garde auxiliaire, she murmured full of woe: Where maggot Harvey kneeled till bags? Ate Andrew coos hogdam farvel!

Whethen, may the good people now speed you, rural Haun, export stout fellow that you are, ay, and heart in hand of Shamrogueshire! May your bawny hair grow rarer and fairer, our own only wide-headed 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. 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! |12''(+Our Chris-na-Murty! Our Jay-le-Jeune! Our Joss-el-Jovan! Our Chris-na-Murty!+)12''| '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, |s12victimidesedly victimisedlys12| victorihoarse, dearest Haun of them all, you of the boots, true as a die, stepwalker, pennyatimer, |12'lampaddyfair. lampaddyfair, postanulengro, our rommanychiel.12'| 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! For you had — may I 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. 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, 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, after decades of
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longsuffering and decennia of briefglory, to mind us of what was when and to matter us of
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the whithering of our whys, their Janyouare Fibyouare wins true from Sylvester and (only Waltzer himself is like Waltzer, |s12whimsicalissimos12| they go murmurand) comes marching ahome on the summer crust of the flagway. Life, it is true, will be a blank without you, to nomore cares from nomad knows, a slip of the time between a date and a ghostmark|12''', rived by darby's chilldays embers, spatched fun Juhn that dandyforth,12'''| from the night we are and feel |12'''and fade with12'''| to the yesterselves we |12'''dread to remember tread to turnupon12'''|.

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. Ay, already the sombrer opacities of the gloom are sphanished! Brave footsore Haun! Work your progress! Hold to! 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, lightbreakfastbringer, morroweth whereon every |12'post past12'| shall full |12'fast fost12'| sleep. Amain.