2nd draft, October-November 1925, III§4P draft level 1

MS British Library 47482a 28-47 Draft details

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But who will he be this mitryman; some king of the yeast, in his chrismy greyed brunzewig, so bulk of build? He has only his bedcosycaskette on and his woolsey shirtplisse also his feet wear doubled width socks for he always must to insure warm sleep between a pair of |1unread fullyfleeced1| bankers. Can thus be Misthra Norkmann that keeps our hotel? Begor, Mr O'Sorgman you're looking right well. A jolly fine daysent form of one word. He's rounding up on his family.

And who is the bodikin by ye, sir? Her |1snailstrain trixiestrail1| is tripping her, watch! Luck at the way for the lucre of smoke she's looping
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the lamp! Why, that's old |1Mrs Missness1| Wipethemdry! Well, well, |1wellowell wellsowells1|! |1With her halfbend, as proud as a peahen.1| Happy tea area, naughtygay frew! And she's just the same old haporth of dripping! She never turned a hair.

Which |v1way routev1| are they going? Why? The solvent man in his upper |1garment gambeson1|, |1and with1| not a breath against him and the wee wiping womaneen. They're coming back, down the scales, the way they went up, sweetheartedly, hot and cold and electrickery with attendance and lounge and porter free. In spite of all that science could boot or art could eke. Bolt the gate. |1Postpone no bills. Thrive slowly.1| Cave and cane em. Beggars outdoor. Scrape your soles. My time is on sale. Bottle yourself. Credit tomorrow. |1Lean on your lunch.1| No
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cods before me. Practise preaching. |1Think in your stomach. Import through the nose.1| By faith alone. Season's weather. Gomorrha. Solong. |1Lots feed from my timetable, oils wells in our lands. Let Earwigger's wifable teach you the dance.1| Now |1the their1| laws assist them and ease their fall!

For they met & mated and bedded & buckled & got & gave and reared & raised and planned & plundered and pawned our souls and pillaged their pounds and fought & feigned with strained relations and broke all banks and hated |1the sight at sights1| of one another & bequeathed us their ills & turned out coats & removed their origins & never learned the first day's lesson & tried to mingle but managed to save & feathered
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foes' nests and fouled their own and escaped from liquidation by the by the heirs of their death & were responsible for congested districts & took up drink & published privates & tramped the world over to the court of |1pye pie1| powder & were cuffed by their customers & bit the dust at the foot of the poll |1after the battle of Multaferry1|. Yet they wend it back, light in hand, helm on high, to peekaboo durk the thicket of Slumbwhere, flispering in the nightleaves' flattery, dinsiduously, to Finegan, to sin again & to make grim grandma grunt & grin again while the first grey streaks steal
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silvering by for to mock their quarrels in dollymount tumbling.

They near the base of the chill stair, that large incorporate licensed vintner, such as he is, |1a host nine hosts1| in himself, in his hydrocomic establishment and his ambling limfy peeping partner, the slave of the ring that worries the hand that sways the lamp that shadows the walk that bends to his bane the busynext man that came on the cop in the Fenian's park that pickled his widow that primed the pope that passed it round on the volunteers' plate till it croppied the ears of Purses Paul that kneed O'Connell up out of his doss that shouldered
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Burke that butted O'Higgins that woke the busker that grattaned his crowd that bucked the jiggers to rhyme the rann that |1ruled the route flooded the routes1| in Erian's isle from Malin to Clear and |1Kearney Carnsore Point1| to Slynagollov and cleaned the pockets & ransomed the ribs of all the listeners, lewd & lay, that bought the ballad that Babs made.

Anyhow have they not called him inwader and uitlander, the notables, crashing libels in their beards about him, their right renownsable patriarch and the swanee |1her ainsell1| and Eyrewaker's family sock that they smuggled for life betune them, roaring free boose for the Man
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from the Nark, sure, he never was worth a cornerwall fark, and his banishee bedpan she's a quer old bite of a tark, as they wendelled their zingaway wivewards from his moist opulent vinery, highjacking through the nagginneck pass and claiming cowled consollation sursumcordial from the bluefunkfires of the dipper and the martians' frost.

Use they not, our |1small neosmall1| termtraders, to abhors offrom him, the yet |1ungendered unregendered1| thunderslog, whose sbrogue cunneth none lordmade undersiding how betwixt
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wifely rule and mens conscia recti, |1then1| hemale man all umbracing to omniwomen but |1now1| shedropping his hitches like any maidavale oppersite orseriders in an idin ole. Ah, dearo, dearo, dear! And her illian! And his willium! |1When they were all there now |amatin marked fora| lookan on. At the carryfour. With Awllas Plawshus, their happyass cloudious. And then and too the trivials! And their bivouac! And his monomyth! Ah ho!1| I'm sorry! I saw, I'm sorry! I'm sorry to say I saw!

Gives there not too, amongst us cismarines after all events, some togethergush of stillandbutallyouknow that, insofarforth as
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|1all1| up and down |1the whole1| concreation any efficient first gets there finally every time as a complex matter of pure form, for those excesses and that |1pasphailt1| hardhearingness from their eldfar, in |1gripes gripos1| and rumblions, through fresh taint and |1its sour1| treason, another like that alter but not quite such anander and stillandbut one not all the selfsame and |1stillbutone butstillone1| just the maim and encore immerhim may always with a little difference till the latest up to date so early in the morning have evertheless been made amenable.

Yet he |1begottem begottom1|.
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Let us wherefore, tearing ages, presently preposeterose a snatchvote of thanksalot to the |1hungriest huskiest1| coaxing experimenter that ever |1put gave1| his |1best better1| hand into chancery, wishing him with his famblings no end of slow poison and a mighty broad venue for themselves between the devil's punchbowl and the deep angleseaboard that they may gratefully turn a deaf ear clooshed upon |1the desperanto of1| all their shareholders|1, from |aAuliffe to Taafe Taaffe to Auliffea|,1| that will curse them below par and mar, with their descendants, shame, humbug and profit, |1in to1| greenmould upon mildew over jaundice as long as ever there's a wagtail
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surtaxed to a testcase on every ever a man.

We have to had them whether we'll like it or not. They'll have to have us now |1then1| we are here on the spot. Scant hope theirs or ours to escape life's high carnage of semperidentity by subsisting peasemeal upon variables. Bloody certainly have we got to |1see seek1| to it |1ere smellful demise surprends us on |athe thisa| concrete1| that down the gullies of the eras we may catch ourselves looking foreword to what will in no time be staring you |1unread larrikins1| in the postface, whirled without end to end. So there was a raughty blank who in Dyfflinsborg did
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blank with his soddering iron, spadeaway, hammerlegs and blank where there was a fair young blank who was playing her game of blank and said she you rockaby blank will you dibble in my bog blank and he sod her in Ireland, paved her way, from Maizenhead to Youghal. And that's how Humphrey|1, champion emir,1| |1held holds1| his own. Shy sweet, |1I rest she rests1|.

Or show pon him now, will you, |1H.C.E.,1| in his hiphigh baresark. |1Third position. |aExcellent view from front.a| Sidomy. Female partly masking male.1| Red spot his browbrand. Woman's the prey! |1Yon's Thon's1| the dalakeykongsbyogblagroggerswaggenline (private judges,
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change here for Looterstown! onlyromans, keep your seats!) that drew all ladies please to our great metrollops. Leary, leary, twentytun nearly, he's |1working plotting1| Kings down for his |1orb's villa's1| extension. Gaze on him now in momentum. As his bridges are blown to babbyrags, by the lee of his hulk upright on her orbits, and the heave of his juniper arks in action, he's naval I see. Poor little tartanelle, her dinties are chattering, the straits she's in, the bulloge she bears. Her smirk is smeeching behind for her hills. By the queer quick twist of her mobcap and the lift of her
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shift at random and the rate of her gate of going the pace, two thinks at a time, her country I'm proud of. The field is down, the race is their own, the galleonman jovial on his |1tricky bucky1| brown nightmare. |1Bigbrob dignagging a liliputtana.1| One to one bore one! The |1daughters datter1|, io, io, sleeps in peace and peace. And the |1twinsons twillingsons1|, ganymede, garrymore, turn in trot and trot. But old Pairamere goes it a gallop a gallop a gallop. |1Bossford and phosferine.1| One to one on!

O, O, her fairy setalite! Casting such shadows to |1the persia's1| blind! The man in the street can see the coming event. Photoflashing it far too wide. It'll be known |1in through1| all Urania
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soon. Like jealousjoy titaning fear: like rumour rhean round the planets: like China's dragon snapping japets: like rhodagrey up the east. |1Satyrsdaysboast Satyrsdaysboost1| besets phoebe's nearest. Here's the flood and the flaxen flood that's to come over helpless irryland. Is there no-one |1unread unread to malahide Liv and1| her bettyship? Or who'll buy her rosebuds, jettyblack rosebuds |1the sloes of Nivia, the nipps of Nan1|? From the fall of the fig to doom's last post every ephemeral anniversary. While the |1park park's1| police peels peering by for to weigh down morrals |1in from1| county bubbling.

Kickickick. She had to kick a laugh. At her old
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stick-in-the-block. The way he was |1shoving his weight slogging his punch1| about like hale King willow the roberer. At half past quick in the morming. And her lamp was all askew and asmoky wick in her. She had to laugh, she had to kicker too thick of the wick of her pixy's loomph, lickering up the smooky shiminey. And her big coverpoint of a wickedy batter whenever she ducked behind her stumps after the rising bounder's balls it tickled her innings to |1such a consort1| pitch at kicksoclock in the morm, |1egging tiptonguing1| him on |1in her pigeony linguish1| with a flick at the bails for lubrication to scorch her faster, faster. You hig, you hog, Magrath |1is his1|
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my |1pigger pegger1|, he is, for bricking up all my old Kent road, goeasyosey, cuppy, we'll both be caught in the slips for fear he'd tyre and burst his dunlops and waken her bornybarnies making his boobybabies. The game old merriman, square to leg, in his norsery pinafore, treading her hump and down like a maiden clean bowled over, with her crease where the back of her punishments ought to be by womanish rights when keek the hen in the Doran's shantyqueer began in a kikkery key to laugh it off the way
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she was wuck to doodledoo by her gallows bird, nine hungredanddirtytoo not out, at all times long past conquering cock of the Morgans.

How blame us!

|1Armigerend everfasting horde,1| We herewith |1pleased1| return auditors' thanks for those and their favours since |1duly received safely enjoined1|. |1Tubberacul Tubbernacul in1| Tipherairy blank, sons |1travellers in1| blank company |1and |atheira| carriageable |atoghters tochtersa|,1| tanks tight Anne Thynne, for her contrectactions |1topwards tugowards1| his |1person personeel1|. Well we all unite thoughtfully in rendering grace between lovesrepassed, begging your honour's pardon for exclusive |1portrait |apictorial pigtoriala| rights1| of |1Mr von Herehear fond1| Tiplady, his
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|1recreation wekreations1|, appearing in next eon's issue of The Neptune's Centinel and Tritonville Lightowler with well the widest circulation round the whole universe. Thanks farthermore to modest Miss |1Glimshine Glimglow1| and neat Master Mattresson who so kindly profiteered their serwishes as demysell of honour and, well, as strainbearer respectively. And a cordialest brief nod of chinchin dankyshin to |1the well1| patient |1annula ringasend1|, as prevenient, |1(1| by your leave|1)1|, to all such occasions, detachably replaceable (thanks too! twos intact!), as |1well as1| the auricular of Malthus, the promethean paradonnerwetter which first (pray go! pray go!) taught love's lightning
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the way (pity shown|1!1|) to well conduct itself (mercy, good shot! only please don't mention it!) Come all ye goatfathers & groanmothers, come all ye markmakers and piledrivers, come all ye laboursaving devisers and chargeleyden dividends, firefenders, waterworkers, |1deal deeply condeal1| with him! All that is still life with death inyeborn, |1all verbumsaps yet1| bound to be, to do and to suffer, every creature, everywhere, if you please, kindly feel for her! While the dapplegray dawn |1draws drags1| nearing nigh for to wake all droners that drowse in Dublin.