Fair Copy

Final working draft, April-May 1920, draft level 3

MS missing, Cornell 61-65 Draft details

{Section X, epilogue, incomplete: MS Cornell: U84 14.1148-end}
{ms, 61}

in life. Lou heap good man. Allee samee dis bunch. En avant, mes enfants. Fire away number one on the gun. Burke's! Burke's! Thence they advanced five parasangs. Slattery's mounted foot. Parson Steve, apostates' creed. No, no, Mulligan! Abaft there, shove ahead. Keep a watch on the clock. Chucking out time. Mullee! |3Whatee? What's on you? |aMa mere m'a mariee.a|3| Retamplatn digidiboum. British Beatitudes! Ayes have it. |3To be printed and bound at Druidunreadrum press by two designing females in pissed on green calf. Last word in art modes. Most beautiful book that has come out of Ireland in my time.3| Silentium! Get a spurt on. Tention. Proceed to nearest canteen. Beatitudes! And there annex enemy's liquor. March! Tramp, tramp, tramp the boys are. |3Amping |a|bBeatitudes atitudesb|a| parching3|. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beer beef trample the bibles. When for Ireland dear. Trample the trampellers. Thunderation!º Keep the durned millingtary step. Business, boosebox. Halt. Heave to. Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my tootsies!

Query. Who's standing this here do. Proud possessor of |3one red damn all3|. I declare misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this weeks. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the uebermensch. Ditto. Five number ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby's caudle. Stimulate the caloric. Winding his ticker. Stopped short never to go again when the old. Absinthe for me, savvy. Caramba, have an eggnog or prairie oyster. Enemy, sir? Avuncular's got my timepiece. Ten to. |3|aObliged Obligateda| awful.3| Don't mention it. |3Got a |asting of a bumblebee pectoral traumaa| on his |anow we shan't blanka| be long. Eh, Dix? Pos. fact. He got bet be a bumblebee whenever her wos settin sleepin in his bit garten3| Buckled he is. |3Lives up near the Mater.3| Know his dona? Yup, sartin I do. None of your lean kine, not much. Full of a door. See her in her dishybilly. Peels off a credit. Pull down the blind, love. Two Ardilauns. Same here. |3look Look3| slippery. If you fall don't wait to get up. Five, seven, nine. Fine! Pos fact. Got a prime pair of mince pies, no kid. And her take me to rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed. Your starving eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart O gluepot. |3Sir? Spud against the rheumatiz? All poppycock, you'll excuse my saying. For the hoi polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool.3| Well, doc. Back
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from Lapland. How's the squaws and papooses? Womanbody after going on the straw? Stand and deliver. Password. There's hair. |3Ours is the white death & the ruddy birth. Hi! Spit in your own eye, please! |aThe peerless mummer's telegram. |bAnd cribbed Cribbedb| out of Meredith, Moore |bsays decked youb|. O, you jesified jesuit. |bThe aunt is aunty'sb| writing your pa.a|3|

Hurroo! Collar the leather, young un. Roun wi the nappy. Here, |3Jock's Jock braw Hielentman's3| your barley bree. My tipple. Merci. Here's to us. How's that? Leg before wicket. Don't splash my new sit in ems. Give's a shake of peppe, young fellow. Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig. Shrieks of silence. Every cove to his gentry mort. |3Up to you, matey.3| Venus Pandemos. Les petites femmes. Bold bad girl from the town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding Sara by the wame. Mine. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had left but the name. What do you want for ninepence? Machree, macruiskeen. Smutty Moll for a mattress jig. |3A3| Pull all together. Ex!

Waiting, guvnor? |3Most deciduously3| Bet your boots on. Stunned like seeing as how no shiners is acoming. |3|xUnderconstumble?x|3| He've got the chink. |3Ad lib.3| Seed near three pound on a spell ago he said was hisn. Us come right in on your invite, see. missing Up to you, matey. Out with the oof. Two bar and a wing. You learn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Won't wash here for nuts |3nohow3|. Lil child velly solly. Ise the cutest coon down our side. God's truth, Charley. We are nae fou. We're nae the fou. Au reservoir, Monsieur Tanks.

'Tis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. |3Tight.3| Bantam, two days teetee. |3Boosing nowt but claret.3| Garn. Have a glint, do. Well, I'm jiggered. Too full for words. With a railway bloke. How come you so? Opera he'd fancy. Rose of Caststeel. Castile. Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam's flower. Gemini, he's going to holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O, cheese it. Shut his Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner today till I tipped him a
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dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen Hand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegram boy paddock wire big bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on form hot order. Guinea to a gooseberry. Tell a cram, that. Gospel true. Criminal diversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land him clever in chokey chokey if the harman beck copped the game. |3Madden back Madden's a maddening back.3| O, lust, our refuge and our strength. Decamping. Off to mammy. Stand by. Hide my blushes, someone. All in if he spots me. |3Come a home, our Bantam.3| Horry varr, mong vioo. |3missing3| Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel. Confide. Who gave you that colt. Pal to pal. |3Jannock3| Of John Thomas, her spouse. No kid, old man Leo. |3S'elp me,3| Honest injun. Shiver my timbers if I had. |3There's one great big holy friar! Vat for you no me tell, mossoo.3| Vel, I reckon, if that aint a sheeny nachez. I vil get |3brigmeela misha mishinnah3|. Through yerd our lord., Amen.

You move a motion? Steve, boy, you're going it some. |3Longbreath3| |3Will immensely generous stander permit stooder of extreme poverty to terminate this one |ainaugurateda| expensive libation.3| Give's a breather. Landlord, landlord, have you good wine., Staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree. Cut and come again. Right. Absinthe the lot. |3|xNos omnes viridum toxicum biberimus, diabolus capiat posterioria. |anostra nostriaa|.x|3| Closing time, gents. Eh? Rome boose for the |3Bloom3| toff. And snares of the poxfiend. |3Did I hear you say onions? Cadges ads? Photo's papli by |aGeorgeous all that's Gorgeousa|. |aAway play low, |bpardnerb|a| Slide. Bonsoir la compagnie.3| Hi! Where's the buck and |3Amby Bannon Namby Amby3|? Skunked? Leg bail. |3Aweel, ye maun gang |ayour yera| gates3| |3|xCheckmate. Kind frend |aKristhyana| wil |ayou yua| help yung man hoose frend tuk bungalo kee |ato place two plaisa| to lay crown of his headx|3| Crikey I'm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. |3Whisper Item3|, curate, couple of curates for this child. Cot's plood and prandy palls, none. Not a pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to hell and with him those other wicked spirits. Time, gents. Who wander through the world. Health all! A la votre!

Golly, |3who in whatten3| tunket's |3the thon3| guy in the mackintosh. Dusty Rhodes. Look at his wearables. What's he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by James. Wants it real bad. D'ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the Richmond? Rathere. Thought he had deposit of lead in his penis. Trumpery insanity. |3That was once a prosperous man.3| Bartle
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the Bread we calls him. |3That sir was once a prosperous cit. The Man all tattered and torn married a maiden all forlorn.3| Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies. Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum o' yourn passed in his checks? Ludamassy! Thou'llt no |3tell be telling3| me |3so thot3|, Pold veg. Did ums blubble big splash crytears cos frien Padney was took off in black bag? O, get, rev. on a gradient one in nine there! Bet you Farman licks him hollow Of all de darkies massa Pat was de verra best. Never see de like |3since sence3| I was born. |3May Allah, the |aexcellent Excellenta| One, conserve his soul ever tremendously conserve.3| Jappies? High angle fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. I'd be worse for him, says he, nor |3anny Anny3| Rooshian. |3Your attention!3| Time all. There's eleven of them. Get ye gone. Night. Night. |3|xTiens, tiens, but it is well sad, that.x|3| Ware hawks for the chap puking. Yooka. Night. Yook.

Hark! |3Shut yer obstropolos.3| Pflaap! Pflaap! Blaze on. There she goes. Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up. Pflaap! Tally ho. You not come. Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaaaap!

Lynch! Hey? Sign on |3wi long o'3| me. Holles lane this away. Change herº for bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips.º where the lady Mary is. Righto, any old time. Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis. You coming along? Whipser, who the sooty hell's the Johnny hanging on to us in the black duds. Hush! Sinned against the.º light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to judge the world by fire. Pflaap! Ut implerentur scripturae. Strike up a bawdy ballad. Then outspake medical Dick. Christicle, who's this yellow excrementitious gospeller on the Metropolitan hall? Elijah is coming. Washed in the blood of the Lamb. Come on you winefizzling, ginsizzling booseguzzling existences! Come on you bullnecked, beetlebrowedº hogjowled peanutbrainedº weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage. Come on, you triple extract of infamy. Alexander.º J Dowie, that's me, that's
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yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok. The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you, christians, that he's on the square and a corking fine business proposition. Shout salvation in King Jesus. You'll need to rise precious early, you sinner there, if you want to diddle the Almighty God. Pflaaaap! He's got an |3unpleasant3| coughmixture |3with a punch in it3| for you, my friend, in his back pocket. |3Half Not half3| Jest you try it on.