transition proofs, 2nd set, January 1929, §3A draft level 9

MS British Library 47484b 296-329 Draft details

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Lowly, longly a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the mead of the hillock he lay, brief wallet to his side, an arm loose by his staff of citron briar, tradition stick-pass-on. Most distressfully (but, my dear, how successfully!) to wail he did, his locks of a Lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted, those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time, whiles ouze of his sidewiseopen mouth the breath of him evenso languishing as the princeliest treble treacle or lichee chewchow purse could buy. Yawn in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!) what helpings of honeyful swoothead! (phew!) which earpiercing dulcitude! As were you suppose to go and push with your bluntblank pin in hand upintohis fleshasplush cushionettes of some chubby boybold love of an angel. Hwoah!

When, as the buzzer brings the light brigade, keeping the home fires burning, so on the churring call themselves came at him, three kings of three suits and a crowner, from all their cardinal parts, along the amber way where Brosna's furzy. To lift them they did, senators four, by the first quaint skreek of the gloaming, and they hopped it up the mountainy molehill, traversing climes of old times gone by, of the days not worth remembering, inventing some excusethems, any sort, having a sevenply
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sweat of nightblues moist upon them — feefee! phopho!! foorchtha!!! aggala!!!! jeeshee!!!!! paloola!!!!!! ooridiminy!!!!!!! Afeard themselves were to wonder at the class of a crossroads puzzler he would likely be, length by breadth nonplussing his thickness, ells upon ells of him, making so many square yards of him, one half of him in Conn's half but the whole of him nevertheless in Owenmore's five quarters. There would he lay till they would him descry, spancelled down upon a blossomy bed at one foul stretch amongst the daffydowndillies, the flowers of narcosis fourfettering his footlights, a halohedge of wild spuds
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hovering over him, epicures waltzing with gardenfillers, puritan shoots advancing to Aran chiefs. Phopho!! The meteorpulp of him, the seamless rainbowpeel. Aggala!!!! His bellyvoid of nebulose with his neverstop navel. Paloola!!!!!! And his veins shooting melanite phosphor, his creamtocustard cometshair and his asteroid knuckles, ribs and members. Ooridiminy!!!!!!! His electrolatiginous twisted entrails belt.

Those four claymen clomb together to hold their sworn starchamber quiry on him. Up to the esker ridge it was, Mullingar parish, to a mead that was not far, the son's rest. First klettered Shanator Gregory, seeking spoor through the deep timefield; then Shanator Lyons, tailing the wavy line of his partition footsteps (something in his blisters was telling him all along how he had been in that place one time); then His Recordership, Dr Shunadure Tarpey, caperchasing after honourable sleep, hot on to the aniseed; and, up out of his prompt corner, old Shunny Mac, MacDougal the hiker, in the rere of them on the run to make a quorum. Roping their ass he was, their skygrey globetrotter, by way of an afterthought, and such legs on him they were that much oneven it was tumbling he was by four lengths, the big ass, to hear with his unaided ears the harp in the air, the bugle
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dianablowing, wild as wild, the mockingbird whose word is misfortune, so 'tis said, the bulbul down the wind.

The proto was traipsing through the tangle then, Mathew Walker, and his station was a few perch to the weatherside of the knoll Usnach and it was from no other place unless there, how and ever, that he proxtended aloof upon the ether Mesmer's Manuum, the hand making silence. The buckos beyond on the lea then stopped wheresoever they found their standings and that way they set watch about him, upholding their broadawake probers' hats on their firrum heads. And a crack quatyouare of stenoggers they made of themselves, solons and |s9psychomooers psychomorersºs9|, all told, with their hurts and daimons, spites and clops, not even to the seclusion of their beast by them that was the odd trick of the pack, trump and no friend of carrots. And, what do you think, who above all other persons should be laying there forenenst them only Yawn! All of asprawl he was laying too amengst the poppies and, I can tell you something more than that, drear writer, he was profoundly asleep. And it was far more similar to a satrap he lay there with unctuous beauty, by satellites all surrounded, or for whatall I know like the Lord Lumen coaching his preferred constellations in faith and doctrine, for old Matt Gregory 'tis he had the starmenagerie: Marcus Lyons and Lucas Metcalfe Tarpey and the mack that never forgave the ass that lurked behind him, Johnny na Hossaleen.

More than their good share of their five senses ensorcelled you would say themselves were, fuming censor, the way they could not rightly tell their heels from their stools, as they cooched down a mamalujo by his cubical crib to play tops or kites or hoops or marblies, curchycurchy, gawking on him for the issuance of his pnum and softnoising one of them to another one, the boguaqueesthers.
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And it is what they began to say to him then, the masters, what way was he.

— He's giving, the wee bairn. Yun has lived.

— Yerra, why dat, my leader?

— Wisha, is he boosed or what, alannah?

— Or his wind's from the wrong cut, says Ned of the Hill.

— Lesten!

— Why so and speak up, do you hear me, you, sir?

— Or he's rehearsing somewan's funeral.

— Whisht outathat! Hubba's up!

And as they were spreading abroad on their octopuds their drifter nets, the chronies, gleamy seiners' nets, and no lie, there was words of assonance being softspoken among those quartermasters.

— Get busy, kid!

— Chirpy, come now!

— The present hospices is a good time.

— I'll take on that chap.

For it was in the back of their mind's ear, temptive |s9blissomer lissomers9|, how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable net from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the |s9pugsny puisnys9| donkeyman and his crucifer's cauda. And in their minds years backslibris so it was, slipping beauty, how they would be meshing that way, when he rose to it, the quavers of scaly silver and their clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold, whilst, as hour gave way to mazing hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would and let out classy the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding mellifond indo his mouth.
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— Y!

— Before you!

— Friends. First, if yu don't mine. Name yur historical grouns.

— This same prehistoric barrow 'tis, the orangery.
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— I see. Very good now. It is in your orangery, I take it, you have your letters? Can you hear here me, you, sir?

— Thorsends. For my darling. Typette!

— So long aforetime? Can you hear better?

— Millions. For godsends. For my darling dearling one.

— Now, to come nearer zone, I would like to raise my deuterous point audibly touching this. There is this maggers. I am told by our interpreter Hanner Esellius that there are fully six hundred and six ragwords in your malherbal Magis landeguage in which wald wand rimes alpman and there is resin in all roots for monarch but yao hace not one pronounceable teerm that blows in all the vallums of Tartallaght to signify majestate even provisionally nor no rheda rhoda or torpentine path nor hallucinian via nor Aurellian gape nor |s9sunk in sunkins9| rut nor grossgrown trekk nor crimeslaved cruxway and no moorhen's cry or mooner's plankgang there to lead us to hopenhaven. Is such the unde derivatur casematter, Messio? Frankly. Megis megis inerretur mynus hoc intelleyegow.

— How? C'est mal prononsable, tartagliano, perfrances. Vos navez pas d'O dong votr boche provenciale, mousoo. Je m'incline mais Moy, jay trouvay la clee dang les champz. |s9Hay sham nap paddyº velour, come on!s9|

— Hep there! |s9Commong,º sa na pa de valure?s9| Whu's teit dans yur jambes? Whu's thot inclining and talking about the Messiah so cloover? A trues to your trefling! Whure yu?

— Trinathan Partnick Dieudonnay. Have you seen her? Typette, my tactile, O!

— Are you in your fatherick, lonely one?

— The same. Three persons. Have you seen my darling only one? I am sohohohold!

— What are yu shevering about, ultramontane, like a houn in hell? Is there cold on ye, doraphobian? Or do yu want yur primafairy schoolmam?

— The woods of Fogloot. O mis padredges!

— Whisht awhile! I know that place better than annyone. Sure,
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I used to be always over there on the fourth day at my grandmother's place in Tear-nan-Ogre with the long dogs coursing the marches. Tortoiseshell for a guineagould! Burb! Burb! Burb! Follow me up, Observer! That's the place for the oysters, Puldudy, County Gallwey. I never knew how rich I was, like another story in the zoedone of the zephyros, strolling and strolling and carrying my dragoman, Meath's marvel, thass withumpronouncable tail, along the shore. Did you know my cousin, Mr Jasper Dougal that keeps The Anchor on the Mountain, |9Jasper of the Tuns,9| Pat Whateveryournameis?

— The wolves of Fochlut! By Whydoyoucallme? Do not flingamejig to the wolves!

— Turcafiera! That's a good wan right enough! Wooluvs no less!

— One moment now, since you invocate austers. I would like to put a question. Tell me now this. You told my larned friend rather previously a moment since about this mound or barrow. Now I suggest to you that ere there was this plagueburrow, as you seem to call it, there was a burial boat. Would you bear me out in that, relatively speaking? The Frenchman, I say, was an orange boat. He is a boat. You see him. The both how you see is they! Draken af Danemork! What? Spake ab laut!

— Couch, cortege, ringbarrow, dungcairn. Beseek the runes and see the longurn. All maun away when ye hear the gonghorn. Norsker. Her raven flag was out, the slaver. I trow pon Good, Jordan's scaper, Good's Barnet and Trustyman. Crouch low, you pigeons three! Say, call that girl with the tan tress awn! Call Wolfhound! Wolf of the sea. Folchu! Folchu!

— Very good now. That's folklore straight from the ass his mouth. Now, to come to the midnight middy on this levantine ponenter, I will crusade on with the parent ship far away from those green hills. A station, Ireton tells me, bonafide for keeltappers. From Daneland sailed the oxeyed man. Now mark well what I say.

— Magnus Spadebeard, korsets krosser. Signed to me with his baling scoop. Laid bare his breastpaps to give suck, to suckle me. Ecce hagios chrisman!
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— O Jeyses' fluid! says the poisoned well. Hootchcopper's enkel!

— Hep! Hello there, Bill of Old Bailey! Whu's he? Whu's this lad wi' the pups?

— Hunkalus Childared Easterheld. It's his lost chance, Emania. Ware him well!

— Hey! Did you dream you were ating your own tripe, acushla, that you tied yourself up that wrynecky fix?

— I see now. Grimbarb and pancercrucer! You took the words out of my mouth. A child's dread for a dragon vicefather. Hillcloud encompass us! You mean you lived as Milky at their lyceum, couard, while you learned, volp volp, to howl yourself wolfwise. Dyb! Dyb! Do your best!

— I am dob dob dobbling like old boots, courteous. The cubs are after me, the whole totem pack, for Robinson's shield.

— Scents and gouspils! Find the Fingall harriers! Here, howl me wiseacre's hat till I gang die of the milkman's lupus!

— Whaat! Wolfgang! Whoah! Taalk very slowo!
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Hail him heathen, heal him holystone!
Courser, recourser, changechild, ..........
Eld as endall, earth .................

— Was this Totum Fulcrum Est Ancestor yu had in Dies Eirae where no spider webbeth or Anno Mundi ere bawds plied in Skiff Strait? Be fair, Chris!

— Dream. On a monday I sleep. I dreamt of a sunday. On a monday I shall wake. Ah! May he have now of here fearfilled me! Sinflowed, O Sinflowed! Fia! Fia! Befurcht Christ!

— I have your tristich now. It recurs in three times the same differently. And comming nown from the asphalt to the concrete, to this same vulcanised hillsir from yours (there is such a fui fui story of him), Mr Tuppling Toun of Morningside Heights, with his lavas flow and his rambling undergroands, would he reoccur ad horam as old Romeo Rogers in city or county, by, with or from an urb, an you're sure of you know the differenciabus, as brauchbarred in Apabhramsa, sierrah! We speak of Gunne, the farther. And in the locative. Bap! Bap!

— Ouer Tad, Hellig Babbau, whom certayn orbits assertant re humeplace of Chivitats Ei, Smithwick, Rhonnda, Kaledon, Salem (Mass), Childers, Argos and Duthless. Well, I am advised he might in a sense be both nevermoreless
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every atman like myself, suffix it to say. Abrahamsk and Brookbar! By him it was done bapka, by me it was gone into, to whom it will beblive, mushame, mushame! I am afraid you could not heave ahora one of your own old stepstones, barnabarnabarn, over a stumbledown wall here in Huddlestown to this classic Noctubrr night but itandthey would binge, much as vecious, off the glosshouse back of a racerider in his true-to-flesh colours, either handicapped on her flat or barely repeating himself. That is a tiptip oldy faher now, the man I go in fear of, Tommy Terracotta, and he could be all your and my das, the brodar of the founder of the father of the finder of the pfander of the pfunder of the furst man in Ranelagh. Fué! Fué!

— Breeze softly. Aures are aureas. Hau's his naun?

— Me das has or oreils. Piercey! Piercey! Piercey! Piercey!

— White eyeluscious and no hears! Muddyhorsebroth! Pig Pursy Riley! But where do we get off, chiseller?

— Haltstille, Lucas and Dublinn! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva!

— Macdougal, Atlantic City, or his onagrass that is, chuam and coughan. I would go near identifying you from your stavrotides, Jong of Maho|9, and the westariasº round your yokohahat9|. And that O'mulanchonry plucher you have from the worst curst of Ireland, Glwlwdd of the Mghtwy Grwpp, is no use to you either, Johnny my donkeyschott. Number four, fix up your spreadeagle and pull your weight!

— D'ye ken a young stepschuler of psychical chirography the name of Kevin that was shooing a Guiney gagag, Poulepinter, that foun the dogumen number one? An illegible, I suggest, downfumbed by an unelgible.

— I no way need you, stroke oar, nor your quick handles. You're too farfast a cock of the north there, Matty Armagh, and you're south so.

— South, I see. You're up-in-Leal-Ulster and I'm free-Down-in-Easia. This is much better. He is cured by faith who is sick of fate. The |9man prouts9| who will invent a writing there ultimately is the |9poeta9| still more learned who has discovered the raiding there originally. That's the point of eschatology I reach for now in soandso many counterpoint words.
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What can't be coded can be decorded if an ear aye sieze what no eye ere grieved for. Now, the doctrine obtains, we have, let me suggest, occasioning cause causing
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effects and affects occasionally recausing altereffects. Or I will take it upon myself to twist the penman's tale posterwise. The gist is the Shaum but the hand is the hand of Sameas. There is a strong suspicion on counterfeit Kevin. And we all remember ye in childhood's revery. 'Tis the bells of scandal that gave tune to grumble over him and someone between me and thee. He's our sent on the fern. He would preach to the two Turkies and dipdip all the Dindians, this master the abbey, and give gold tidings to all that are in the bonze age of anteproresurrectionism to entrust their easter uppearance to Borsaiolini's house of hatcraft. Now, have you reasonable hesitancy in your mind about him after fourpriest red mass or are you in your post? Tell me that and sans dismay. Leap, pard!

— Fierappel! Putting years on me! I'll see you moved farther, blarneying Marcantonio! We were wombful of mischief, everliking a liked. That babe, imprincipially and initiumwise, the Puer, ens innocens of but fifteen primes, ya all in your kalb lionised so trilustriously, at the real school, to be upright as his match, healtheous as is egg, saviour as the salt and good wee broad, did I altermobile him to a flare in hogsfat? Been ike hins kindergardien? I know not, O cashla, I am sure of, meis enfins, but the first mover knows by whom I came into being as to I was altered in postulance of my future state to thrice myself when I, a palegrim, received the habit and was verted and circumcissed my hairs, O laud, and removed my clothes, meas minimas culpads! If this ick crouched low in humble down dead true in the childhide mid mean scatological
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past, with my thraintropps for meye eyesalt, making so smell of myself to confess in clean of my mansuetude before him and Audeon's to mine sore what I (the person whomin I now am) did not do, how he to say essied and how he was making errant and how he all lowcutey sunt, why did you, my sexth best friend, blabber always you would be so delated to back me to Humphrey
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and Nephew, old beggelaut, for such post in his night office? And then, by Saint Momoluius, you snub round in your moving motion to the other catechumens and you say with append of signature quoniam you will celebrand my dirthdies quoniam I am twosides uppish and none meer hiber Irish. Well, before Avtokinatown, forasmuch as many have tooken in hand to, I may as well humbly correct that vespian now in case of temporalities. I've my pockets full comeplay of you laycreated cardonals, ap Rince, ap Rowler, ap Rancer, ap Rowdey! Improperial! I saved you fore of the Hekkites and you loosed me hind, blind harry, to the burghmote of Oud Dub. I teachet you in fair time, my elders, the W.X.Y.Z. and P.Q.R.S. of legatine powers and you, Ailbeybar and Ciaradeclan, I learn, episcoping me altogether, circumdeditioned me. I brought you from the loups of Lazary and you have remembered my lapsus langways. Watacooshy lot! My ruridecanal caste is a cut above you peregrines. Say voche to rumanescu. See the leabhour of my generations! I'm of the ochlocracy with Prestopher Palumbus and Porvus Parrio. Soa koa Kelly Terry per Chelly Derry lepossette. Ho, look at my jailbrand Exquovis and sequencias High marked on me fakesimilar in the foreign by Pappagallus and Pumpusmugnus. Aham! Anglicey: Eggs squawfish lean yoe nun feed marecurious!
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I can self laud nilobstat to my patrician morning coat of arms with my High tripenniferry cresta proper and caudal mottams: Itch dean! Which Gaspey, Otto and Sauer he renders: Eeho stay so! And Mind, praisegad, is the first praisonal Egoname Yod heard boissboissy in Moy Bog's domesday. Hastan the vista! Or in alleman: Suck at!

— Suck it yourself, sugarstick! Misha, Yid think whose was asking to luck at your sore toe or to taste your gaspy, hot and sour! Bo ba bi bo bum! Ichthyan! Hegoat's tosser! Gags be plebsed! Are we speechin d'anglas landage or are you sprakin sea Djoytsch? What about your thruppenny croucher of an old fellow, me boy through the ages, tell us, eh? What about Brian's the Vaunt-and-Onlieme master monk, eh, eh, Spira in Me
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Domino, spear me Doyne! Fat prize the bonafide peachumpidgeonlover, esquire earwugs, escusado, of Jenkins' Area, with his I've ivy under his tangua and the hohallo to his dullaphone, before there was, eh, eh, eh, a sound in the world? How big was his boost friend? The swaaber! The twicer! Loud's curse to him! If you hored him outerly as we harem lubberintly with his drums and bones and hums in drones, your innereer'd heerdly heer he. Ho ha hi he hung!

— Nicey Doc Mistel Lu, please! Me no angly mo. Me speakee Yellman's lingas. Me no pigey ludiments allsame numpa one Topside Tellmastoly fella. Me pigey savvy a singasong anothel time. Pleasie, Mista Lukie Walkie! Jossdam cowbellymaam belongame shepullamealalmalong, begolla, jackinaboss belongashe. Plentymuch boohoomeo.

— Hell's Confucium and the Elements! Thot's never the postal cleric!
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Halte there, sob story, to your lambdach's tale! Are yu roman cawthrick 432?

Quadrigue my yoke.
Triple my tryst.
Tandem my sire.

— Tantris, hattrick, I feel your thrillojoy. Mouth's overtspeaking hand's understudium. Plunger words what paddle verbed. Mere man is mimic: God is jest. The old order changeth and lasts like the first. Now my little psychosinology, poorarmer in slingslang. Now I am placing that initial T square upright to your temple a moment. Do you see anything, templar?

— I see a blackfrinch pliestrycook … who is carrying on his brainpan … a cathedral of lovejelly for his … Tiens, how he is like somebodies!

— What sound of tistress isoles my ear? I horizont the same J and lay it lightly to your lip a little. What do you feel, liplove?

— I feel a fine lady … floating on a stillstream of isisglass … with gold hair to the bed … and white arms to the twinklers … O la la!

— O, seay but swift and still a vain essaying! I invert the initial I of your tripartite and sign it sternly on your breast. What do you hear, breastplate?

— I ahear of a hopper behidin the door slappin his feet in a pool of bran.
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— Again am I deliciated by the picaresqueness of your irmages. Now I feel called upon to ask did it ever occur to you, qua you, prior to this, by a stretch of
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your iberborealic imagination, when it's quicker than this quacking, that you might, bar accidens, be very largely substituted in potential secession from your next life by a complementary character, voices apart? Upjack! I shudder for your thought! Think! The next |9world word9| depends on your answer.

— I'm trying to. Thogged, be thenked! I might have. I cannot say. Sometider, once or twice when I was in Odinburgh with me addlefoes, when I thinkled I wore trying on my garden substisuit, boys's apert, at my nextword nighboor's, and maybe more largely nor you, quosh you, messmate, yet realise. A few times, so to shape, as I chanced to be stretching, in the shadow as I thought, the liferight out of myself in my ericulous imagination I felt feeling a half Scotch and pottage like round my middle ageing so that I indicate out to myself and I swear my gots how that I'm not meself at all, no jolly fear, when I realise bimiselves how becomingly I to be going to become.

— O, is that the way with you, you craythur? You have all our empathies. In the becoming was the weared, wontnot? The voice is the voice of jokeup, I fear. Are you imitating Roma now or Amor now, eh, Mr Trickpat, if you don't mind, that is, answering to my straight question?

— I won't mind, this is, answering to your strict crossquests, whereas it would be as unethical for me now to answer as it would have been nonsensical for you then not to have asked. Out of my name you call me, Leelander. Same no can, home no will, gangin I am. Gengang is mine and I will return. You knew me once but you won't know me twice. I am simpliciter arduus, ars of the school, Freeday's child in loving and thieving.

— Let us hear, Art simplicissime!

— Dearly beloved brethren! Bruno and Nolan, bogholders and stationary lifepartners off orangey Saint Nessau Street, were explaining it avicendas
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all round each other ere yesterweek out of Ibn Sen and Ipanrussch. When himupon Nolan Bruno monopolises his egobruno most unwillingly senses by the mortal powers alionolan equal and opposite brunoipso, ipso, id est, eternally provoking alio opposite equally as provoked as Bruno at being eternally opposed by Nolan. Poor omniboose singalow singlearum! So is he!

— Aver who is? Ib is itsen? Or you positively mean nolans but volans, an alibi, do you, Mutemalice? Bruin goes to Noble, suffering unegoistically from the singular but enjoying, the skipgod, on the plural?

— I mean in Australian someplace my allaboy brother, Negoist Cabler of this city, expulled for looking at churches from behind, mults deeply belubdead, who is sender of the Hullo Eve Cenograph in prose and worse every Allso's night. High Brazil, Brandan's Deferred, Noughtnoughtnought. Nein. Assass. Dubbire. Starving today opening tomorrow wire splosh Cabler. Have you forgotten poor Alby Sobrinos, Geoff? Won't you join me in a small halemerry for wellmet Capeler, united Irishmen, for of his was the patriots mistaken.
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Yet be there some who mourn him and more there be that wait astand. His fuchs up the staires and the lodgers in his haires, he ought to win that V.V.C. Fullgrapce for an endupper, half muxy on his whole! Oremus poor fraternibus that he may still remain ours faithfully deported. I want to know with much thanks, here's ditto, if he lives in Austrasia or anywhere on his hooshmoney, safe and damned, or has hopped it, or who can throw any lime on the subject, my sameplace fond fosther, E. Obiit Nolan, N.S.W., off the Venerable Jerrybuilt, not belonging to these parts, who I remember ham to me, when we were like bro and sis over our castor and porridge, with his roamin I suppose a teetotum obstainer. I am no scholar but I loved that man with the moonshane in his profile. My semblabble! My freer! I call you my halfbrother because you in your soberer moments remind me deeply of my natural saywhen brothel in feed, hop and jollity, S. H. Devitt, that benighted irismaimed, who is tearly belaboured by Sydney and Alibany.

— Whoewaxed he so anguished? Was he vector victored or victim vexed?

— Way way for his wehicale! A parambolator ram into his bagsmall when he was reading alawd with two ecolites and he's been failing of that kink in his arts over sense.

— Madonagh and chiel! But who is the Nolan as appearant nominally?

— Mr Nolan is pronuminally and rereally a Mr Gottgab.

— I get it, you reeker! An untaken mispatriate! He stands pat for you before a direct object in the feminine. I see. By maiden sname. Now, I am earnestly asking you, will you just search through your gabgut memoirs for all of two minutes for this impersonating pronolan. Would it be in twofold truth a Doblinganger much about your own medium with a sandy whiskers?

— Too fullfully true! Treble Stauter of Holy Baggot, formerly Swordmeat, Street (I surpassed him lately for four and six bringing home the Christmas, as heavy as music, hand to eyes on the peer for Noel's Arch, in Blessed Foster's Place) is doing the dirty on me with his tantrums and all these godforgiven kilowatts I'd be better off without. Though she's write to him she's levt by me, Jenny Rediviva! Toot! Detter for you, Mr Nobru! Toot toot! Better for you, Mr Anol! This is the way we. Of a redtettetterday morning.
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— When your countraman is looking for righting, that is not a good sign? Not?

— I speak truly, it's not.
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— Tugbag is Baggut's. A luckchange, I see. We can cop that with our straat that is called corkscrewed. It would be the finest boulevard billy |9in Europe |afor a mile in every direction,ºa| from Lismore to Cape Brendan9|, Patrick's, if they took the bint out of the mittle of it. You told of a tryst too, two a tutu. I wonder now, without releasing seeklets of the alcove, turturs or raabraabs have I heard mention of whose name anywhere? |9Mallowlane or Demaasch?9|

Marak! Marak! Marak!
Ha drappad has draraks an Mansianhase parak
And ha had ta barraw tha watarcrass shartclaths aff tha arkbashap af Yarak!

— O Tara's thrush! The sharepusher! And he said he was only taking the grass temperature for Green Thurdsday! Who you know the musselman, his musclemum and mistlemam? Maomi, Mamie, My Mo Mum! He loves a drary lane. Feel Phylliscitations to Daff Mr Hairwigger who as just added twinned little curls! He was resting between Horrockses' sheets, wailing for white warfare, unbiassed by the embarrassment of disposal, but the first woking day in Baltic Bygrad, by Thunder, he put on
{f10, 382}
his recriution trousers and riding apron, the old soggy, was when the bold bhuoys of Iran wouldn't join up.
{f39, 492}

— How voice you that, nice Sandy man? Not large goodman is he, Sandy nice? Ask him this one minute upthrow his burly ear womit he dropped his Bass's to P flat.

— And for that he was allaughed? And then baited? The whole gammat?

— Loonacied! Marterdyed!! Madwakemiherculossed!!! Judascessed!!!! Pairaskivvymenassed!!!!! Luredogged!!!!!! And, needatellye, faulscrescendied!!!!!!!

— Dias Domnas! Dolled to dolthood? And Annie Delittle, his daintree diva, singing him rusish through the bars?

— Well, I beg to traverse same above statement inasmuch as my dodear devere revered meinhirr was confined to guardroom, I hindustand, by my pint of his Filthered pilsen's bottle which I was bringing up my quee in my sedown chair with my mudfacepacket to our aural surgeon, Afamado Doctor Achmed Borumborad, of 1001 Umbrilla Street, Alleypulley, to see what was my watergood, my mesical wasserguss, for repairs done by bollworm in the rere of pilch knickers, seven yerds to his pole on perch, property of my deeply forfear revebereared, who was costing us mostfortunes when he was sitting in dry dryfilthyheat to his Trinidad pinslers at their orpentings, entailing a laxative tendency especially with him being forbidden fruyt and certified by his sexular clergy to have emotional valvular, with a basketful of priesters crossing the singorgeous to aroint him, and thereinafter liable to succumb, when served with letters of below the belch, if my rupee ropure riputed husbandship
{f39, 493}
took a brief one in his shirtsails out of the alleged given mineral, telling me see his Sunday features of a welcomed aperrytiff (he never battered one eagle's before paying me his duty to my nil ensemble in his lazychair but he hidded up my hemifaces in all my mayarannies and he looked plum into my mirrymouth like the end of time
{f10, 383}
with the songlight's hope singling on his ruddycheeks and rawjaws) and, my charmer, when I dipped my hand in he simply showed me his propendiculous loadpoker, Seaserpents hisses Sissastones, which was as then is produced in his man's way by this wisest of the wise with the remere ramind remure remark: Lithia, as this is for Sneak

— Fantasy! Funtasy on fantasy! Amnes' fintasies! and there is nihil nuder under the clothing moon. The massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the measure by which |s9ours9| Outis cuts his thruth.

— What a surprise, dear Mr Preacher,
{f39, 494}
I to hear from your strawnummical modesty!

— Ophiuchus being visible above t'horizon, Muliercula occluded by Saturn's ring system the Pisciolinies, Nova Ardoris and Prisca Parthenopea, are a bonnie feature in the northern sky. Ers, Mores and Merkery are surgents below the rim of the Zenith Part, while Arctura, Anatolia, Hesper and Mesembria weep in their mansions over Noth, Haste, Soot and Waste.

— Holy snakes! Chase me, Charley, Eva's got barley! Under her fluencies, all in! The Ural Mount he's on the move and he'll quivvy
{f10, 384}
her with his strombolo! Creeping through the bullrusshies before the Emfang de Maurya's class in Bill Shasser's shotshrift writing academy camouflaged as a blancmange and maple syrup! Obeisance to their sitinims is the follicity of this Orp. The treadmill pebbledropper haha halfahead overground and she'd only chitschats in her spanking bee bonnetry, Allapolloosa! Up the slanger! Three cheers (and a heva heva heva!) for the name Dan Magraw!

— He will kitssle me on melbaw. I would misdemean to rebuke to the libels of snots from the fleshmarket. Two overthirties! She's askapot at Nile Lodge and she's citchincarry at the left Mrs Hamazum's. Will you warn your old habasund, barking at baggermen, his chokefull chewing his chain? Responsif you
{f39, 495}
plais. The said Sully, a barracker, the blackhand, he is Magrath's thug and smells cheaply of Power's spirits like a deepsea dibbler and he is not fit enough to throw guts down to a bear. If they cut his nose on the stitcher they had their seven good reasons. Here's to the length of my snuff and trout stocking orangefin with a mosaic of dispensations from my church milliner and a frozen black patata, when Lynch, Brother Friends and Company is prepared to stretch him sacred by the starlight. Inasmuch as I am delightful to be able to state that a handsome sovereign was freely pledged in their pennis in the sluts maschine, alonging with a cherrywickerkishabrack under Shadow La Rose, to both lady performers of display unquestionable, Elsebett and Marryetta Gunning, by that noblesse of
{f10, 385}
leechers at his Saxon tannery with motto, O'Neill Saw Queen Molly's Pants, and much admired engraving meaning complete manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief mergey margey magistrades, five itches above the kneecap, as required by statues. If you won't release me stop to please me up the leg of me. Now you see! Respect. Your wife. Amn. Anm. Amm. Ann.

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Sure, that old humbugger was boycotted and girlcutted in debt and doom, on hill and haven, as I'm given now to understand. Illscribed in the gratuitouses and conspued in the takeyourhandaways. Bumbty Tumbty Sot on a Wall. Mute art for the Million. There wasn't an archimandrite of Dane's Island and the townland's tropics nor a minx from the Isle of Woman nor a one of the four cantins nor any on the whole wheel of his ecunomical counciliabulum nor nogent ingen meid on alled the holed scarface of the jorth would come next or nigh him or his allgas bumgalowre, Auxilium Meum Solo A Domino (Amsad), for rime or rota after that.

— Or, but, now, and, ariring out of her mirgery margery and, to change the subjunct for a once in a while and darting back to stuff, that fluctuous neck merchantur, bloodfadder and milkmudder, since there are too many of her, Abha na Lifé, and getting on to dadaddy again, as them we're ne'er free of, was he in tea e'er he went on the bier or didn't he ontime do something seemly heavy in sugar? He sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird's unbespokables in his beak and then he sent out Le Caron Crow and the peacies are still looking for him. Speak to the right! Rotacist ca |9anny canny9|! If there is a future in every past that is present Quis est qui non novit Quinnigin and Qui quwere quot at
{f39, 497}
Quinnigain's Quake?

— Arra irraha hirarra, man, weren't they arriving in clansdestinies for the Oructions of the Ad Regias Agni Dapes, fogabawlers in all their centuries, after the crack and the lean years, scalpjaggers with houthheadhunters, like the messiats of the great god, a scarlet trainful, the Twoedged Petrard, totalling, leggats and prelaps, in their aggregate ages two and thirty plus undecimmed centries of them, with tuitifruities, insiders and extraomnes allcunct, from Rathgar, Rathangan, Roundtown and Rush, from America Avenue and Asia Place and the Afrian Way and Europa Parade and besogar the walds of Noo Souch Wilds, and from Vico, Mespil, Rock and Sorrento, for the lure of his weal and the fear of his |s9oppedemic oppidumics9|, to his salon de espera in the keel of his kraal, like lodes of ores flocking fast to Mount Maximagnetic, afeerd |9was he he was9| a gunner but affaird to stay away, Merrionites, Dumstdumbdrummers and Luccanicans, Ashtowners, Battersby Parkes and Krumlin Boyards, Phillipsburgs, Cabraists and Finglossies, Ballymunmen, Raheniacs and the bettlers of Clontarf, for to contemplate in manifests and pay their firstrate duties before the both of him, twelve stone a side, with their Thieve le Roué! and their Shvr yr Thrst! and their Uisgue ad Inferos! and their Usque ad Ebbraios! at and in the licensed boosiness premises of his delhightful bazar and reunited magazine hall, by the magazine wall, Hosty's and Co, Exports, for his five hundredth and sixtysixth bortday the Grand Old Magennis Mor, Parsee and Rahli, taker of the tributes, their Rinseky Poppakork and Piowtor the Grape, holding Dunker's durbar, boot kings and indiarubber umpires and shawhs from Paisley and muftis in muslim and sultana reiseines and jordan almonders and a row of jam sahibs and an odd principeza in her pettedcoat and the queen of knight's clubs and the Claddagh ringleaders and the two salaames and the Halfa Ham and the Hanzas Khan with two fat maharashers and the German selver geyser, and he polished up, protemptible, tintinabulating to himsilf so silfrich. And there was J. B. Dunlop, the
{f39, 498}
best tyrent of ourish times, and a swanks of French wine stuarts and Tudor keepsakes and the Cesarewitch for the current counter, Leodegarius Sant Legegleger, riding lapsaddlelonglegs up the oakses staircase on muleback, like Amaxodios Isteroprotos, hindquarters to the fore and kick to the lift, and he handigrabbed on to his trulley natural anthem, Horsibus, keep your tailyup, and as much as the halle of the vacant throneroom, Oldloaf's Buttery, could safely accommodate of the houses of Orange and Bitters M.P., permeated by Druids D.P. and Brehons B.P. and Flawhoolaghs F.P. and Agiapommenites A.P. and Antepummelites P.P. and Ulster Kong and Munster's Herald with
{f10, 387}
Athclee Ensigning and Athlone Poursuivant and his Imperial Catchering, his fain awan, and his gemmynosed sanctsons in epheud and ordilawn and his diamondskulled granddaucher, Adamantaya Liubokovskva, all murdering Irish, amok and amak, out of their boon companions in paunchjab and dogril and pammel and gougeroutty after plenty of his fresh stout and his good balls of malt, socialising and communicounting for to nobble or salvage their herobit of him, the poohpooher old bossaloose, with his arthurious |s9blank clayrosess9|, Dodderick Ogonoch Wreck, busted to the wurrld at large, lying high as he lay in all dimensions on the table round in court dress and ludmers chain, as true as the Vernons have Brian's sword, with the floodlight switched back and a dozen and one tilly candles round in ringcampf, and with a hogo, fluorescent, round him like an Italian warehouse, erica's clustered on his hayir, the spectrum in his prisent mocking the candiedights of his dadtid, bagpuddingpodded to his deafspot, with his buttend up, expositoed for sale after referee's inspection, bulgy and blowrious, bunged to ignorious, healed, cured and
{f39, 499}
embalsamate, most highly astounded, as it turned up, at thus being reduced to nothing.

(9— And all his morties calisenic, tripping a trepas, neniatwantyng:º Mulo Mulelo! Homo Humilo! Dauncy a deady O! Dood dood dood! O Bawse! O Bawse!º O Muerther! O Mord! Mahmato! Moutmaro! O Smirtsch! O Smertz! Woº Hillill! Waº Hallall! Thou Thuoni! Thou Thaunaton! Umartir! Udamnor! Tschitt! Mergue! Eulumu! Huam Khuam! Malawinga! Malawunga! Ser Oh Ser! See ah See! Hamovs! |s+Hamoves Hemovess+|! Mamor! Rockquiemº eternuel give donal aye in dolmeny! Bad luck's perpepperpot loosen his eyis! (Psich!)º9)

— God save you king! Master of the Hidden Life!

— God serf yous kingly! And, your saouls to the dhaoul, do ye. Finnk. Fime. Fudd?

— D'yu mean to set there where y'are now, wi' that bizaar tongue in yur
{f10, 388}
tolkshap, Sorley boy, repeating yurself like a muck in a market with your hindies and shindies, and tell me that?

— I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, like a sleepingtop, with all that's buried ofsins insince insensed insidesofme. If I can't upset this pound of pressed ollaves I can sit up zounds of sounds upon him.

— Oliver! He may be an earthpresence. Was that a groan or did I hear the Dingle bagpipes? Wasting war and. Watch!

Tris tris a ni ma mea! Prisoner of Love! Bleating Hart! Lowlaid Herd! Aubain Hand! Wonted Foot! Usque! Usque! Usque! Lignum in

— Is the world moving mound or what babel is this, tell us?

— Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe whoishe whoishe?
{f39, 500}

— Lay yer lug till the groun man. They're playing thimbles and bodkins. Clan of the Gael! Hep! Whu's within?

— Dovegall and finshark they are. Ring to the rescue!

Zinzin. Zinzin.

Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!

We'll gore them and gash them and gun them and gloat on them.


— O, widows and orphans, it's the yeomen! Redshanks for ever! Up Lancs!

— The cry of the roedeer it is! The white hind! Their slots, linklink. The hounds hunt horning! Send us peace! Title! Title!

Christ in our Irish times! Christ on the airs' independence! Christ hold the freedman's chareman! Christ light the dully expressed!

Slog and sluaghter! Rape the daughter! Choke the pope!

Awe! Cloudy father! Unsure! Nongood!


Sold! I am sold! My ersther! My sidster! Brinabride, goodbye! Brinabride! Us! Us!

Pipette dear! I sold! Me! Me!

Fort! Fort! Bayroyt! March!

Me! I'm true. True! Isolde! Pipette, my precious!


Brinabride, get my price! Brinabride!

My price, my precious?


Brinabride, my price! When you sell get my price!
{f10, 389}


Pipette! Pipette, my priceless one!

O! Mother of my tears! Believe for me! Fold thy son!

Zinzin. Zinzin.

— Now we're gettin it. Hello!
{f39, 501}


— Hello! Tittit! Tell your title?


— Hellohello! Ballymacarett! Am I thru, miss?

True! Iss!

— Tit! What is the ti...?


— Now, just permit me a moment. Clear the line, priority call! Sybil! Better that or this? Sybil Head this end! Better that way? Yes. Very good now. Do you remember a particular lukesummer night following a crying fair day? Moisten your lips and begin again. Better?

— Well.

— There were fires on every bald hill in holy Ireland that night. Better so?

— You may say they were, son of a cove!

— Were they bonfires? That clear?

— No other name would at all befit them unless that. Bonafieries! With their blue beards streaming to the heavens.

— Was it a high white night now?

— Whitest night mortal ever saw.

— Lewd's carol! Was there rain by any chance, mistandew?
{f39, 502}

— Plenty.
{f10, 390}

— There fell some fall of littlewinter snow, holy-as-ivory, as well, I gather, jesse?

— The nicest at all. In hilly-and-even zimalayars.

— Did it not blow some gales, westnass or ostscent, rather strongly to less?

— Out of all jokes it did. Lieto galumphantes!

— Do you happen to recollect whether Muna, that highlucky nackt, was shining at all?

— Sure she was, my darling!

— Quando? Quonda? Go datey!

— Latearly! Latearly! Latearly! Latearly!

|9That was latterlig certainly.9| And was there frostwork about and airsighs and hellstohns and flammballs and vodashouts and thick weather, soon calid, soon frozen, and hice and a boatshaped blanket of bruma and everything?

— There was, so plays your Ahrtides. Absolutely boiled. Obsoletely cowled. Cold on warm but moistly dry. All in humours out of turn, jusse as they rose and sprungen. Julie and Lulie at their parkiest.

— And the firmness of the formous of the famous of the fumous of the first fog in Maidanvale?

— Catche catche and couchamed.

— One expects that kind of rimy feeling in the sire season?

— One certainly does. Desire, for hire, would tire a shire, phone, phunkel or wire. And mares.

— I see. Now do you know the wellknown kikkenmidden where the illassorted first couple first met with each other? The place where Ealdarmann Fanagan? The time when Junkermenn Funagin?
{f10, 391}

— Deed then I do. W.K.

— Is it a place fairly exspoused to the four last winds?

— Well, I faithly sincerely believe so indeed, if all what I hope to charity is half true.

— Is it Woful Dane Bottom?

— It is woful in need whatever about anything else.

— There used to be a tree there stuck up?

— There used, sure enough. And the crandest consecrated maypole in all the reignladen history of Wilds. Squiremade and damesman of plantagenets, high and holy!

— What was it doing there, for instance?

— Standing foreninst us.

— You saw it visibly from your hidingplace?

— No. From my invisibly lyingplace.

— And you then took down in stereo what took place being tunc committed?

— I then tuk my takenplace lying down, I thunk I told you. Solve it!

— Remounting aliftle towards the ouragan of spaces, just how grand in cardinal rounders is this preeminent giant, Sir Arber? Your bard's highview, avis on valley! I would like to hear you burble to us in strict conclave, purpurando, and without too much italiote interfairance what you know in petto about our sovereign beingstalk, Tonans Tomazeus. O dite!
{f10, 392}

— Corcor Andy, udite, udite! Your Ominence, Your Imminence and delicted fraternitree! There's Tuodore queensmaids and Idahore shopgirls and they woody babies growing upon her and bird flamingans sweenyswinging fuglewards on the tipmast and Orania epples playing hopptociel bommptaterre and Tyburn fenians snoring in his quicken bole and crossbones strewing its holy floor and culprinse of Erasmus Smith's boys with their underhand leadpencils climbing to her crotch for the origin of spices and charlotte darlings with silkblue askmes chattering in dissent to them and the Killmaimthem pensioners chucking overthrown milestones up to her to fall her cranberries for their unnatural refection and cock robins muchmore hatching most out of his missado eggdrazzles for him, the sun and moon pegging honeysuckle and white
{f39, 505}
heather down and tomtits tapping resin there and tomahawks watching tar elsewhere, creatures of the wold approaching him, hollow mid ivy, for to claw and rub, hermits of the desert barking their infernal shins over her triliteral roots and his acorns and pinecones shooting wide on all sides out of him after the truants of the air and her leaves, my darling dearest, sinsinsinning since the night of time and each and all of their branches meeting and shaking twisty hands all over again in their new world. And encircle him circuly. Evovae!

— I've got that now. |s9Finenight Finights9| mens midinfinite true. The form masculine. The gender feminine. I see. Now, are you derevatov of it yourself in any way? The true tree, I mean. Let's hear what science has to say, pundit-the-next-best-king.

— Upfellbowm.

— Now you are nearer the mark, Lansdowne Road. She's threwed her pippin's thereabouts and they've cropped up teeth on edge. Now, follow the spotlight, please! Are you acquainted with a pagany better known as Toucher Thom who is? I suggest Finglas as his habitat. Consider yourself on the stand now and watch your words, take my advice. Let your motto be: Inter nubila numbum.

— Never you mind about my mother or her hopitout. I consider, if I did, I would feel frightfully ashamed of admired vice.

— He is a man of around fifty, struck on Anna Lynsha's Pekoe with milk and whisky, who does messages. Have you ever heard of this old boy Thom who belongs to Kimmage, a crofting district, and is not all there, and is all the more to himself since he is not so, being most of his time down at the Green Man with the coat on him skinside out against rapparitions and systematically mixing with the public going for groceries, slapping greats and littlegets soundly with his cattegut belts and waltzywembling about in his accoutrements always in font of the tubbernickels, like a longarmed lugh, when he would be finished with his tea? Crazy, isn't that?

— Is it that fellow? As mad as the brambles he is. Touch him. O wait till I tell you!

— We are not going yet.

— And look here! Here's what he done!

— Get out! You're not! Unhindered and odd times? Mere thumbshow? Lately?

— How do I know? Ask the horneys.

— Now, just wash and brush up your memoirias a little bit. So I find, referring to the pater of the present man, I am wondering to myself in my mind was Toucher, a methodist, whose name is not really Thom, was this old son of a century from Batterstown, Shivering William, wearing false clothes of a brewer's grains pattern with back buttons with his motto on, Yule Remember, ostensibly for that occasion only of the Twelfth Day Pax and Quantum wedding, I'm wondering.

— I bet you are. Well, he was wandering, give him his due, in his mind too, whatever was his matter, for I am sorry to have to tell you, hullo and evoe, they were coming down from off him.

— How culious an epiphany! Hodie casus esobhrakonton?

— It looked very like it.

— And were P and ꟼ, Clopatrick's cherierapest, mutatis mutandis, in pretty much the same pickle?

— Prettiest pickling of mute aunties I ever bopeeped at.

— Were they now? And were they watching you as watcher as well?
{f39, 509}

— They were watching the watched watching. Vechers all.

— Good. Now, retouching friend Tomsky, did you gather much from what he let drop? We are sitting here for that.

— I was rooshian mad, no lie.

— I suspect you must have been.

— But I was dung sorry for him too.

— O Schaum! Not really? Were you sorry you were mad with him then?

— When I tell you I was rooshiamarodnimad with myself altogether, so I was, for being sorry for him.

— So?

— Absolutely.
{f10, 396}
{f39, 510}

— The tail as you tell it nearly takes your own breath away. How many were married amid that top of all strapping mornings, my good watcher?

— That'd be telling.

— Everybody in the leather world was thomistically drunk, two by two, trou Normend fashion, I have been told, down to the clorks? A few plates were being thrown about for the ehren of Fyn's |s9Insel Insul,ºs9| and then followed that wapping breakfast at the Heaven annd Covenant, eh? Would that be a talltale too?

— Well, naturally he was. Whiskway and mortem! But the
{f10, 397}
right reverend priest, Mr Hopsinbond, and the reverent bride eleft, Frizzy Fraufrau, were sober enough.
{f39, 511}

— I think you're wrong there about the right reverence. Magraw was best wedding man, papers before us carry. You saw him hurriedly, or did you, if that seme's not irrelevant? With Slater's hammer, perhaps? Or he was in serge?

— I horridly did. On the stroke of the dozen. I'm sure I'm wrong but I heard the irreverend Mr Magraw, in search of a stammer, kuckkuck kicking the bedding out of the old sexton, Red Fox-Goodman, around the sacristy while I and flood and the other men was gickling his missus to gaggles in the hall, the divileen, with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach.

— In epexegesis or on a point of order?

— I think it was about a pint of porter.
{f39, 512}

— Lollgoll! You don't soye so! All upsydown her whole creation? So there was nothing serical between you? And Drysalter, father of Izod, how was he now?

— In the pink, man, like an allmanox. Squeezing the life out of the liffey.

— The must of his glanzfull coaxing the beam in her eye?

— Aye aye, she was lithe and pleasable.

— Date as?

— A laughin hunter and Purty Sue.

— And crazyheaded Jorn?

— Fluteful as his orkan.

— And Jambs, of Delphin's Bourne?

— Dancing like an easter sun round the colander.

— And whit what was Lillabil Issabil, maideve, maid, at?

— Trists and thranes and trinies and traines.

— The quobus quartet were there too, if I mistake not, well to the fore, in an amnessy meeting, metandmorefussed to decide whereagainwhen to meet themselves, mastersinging always with that consecutive fifth of theirs, eh?
{f39, 514}

— You've said it! They were simple scandalmongers! Normand, Desmond, Osmund and Kenneth. Making history all over the show!

— You are sure it was not a rebel's redding or a winker's wake you were at?

— Precisely.

— Flood's. The pinkman, the squeeze, the pint with the kick. He was culping for penance while you were ringing his belle. Did the kickee, Goodman roed Fox, say anything important? Mmm?

— Nnn ttt wrd.

Fortitudo eius rhodammum tenuit?

— Five maim! Or something very similar.

— That sounds an isochronism. But it is good laylaw. We may take those wellmeant kicks for free granted. Happily you were not quite so successful in the process verbal whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical suppressions, it seems?

— What was that?

— Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the answer. I'm not giving you a short question.

— Quite so.

— Now, not to mix up, cast your eyes around Capel Court. I want you, witness, to reconstruct for us as briefly as you can, inexactly the same as a mind's eye view, how these funeral games took place.

— Which? Sure I told you that afoul.

— Well, tell it to me befair in that bamboozelem mincethrill voice of yours. Let's have it, christie!

— Ah, sure, I eyewitness forget. 'Tis all round me bebattersbid hat.
{f10, 401}

— Ah, go on now, Masta Bones, with your impendiments and your parrotricks! Blank memory of darky in blued suit. You were ever the gentle poet. Be nice about it! Look chairful!

— Faith, then, Meesta Cheeryman, first he come up Badgeler's rake with a cock on his Tattersall, and the horrid contrivance as seen above, dragging his feet in the usual course and was ever so naas telling him clean his nagles and fox himself up and so on and so fort and to take the coomb to his grizzlies and hang me if he wasn't wanting his calicub body back before he'd to take his life or so save his life. Then, begor, counting as many as thirty seconds with his pocket browning, like I said he kept forecursing at him, foul Fanden, for the key of John Dunn's field fore it war for sent and the way Montague was robbed and wolfling to know all what went off and who burned the hay, perchance wilt thou say, which the man, who was raging with the thirst and who, so far as him was concerned, was only standing to the corner of Turbot Street, pupparing to spit, wanting to know whelp the henconvention he wanted with him, knew nothing about.

— A sarsencruxer, moor and burgess medley? In other words, was that how in the annusual curse of things their celicolar subtler angelic warfare or photoplay finisterr started?
{f39, 517}

— Truly. That I may never!

— Did one scum in the auradrama, the deff, then mention sleeply to the other undesirable, a dumm, upon the resume after the angelus, that for his deal he was a pigheaded Swede and to wend himself to a medicins?
{f10, 402}

— To be sore he did, the huggornut! Only it was turniphodded dunce and he would blow him off the Green.

— Did Box then try to shine his puss?

— No, but Cox did to shin the punman.

— That forte Carlysle touch breaking the Campden's pianoback.

— Are you of my meaning that would be going on to about half noon, pip emma, Greenwicker time, by your querqcut quadrant?

— You will be asking me and I wish to Higgins you wouldn't. Would it?

— Let it be twelve thirty after a somerswatch of the tardest?

— And it was eleven thirsty too befour in a sowandsuch, reloy on it!

— By which of your chronos, my man of four watches? Larboard, starboard, dog, or death?
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— You can imagine!

— Will you swear all the same you saw their shadows struggling diabolically over this, that and the other, their virtues pro and his principality con, near The Ruins, Drogheda Street, and kicking up the devil's own dust for the Milesian wind?

— I will. I did. They were. I swear. Like the heavenly militia. With my tongue through my toecap on the headlong stone of kismet if so 'tis the will of Whose B. Dunn.

— They must have put in some wonderful work on the quiet like. Dost thou not think so?

— Ay.
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— In the beginning was their war? They were only berebelling or bereppelling one another by chance or necessity with sham bottles, mere and woiney, like their caractacurs in an irish Roman, as betwinst Picturshirts and Scutticules, to sorrowbrate the expeltsion of the Danos? What sayest thou?

— That's all. Farcing gutterish.

— I mean the Morgans and the Dorans.

— I know you do.

— The mujic of the footure on the barbarihams of the bashed?

— Da.

— All the same you sound it 'twould clang howlish like Hull hopen for Christmians?
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— But 'twill cling hellish like engels opened to neuropeans, if you've sensed whole the sum.

— And this pootsch went on, hog and minne, night after larry's night, ormonde caught butler, |9the artillery of |aheaven the O'Heffernsºa| answering the cavalry of the MacClouds,9| fortey and more fortey, a thousand and one times, according to your cock and a biddy story? Lludi llongi, for years and years perhaps?

— That's ri. This is his largos life, this is me timtomtum, and this is her two peekweeny ones. From the last finger on the second foot of the fourth man to the first one on the last one of the first. That's right.

— Finny. Vary vary finny!

— It may look funny but fere it is.

— This is not guid enough. Didget think I was asleep at the wheel? D'yu mean to tall grand jurors of Thathens of Tharctic on yur oath, me lad, and ask us to believe with yur last foot foremouthst, that yur moon was shining on the tors and on the cresties and winblowing night after night, for years and years perhaps, after yu swearing to it a while back before yur Corth examiner, Markwalther, that there was reen in planty all the teem?

— Perhaps so, as you grand duly affirm. I never thought over it, faith. I must certainly think about it. I hope. It would be a charity for me to think about something. It was told me by a friend of myself, Tarpey, after three o'clock mass that some rain was promised to Mrs Lyons, the invalid, of Aunt Tarty Villa, and he told me as what's follows. He
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was doing a walk, says she, in the feelmick's park, says he, like a tarrable Turk, says she, letting loose on his nursery and, begalla, he met Mr Michael Clery of a Tuesday who said Father MacGregor was desperate to the bad place about thassbawls and all the stairrods and thinconvenience being locked up for months, owing to being putrenised by stragglers abusing the apparatus, and for Tarpey to go to the tumple and see Father MacGregor and he was to saluate that clergyman and to tell his holiness about the three shillings in the confusional and to say how Mrs Lyons, the cuptosser, was the infidel who promised to post three shillings off her tocher from Paraguais to Mr Martin Clery for Father Mathew to put up a midnight mask on Saints Withins of a Thrushday and albs by the yard for all the nuisances committed by soldats and nonbehavers and missbelovers and for N. D. de l'Ecluse to send more heehaw hell's flutes, my prodder again! And I never brought my cats' and dogs' blanket! Foueh!

— Quatsch! What hill are yu fluking about, ye lame fyats? I'll discipline ye! Will yu swear or affirm the day to yur second sight noo and recant that all yu affirmed and swore to at first sight for his southerly accent was all paddyflaherty? Will ye, ay or nay?
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— Ay. I affirmly swear to it that it roolly and coolly was with my holyhagionous lips continuously poised upon the rubricated Annuals of Saint Ulstar!

— That's very guid of ye, R.C! Maybe yu wouldn't mind talling us, my labbrose lad, how very much bright cabbage or
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papermint comfirts d'yu draw for all yur swearin?

— There you have me! Vurry nothing, O potators, I call it, for I might as well tell Yous Essexelcy the Golden Bridge's truth. It amounts to nada in pounds or pence. Not a glass of Lucan nor as much as the costprice of a highlandman's trousertree or the three crowns round your draphole (isn't it disgusting?) for the whole dumb plodding thing!

— Come on now, johnny! We weren't born yesterday. Pro tanto quid retribuamus? I ask you to say you were promised some staggerjuice on strip or in larges at the Raven and Sugarloaf, either Jones's lame or Jamesy's gait, anyhow?

— Yes, by the way. How very necessarily true! When?

— How would yu like to hear yur right name now, my tristy minstrel, if yur not freckened of frank comment?

— Not afrightened of Frank Annybody.

— Will you repeat that to me outside?

— I will when it suits me.

— Guid! We make fight! Raddy?

— But no, from exemple! What mean you? Tell Queen's Road I am seilling. Buy!
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— Ef I chuse to put a bullet like yu through the grill for heckling, what business is that of yours, yu bullock?

— I don't know, sir. Don't ask me, your honour!

— Gently, gently, Northern Ire! Glove that red hand! Let me once more. There are sordidly tales within tales, you clearly understand that? Now my other point. Did you know, whether by melanodactylism or purely libationally,
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that one of these two Crimeans with the fender, the taller man, was accused of a certain offence or of a choice of two serious charges, if you like it better that way? You did, you rogue, you?

— You hear things. Besides (and serially now) bushes have eyes, don't forget. Hah!

— Which moral turpitude would you select of the two, for choice, if you had your way? Playing bull before shebears or the hindlegs off a clotheshorse? Did any orangepeelers or greengoaters appear periodically up your sylvan family tree?

— Buggered if I know! It all depends on how much family silver you want for a nass-and-pair. Hah!

— What do you mean, sir, behind your hah?

— Nothing, sir. Only a bone moving into place. Hahah!

— Whahat?

— I didn't say it aloud, sir. It was something inside of me talking to myself.

— You're a nice third-degree witness, faith! Do you think we are tonedeafs in our noses to boot? Can you not distinguish the sense, prain, from the sound, bray? You have homosexual cathexis of empathy between narcissism of the exvert and steatopygic invertedness. Get yourself psychoanalysed!

— O begor, I want no expert nurse's symaphy and I can psoako-onaloose myself any time I want without your interferences or any other pigeonstealer.
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— 'Sample! 'Sample!

— Have you evew weflected, wepowtew, that the evil, what though it was willed, might nevewtheless lead somehow on to good towawd the genewality?

— A pwopwo of haster meets waster and talking of plebiscites by a show of hands, whether declaratory or effective, in all seriousness, has it become to dawn in you yet that the deponent, the man from Saint Yves, may have been (one is reluctant to use the passive voiced), may be been as much sinned against as sinning, for if we look at it verbally perhaps there is no true noun in active nature where every bally being (please read this mufto) is becoming in its owntown eyeballs? Now, the long form and the strong form and reform alltogether!

— Hotchkiss Culthur's Everready, own brother to Neverreached, well over countless hands, sieur of many winners and losers, groomed by S. Samson and Son, bred by Dilalahs, will stand at Bay (Dublin) from nún till dán and vites inversion and at Miss or Mrs McMannigan's Yard.
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— Perhaps you can explain, sagobean?

— Pro |s9generals9| continuation and in |s9particulars9| explication to your |s9singulars9| interrogation our asseveralation. Ladiesgent, me and Frisky Shorty, my inmate friend, as is uncommon struck on poplar poetry, and a few fleabesides round at West Pauper Bosquet was just arguing friendlylike at the Doddercan Easehouse over the old party and his moral turps, meaning flu, pock, pox and mizzles, grip, gripe, gleet and sprue, caries, rabies, mumps and dumps. What me and Frisky |s9and the whole double gigscrews9|, not to say the burman, having successfully concluded our tour of bibel, wants to know is thisahere. Supposing him, which the findings showed, to have taken his epscene licence before the Norsect's divisional respectively as regards them male Middlesex privates and or concomitantly with all common or neuter respects to them
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public Exsess females as was very properly detained by the metropolitan in connection with this regrettable nuisance, touching arbitrary conduct, being in strict contravention of schedule in board of forests and works bylaws regulationing sparkers' and succers' amusements section of our beloved naturpark in pursuance of which police agence me and Shorty have approached a reverend gentleman of the name of Mr Coppinger with reference to a piece of fire fittings as was most obliging in this matter of his explanations|s9, affirmative,º negative and limitative,s9| given to me and Shorty, touching what the good book says of toooldaisymen, concerning the merits of early bisectualism, besides him citing example given by a valued friend of the name of Mr J. P. Cockshott as owns a pretty maisonette, Quis ut Deus, fronting on to the |s9Sowsex Soussexºs9| Bluffs as was telling us |s9categorics9| how Mr Cockshott, as he had his assignation with, present holder by deedpoll and indenture of the swearing belt, he tells him |s9hypothetics9|, the reverend Mr Coppinger, as how he reckons himself |s9disjunctivelys9| up to a dozen miles of a cunifarm school of herring passing themselves supernatantly by the Bloater Naze from twelve and them mayriding him by the silent hour. Butting, charging, bracing, backing, springing, shrinking, swaying, darting, bucking, shooting and sprinkling their dossies sodouscheock with the twinx of their taylz. And, reverend, he says, |s9summat problematical,s9| by yon socialist sun, gut me, but them errings was as gladful as Wissixy kippers could well be considering, flipping their little coppingers, pot em, the fresh little flirties, the dirty little gillybrighteners, pickle their spratties, the little smolty gallockers, and, reverend, says he, |s9more assertitoff,s9| zwelf me Zeus,
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says he, lettin olfac be the extench of the supperfishies, lamme the curves of their scaligerance and pesk the everurge flossity of their pectoralium, them little salty populators, says he, |s9most apodictic,ºs9| as sure as my briam eggs is on cockshot under noose, all them little upanddowndippies they was all of a libidous pickpuckperty and raid on a wriggolo finsky doodah in testimonials to their early bisectualism. Watsch yourself tillicately every morkning in your bracksullied twilette. The use of cold water may be warmly recommended for the sugjugation of cungunitals loosed.

— Ta hell and Barbados wi' ye and yer coprulation! Pelagiarist! Y'are obsexed, so y'are, with macroglosia and mickroocyphyllicks!

— Wait now, Leixlip! I don't follow you that far. Was it esox lucius now or salmo ferax? You are taxing us into the driven future, are you not, with this fishery.

— Gubbernathor! Spawning all over his seven parish churches!

— Lift it now, Hosty! Hump's your mark! Es hit neat zoo?

There's an old psalmsobbing lax salmoner Fogeyboren Herrin Plundehowse

Who went floundering with his boatloads of spermin spunk about

Leaping freck after every long tom and wet lizzy between Howth and Humbermouth.

Our Human Conger Eel!

— Hep! I can see him in the fesh! Up wi' yer whippy! Hold that lad! Play him! Bullhead!

— Pull you, sir! Olive quill does it. Longeel of Malin, he'll cry before he's flayed. Did a rise? Way, lungfish!

— He missed her mouth and stood into Dee??

— No, he skid like a skate and berthed on her byrnie and never a fear but they'll
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land him yet, Slitheryscales on liffeybank, times and times and a half a time with a pillow of sand to polster him.
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Do you say they will? I bet you they will. Among the shivering sedges so? Weedywaving. Or tulipbeds of Rush below.

— Grenadiers. And tell me now. Were these anglers or angelers coexistent and compresent with or without their tertium quid?

Three in one, one and three,

Shem and Shaun and the shame that sunders em,

Wisdom's son, folly's brother.

— God bless your ginger, wigglewaggle! That's three slots and no burners. You're forgetting the jinnyjos for the fayboys. What, Walker Johnny Referent?

|9Woe on woe, says Wardenº Daly.9| |9Yes, sure Sure9| I thought it was larking in the clover of the furry glans with two stripping baremaids, Stilla Underwood and Moth McGarry, he was, hand to dagger, that time. And their mother a rawknees pudsfrowse, I was given to understand, begum. There was that one that was always mad gone on him, her first king of cloves, in Carrick-on-Shannon, county Leitrim. Sure she was near drowned in coldstreams of admiration for herself, making faces at her lakest likeness in the brook after, all tossed as she was, the playactrix!

— Listen, meme mearest! Am so sorry you lost him, poor lamb! Of course I know you are a very wicked girl. And it was a very wrong thing to do, dare all grandpassia! And your soreful miseries first come on you. Still, everyboy knows you do look lovely, Eulogia, a perfect apposition with the coldcream, Assoluta from Boileau's, I always use in the wards after I am burned a rich egg and derive the greatest benefit, sign of the cause! My, you do! Simply adorable! The way they taper! Handsome in a way, only my arms are whiter, dear, under new charmeen cuffs. I am more divine like that when I've two of everything. Whitehands, idler. Fairhair, frail one. Listen, meme sweety! O be joyfold! My veil will save it undyeing from his etnernal fire! It's meemly us two, meme, idoll. Of course it was downright vicked of him, reelly, meeting me disguised, Bortolo mio, in his storm collar, with my dovebirds, my colombinas. Even Netta and Linda, our |s9seeyfu seeyus9| tities, said their sinsitives shrinked, and they've sin sumtim, tankus! My rillies were |v9blank liebeneaus,v9| my |v9uftscent's musk aftscents embrev9|. Peerfectly appealling, D.V. How me adores eatsother simply (Mon Ishebeau! Ma Reinebelle!) as I leaned yestreen from his muskished blesbless lips. Even my little pom |s9gets gots9| excited when I turned his head on his same manly bust and kissed him more. Only he might speak to a person, lord, |9so picious,9| taking up my worths ill wrong! May I introduce? This is my futuous loveliast. Lips and looks lovely. Still, me with you, you poor chilled, will make it up in the moontime with Mother Concepcion and a glorious lie between us,
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sweetness, so as not a novene in all the convent, for mercy's sake, need ever know what's past our lips. Yes, sir, we'll will! Clothe |9the a9| wind! Fee O Fie! Covey us niced! Bansh the dread! Alitten's looking. Low him lovly. Make me feel good! It will all take bloss as oranged by my historiennes at Saint Audien's rosan chocolate chapelry with my diamants blickfeast after at minne owned hos and Father blesius Mindelsinn will give us his beminding haaand. Kyrielle elation! Crystal elation! Kyrielle elation! Elation immanse! Sing to us! Sing to us! Sing to us! Amam! So, meme mearest, languished hister, be free to me! And, listen, youyou beauty, esster, I'll be clue to who knows you, pray Magda, Marthe with Luz and Joan, while I lie with warm lisp on the Tolka.

— Eusapia! Fais-le-tout-tait! Languishing hysteria? The clou historique? How is this at all? Alicious through alluring glass or alas in jumboland? Think of a maiden. Presentacion. Double her.
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Annupciacion. Take your first thoughts away from her. Immacolacion. Knock and it shall appall unto you. |9Who shone yet shimmers will be e'er scheining. Cluse her, voil her,º hild her hindly. |aAfter liryc and themodius our soft aglo-iris of the vals.a|9| This young barlady, what euphemiasly is she doing? Is she having an ambidual act herself in apparition with herself?

— Yer crackling out of yer turn, my Moonster firefly. Answer my queskins first, foxyjack! Ye've as much |9skullabogue9| cheek on you now as would boil a cauldron of
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kalebrose. Did the market missioners, Hyde and Wombwell, when given the raspberry, fine more than sandsteen per cent of chalk in the purity, promptitude and perfection flour of this raw materialist and less than a seventh pro mile in his meal? We young chaps are briefed here by Committalman Number Underfifteen to know had the peeress of generals, who have been getting nosemoney cheap and stirring up the public opinion about private balls with their legs, Misses Mirtha and Merry, the two dreeper's assistents, had they their service books in order and duly signed J. H. North and Company when discharged from their last situations? Will ye gup and tell the board in the anterim how, in the name of the three tailors on Tooley Street, did O'Bejorumsen or Mockmacmahonitch, ex of Butt and Hocksett's, violating the bushel standard, come into awful position of the barrel of bellywash? And why, is it any harm to ask, was this hackney man in the coombe, Fauxfitzhuorson, carrying his ark across his back when he might have been settin on his jonass inside of her made up like a Glassthure cabman? Where were the doughboys, or Marchester Marchers, three by nombres, won in ziel, |9cavehill exers or hearts of steel,º9| Hansen, Morfydd and O'Dyar, V.D., with their glenagearries, directing their steps according to the liaison officer, with their trench ulcers open and their hands in their pockets contrary
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to military rules, when confronted with his lifesize obstruction? When did he live off rooking the pooro and how did he start pfuffpfaffing at his Paterson and Hellicott's? Is it a factual fact that this fancydress nordic in shaved lamb breeches, child's kilts, bibby buntings and wellingtons, preholder of the Bar Ptolomei, is co-owner of a hengster's circus near North Great Denmark Street and that the shamshemshowman has been complaining to the police barracks and applying for an order of certiorari and crying about him being molested, after him having triplets, by offers of vacancies from females in this city neighing after the man ever since they seen his X-ray picture turned out in wealthy red in the sabbath sheets? Was it him that suborned that deafmute son of his, a litterydistributer in Saint Patrick's Lavatory, to turn a Roman and leave the chayr and gout in his bare socks, the sweep, and buy the usual jar of porter at the Morgue and Cruses and set it down before the wife with her fireman's halmet on her, bidding her mine the hoose, the strumpet, while him and his lagenloves were rampaging the roads in all their paroply under the noses of the Heliopolitan constabulary? Prepare the way! Where's that gendarm auxiliar, arianautic sappertillery, that reported on the whole hoodlum, relying on his morse-erse wordybook and the truncheon up his tail? Roof Seckesign van der Deckel! Recall Sickerson, the lizzyboy, and get his story from him! Seckersen, man of Errick! Sackerson!

Day shirker four vanfloats he verdants market.
High liquor made lust torpid dough hunt her orchid.

— Hunt her orchid! Gob, and he found it on her, right enough! A disgrace to the homely protestant religion! Bloody old preadamite with his twohandled umberella!

— Wallpurgies! And it's this's your deified city? And it's we's to pray for his conversions? Call Kitty the Beads! He's cookinghagar. She's deep, that one.

(9blank A farternoiser for his tuckish armenities. And then the confisieur for the
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boob's indulligence. As sunctioned for his salmenbog by the Councillors-om-Trent. Pave Pannem at his gaiter's bronze. Nummer half dreads Log Laughty. Master's gunne he warrs the bedst. I messaged his dilltoyds sausepander mussels on the kisschen table. With my ironing duck through his rollpins of gansyfett, do dodo doughdy dough, till he was braising red in the toastface with lovensoft eyebulbs and his kiddledrum steeming and rattling like the roasties in my mockamill. I awed to have scourched his Abarm's brack for him. For the loaf of Obadiah,º take your pastryart's noas out of me flouer bouckuet. Of the strainger scene you given squeezers to me skillet! As cream of the hearth thou reinethst alhome. His lapper and libbers was glue goulewed as he sizzled there watching me lautterick's pitcher by Wexford-Atelier as Katty and Lanner, the refined souprette, with my bust alla brooche and the padbun under my matelote, showing my jigotty sleeves and all my new toulong touloosies. Whisk! There's me shims and here's me hams and this is me juppettes, gause be the meter. Whisk! What's this? Whisk! And that? He never cotched finer, balay me, at Romiolo Frullini's flea pantamine out of Griddle-the-Sink or Shusies-with-her-Soles-Up or La Sauzerelly, the Puciebootsº, when I started so hobmop ladlelike, highty tighty, to kick the time off the cluckclock lucklock quamquam camcam potapot panapan kickakickkack.

— That's enough. By sylph and salamander and all the trolls and tritons, I mean to tap the top of this, at last. And will too, if I have at first to down every mask in Trancenania from Terreterry's Hole to Stutterers' Corner to find that Yokeoff his leiter, this Yohan his da. Let pass the jousters of the king! The governorgeneral and
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eirenarch's custos himself no less! Off with your persians! Search ye the Finn! Fi Fa Fe Fo Fum! Ho, croak, evildoer! Doff!