riverrun past Eve and Adam's brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to
Howth Castle & Environs. Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venisoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnigan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of
humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since Devlins first loved livy.
What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishygods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Úalu Úalu Úalu! Quáouáuh! What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired
and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetabsolvers! What true feeling for their's hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but (O my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of soft advertisement! But waz iz? Is eut? Ere were sewers? The oaks of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where ashes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.
Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen's maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofarback for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely stuck his tete in a tub for to watsch the futures of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of Moses the very water was
eviperated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edifices in Toper's Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie ugged the little craythur Wither hayre in honds tuck up your partinher. Oftwhile balbulous,
mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth, he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin 'twas born his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful
hoyth entowerly, erigenating from
next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitectitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop and with larrons o'toolers clittering up and tombles a'buckets clottering down.
Of the first was he to bare arms and a name|6: Wassaily Booslaeugh of Riesengeborg6|. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant, argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutchum, fessed, with archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you're going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday morm and, O, you're vine! Sendday's eve and, ah, you're vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you're going to be fined again!
What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thuddersday this municipal sin business? It may half been a missfired brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it (there extand by now one thousand and one stories, all told, of the same). But so sore did abe ite ivvy's holired abbles (what with the wallhall's horrors of
rollsrights, carhacks, stoneengens, kisstvanes, tramtrees, fargobawlers, autokinotons, hippohobbilies, streetfleets, tournintaxes, megaphoggs, circuses and wardsmoats and basilikerks and aeropagods and the hoyse and the jollybrool and the peeler in the coat and the mecklenburk bitch bite at his ear and the merlinburrow burrocks and his fore old porecourts, the bore the more, and his
blightblack workingstacks at twelvepins a dozen and the noobibuses sleighding along Safetyfirst Street and the derryjellybies snooping around Tell-No-Tailors' Corner and the fumes and the hopes and the strupithump of his ville's indigenous romekeepers, homesweepers, domecreepers, thurum and thurum in fancymud murumd and all the uproor from all the aufroofs, a roof for may and a reef for hugh butt under his bridge suits tony) wan warning Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. There was a wall of course in erection. Dimb! He stottered from the latter. Damb! He was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see.
Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diii, of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain's chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And all gianed in with the shoutmost
shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhinnigan's extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more kankan keening. Belling him up and felling him down. He's stiff but he's steady, is Priam Olim! 'Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E'erawhere in this whorl would
ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head. Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!
Hurrah, there is but young glebe for the owl globe wheels in view which is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being so on the flounder of his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee peep, see, at Hom, well, see peegee ought he ought, platterplate w. Hum! From Shopalist to Bailywick or from ashtun to baronoath or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the
foot of the bill to ireglint's eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a horn!) from fjord to fjell his baywinds' oboboes shall wail him
rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvylong night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a teary turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gif, a gross if, we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Finfoefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpantry's Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U'Dunnell's foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Agapemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal's dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and goodridhirring.
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined, aslumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on? Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyeclosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight, arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean
to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoors! Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Iseut too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the magazine wall, where our maggy
seen all, with her sister-in-shawl. While over against this belles' alliance beyind Ill Sixty (ollollowed ill!), bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tararabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hockums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view is
enjoyable of our mounding's mass, now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful waterloose country and they two quitewhite villagettes
who hear show of themselves so gigglesome minxt the follyages, the prettilees! Penetrators are permitted into the museomound free. Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk. Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseyprams to sate the sort of their butt. For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the Mistress Kathe. Tip.
This the way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in! Now yiz are in the Willingdone Museyroom. This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch. Tip. This is the flag of the Prooshious, the Cap and Soracer. This is the bullet that byng the flag of the Prooshious. This is the ffrinch that fire on the Bull that bang the flag of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up with your pike and fork! Tip.
(Bullsfoot! Fine!) This is the triplewon hat of Lipoleum. Tip. Lipoleumhat. This is the Willingdone on his same white harse, the Cokenhape. This is the big Sraughter Willingdone, grand and magentic, in his goldtin spurs and his ironed dux and his quarterbrass woodyshoes and his magnate's gharters and his bangkok's best and goliar's goloshes and his pulluponeasyan wartrews. This is
his big wide harse. Tip. This is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch. This is an inimyskilling inglis, this is a scotcher grey, this is a davy, stooping. This is the bog lipoleum mordering the lipoleum beg. This is the petty lipoleum boy that was nayther bag nor bug. Touchole FitzTuomush. Dirty MacDyke. And Hairy O'Hurry. All of them arminus-varminus. This is Delian
alps. This is Mont Tivel, this is Mont Tipsey, this is the grand Mons Injun. This is the crimealine of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three lipoleums. This is the jinnies with their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade's book of stralegy while making their war undisides the Willingdone. The jinnies is a cooin her hand and the jinnies is a ravin her hair and the Willingdone git
the band up. This is big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker obscides on the flanks of the jinnies. Sexcaliber hrosspower. Tip. This
is me Belchum sneaking his phillippy out of his most toocisive bottle of Tilsiter. This is the libel on the battle. Awful Grimmest Sun'shat Cromwelly, Looted. This is the jinnies' hastings dispatch for to irrigate the Willingdone. Dispatch in thin red lines across the shortfront of me Belchum. Yaw, yaw, yaw! Leaper Orthor. Fear siecken! Fieldgaze thy tiny frow. Hugacting. Nap. That was the tictacs of the jinnies for to fontannoy the Willingdone. Shee, shee, shee! The jinnies is jillous agincourting all the lipoleums. And the lipoleums is gonn boycotton crezy onto the one Willingdone. And the Willingdone git the band up. This is bode Belchum, bonnet to busby, breaking his secred word with a ball up his ear to the Willingdone. This is the Willingdone's hurold dispitchback. Dispitch desployed on the regions rare of me Belchum. Ayi,
ayi, ayi! Cherry jinnies. Figtreeyou! Damn fairy ann. Voutre. Willingdone. That was the first joke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee! This is me Belchum in his twelvemile cowchooks, weet, tweet and stampforth foremost, footing the camp for the jinnies. Drinkasip, drankasup, for he'd as sooner buy a guinness than he'd stale store stout. This is Rooshious balls. This is a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Canon Futter with the popynose after his hundred days' indulgence. This is the blessed. This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the solphereens in actiom, this is their mobbily, this is panickburns. This is Willingdone cry. Brum! Brum! Cumbrum! This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Ghoat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies rinning away to their ousterlists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip and a trip trippy trip so airy. For their heart's right there. Tip. This is me Belchum's tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy-key-po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies. This is the pettiest
of the lipoleums, Toffeethief, that spy on the same Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooleyboy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddlefilth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch to the cursigan Shimar Shin. This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip. (Bullseye! Game!) How Copenhagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out!
What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts! We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of Jig-a-Lanthorn! It's a candlelitten houthse of a month and one windies. Downadown, High Downadown. And nummered quaintlymine. And such reasonable weather too! The wagrant wind'z awalt'z around the piltdowns and on every blasted knollyrock (if
you can spot fifty I spy four more) there's that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipealittle, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittle gnarlybird. Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. |6His
glav toside him. Skud ontorsed.6| Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs.
The three of crows have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer: Wail, 'tis well! She nivver comes out when Thon's on shower or when Thon's flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon's blowing toomcracks down the gaels of Thon. Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindmerollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. She |6jest jist6| does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri potmother, |6a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy,6| with |6peewee peeweesº and powwows in beggybaggyº6| on her bickybacky |6andº a flick flaskº flishflash fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows6|, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it's the armitides toonigh and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers and there's to be a gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere. |6Come nebo me and suso sing the day we sallybright.6| She's burrowed the coacher's headlight the better to pry and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and flasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloostaned breeks in em and boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and fodder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of belles, and the last sigh that come fro the hart and the fairest sin the sun saw. With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives' end. Slain.
How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly forebidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheticals so as will make us all lordyheirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all plores for us (her birth is uncontrollable!), with a naperon made to mask and her sabboes hikkikking arias (so sair! so
solly!), if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou!
Hou! Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture)
for in the byways of high improvidence that's what makes lifework leaving and the world's a cell for citters to cit in. Let young wimman run away with the story and let young min talk smooth behind the butteler's back. She knows her knight's duty while Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin? says he. Did I what? with a grin says she. And we all like a marriedann because she is mercenary. Though the length of the land lies under liquidation (floote!) and there's nare a hairbrow nor an eyebrusch on this glaubrous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she'll loan a vesta and hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she'll do all a turfwoman can to piff the business on. Paff. To puff the blaziness on. Poffpoff. And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again there'll be iggs for the brekkers come to mournhim, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere's a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight of a hind make sure but you're cocked by a hin.
Then as she is on her behaviourite job we may take our review of the two mounds, to see nothing of the himples here as at elsewhere, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines sitton aroont, scentbreeched and somepotreek, in their swishawish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton's Folly at a treepurty
|6on the planko6| in the purk. Stippup, mickos! Make strake for minnas! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins off Corkhill or the bergamoors of
Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the countrybossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf's on the rise and Ivor's on the lift and Sitric's place's between them. But all they are all there scraping along to
sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life's robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre. Behove this
sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen. Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks the scene. Fake!
So This Is Dyoublong?
Hush! Caution! Echoland!
How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you of the outwashed engravure that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall of his innkempt house. Used they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshoveller with the mujikal chocolot box, Miry Mitchel, is listening.) I say, the remains of the outworn gravemure
where used to be blurried the Ptollmens of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only pretendant to be stugging at the jubalee harp from a second existed lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well known. Look for himself and see the old butte new. Dbln. W.K.O.O. Hear? By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum. They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord shall be theirs for ollaves.
Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile's annals, f.t. in Dyfflinarsky ne'er sall fail til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire's ile sall pall. And here now they are, the fear of um. Notities! Unum. (Adar.) A bulbenboss surmounted upon an elderman. Ay, ay! Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a puir owld wobban. Ah, ho! Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o'brine a'bride, to be desarted. Adear, adear! Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.) A penn no weightier nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.)
So, how idlers' wind turning pages on pages, the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds, annals of themselves, timing the cycles of events grand and national, bring fassilwise to pass how
1132 a.d. Men like to ants or emmets wondern upon a groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat Ublanium.
566 a.d. On Baalfire's eve of this year after deluge a crone that
hadde a wickered kish for to hale dead turves from the bog lookit under the blay of her kish as she ran for to sothisfeige her cowrieosity and be me sawl but she foun hersell sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon and small illigant brogues, so rich in sweat. Bluchy works at Hurdlesford.
566 a.d. At this time it fell out that a brazenlockt damsel grieved (Sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her minion was ravisht of her by the ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeaghbally.
1132 a.d. Two sons at an hour were born until a goodman and his hag. These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas. Primas was a santryman and drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse and wrote o peace a farce. Blotty words for Dublin.
Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgoe gap between antediluvious and annadominant the copyist must have fled with his scroll. The billy flood rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup worldwright from the excelsissimost
empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake or the Dannaman gallous banged pan the bliddy duran. A scribicide then and there is led off under old's code with some fine covered by six marks or ninepince in metalmen for the sake of his labour's dross while it will be only now and again in our rear of o'er era, as an upshoot of military and civil engagements, that a gynecure was let on to the scuffold for taking that same fine sum covertly by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour's safe.
Now after all that, farfatch'd and peregrine or duignant or clere, lift we our ears, eyes of the darkness, from the tome of Liber Lividus and (toh!) how paisibly eirenical, all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades, selfstretches afore us our fredeland's plain! Lean neath stone pine the pastor lies with his crook; young pricket by pricket's sister nibbleth on returned
viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of evergrey. Thus, too, for donkey's years. Since the bouts of Hebear and Hairyman the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun,
the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown's hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygayed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon: and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as on the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!); they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees. Men have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean kerry piggy? And the duncledames have countered with the hellish fellows: Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly? And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee! And, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn't it the truath I'm tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake. Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam. Fleppety! Flippety! Fleapow!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot.
He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that's pectoral, his mammamuscles! Most mousterious! It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing's brain pan. Meseemeth a dragonsman. He is almonthst on the kief fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and
froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan! It is evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrowbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pillory way to Hirculos Pillar. Come on, fool porterfull, hosiered women blown monk sewer? Scuse us, chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You tolkatiff scowegian? Nn. You spigotty anglease? Nnn. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear all so! 'Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.
mutt: Mukk's pleasurad.
jute: Are you jeff?
jute: But you are not jeffmute?
mutt: Noho. Only an utterer.
jute: Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you?
mutt: I became a stun a stummer.
jute: What a hauhauhauhaudible thing to be cause! How, Mutt?
mutt: Aput the buttle, surd.
jute: Whose poddle? Wherein?
mutt: The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he.
jute: You that side your voise are almost inedible to me. Become a bitskin more wiseable, as if I were you.
jute: One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me |6fore all your hasitancy6| cross your qualm with trinkgilt. Here have silvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good fir yew.
mutt: Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intellible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here
where the liveries, Monomark. There where the missers moony, Minnikin Passe.
jute: Sumply because, as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to soil here?
mutt: Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a riverpool.
jute: Load allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like?
mutt: Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d'O Flinn.
jute: Boiledoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly forstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a patwhot as your rutterdamrotter, onheard of and umscene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed.
mutt: Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dun blink roundward this allbutisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee o'er the Saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of signory icefloe was from his Inn the Bygning to whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Hither, craching estuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlwords. Now are all tombed to the mound, ishges to ishges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize!
mutt: Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an' everynight life olso th'estrange, babbylone the greatgrandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv.
mutt: Meldundleise! And thanacestross mound have swollup them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O'c'stle, n'wc'stle, tr'c'stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Humbeldy Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in your whisht!
mutt: The gyant Forficules with Amni the fay.
mutt: Here is viceking's graab.
mutt: Ore you astoneaged, jute you?
jute: Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud!
(Stoop), if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop) in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the some told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations.
Tieckle. They lived und laughed and loved end left. Forsin. Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons. The meandertale, aloss and again, of our old Heidenburgh in the days when Head-in-Clouds walked the earth. A terricolous vivelyonview this; queer and, it continues to be, quakky. A hatch, a celt, an earshare the pourquose of which was to cassay the earthcrust at all of hours, furrowards, bagawards, like yoxen at the turnpath. Here say figurines billycoose arming and mounting. Mounting and arming bellicose figurines see here. Futhorc, this little effingee is for a firefing called a flintforfall. face at the eased! O, I fay! Face at the waist! Ho, you fie! Upwap and dump em, cace to eace! When a
part so ptee does duty for the holos we soon grow to use of an allforabit. Here (please to stoop) are selveran cued peteet peas of quite a pecuniar interest inaslittle as they are the pellets that make the tomtummy's pay roll. Right rank ragnar rocks and with these rox orangotangos rangled rough and rightgorong. Wisha, wisha, whydidtha? Thik is for thorn that's thuck in its thoil like thumfool's thraitor thrust for vengeance. What a mnice old mness it all mnakes! A middenhide hoard of abjects! Olives, beets, kimmells, dollies, alfrids, beatties, cormacks and daltons. Owlets' eegs (O stoop to please!) are here, creakish from age and all now quite epsilene, and oldwoldy wobblewers haudworth a wipe o grass. Sss! See the snake wurrums everyside! Our durlbin is sworming in sneaks. They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie, rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs, but along landed Paddy Dippingham and his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whatsthats. Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers. Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one be three, dittoh, and one before. Two nursus one make a plausible free and idim behind. What a meanderthalltale to unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and auntisquattor and postproneauntisquattor! To say too us to be, every tim, mick and larry of us, sons of the sod, sons, littlesons, yea and lealittlesons, when usses not to be, every sue, siss and sally of us, dugters of Nan! Accusative ahnsire! Damadam to infinities!
True there was in nilloh's dieybos as yet no lumpend papeer in the waste and mightmountain Penn still groaned for the micies to let flee. All was of ancientry. You gave me a boot (signs on it!) and I ate the wind. I quizzed you a quid (with for what?) and you went to the quod. But the world, mind, is, was and will be writing its own wrunes for ever, man, on all matters that fall
under the ban of our infrarational senses fore the last milch camel, the heartvein throbbing between his eyebrowns, has still to moor before the tomb of his cousin charmian where his date is tethered by the palm that's hers. But the hour, the smiting, the day of decision is not now. A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways; leave them to terracook in the slowth of the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step rubrickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in alcohoran. For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. Till Ye finally (though not yet endlike) meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies. Fillstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it, closeth thereof the. Dor.
Cry not yet! There's many a smile to Nondum, with sytty maids per man, sir, and the park's so dark by kindlelight. But look what you have in your handself! The movibles are scrawling in motions, marching, all of them ago, in pitpat and zingzang, for every busy eerie whig's a bit of a torytale to tell. Of a noarch and a chopwife; or of a pomme full grave and a fammy of levity; or of golden youths that wanted gelding; or of what the mischievmiss made a man do. Hohore! Het wis if ee newt. Lissom! Lissom! I am doing it. Hark, the corne entreats! And the larpnotes prittle.
It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when Adam
was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mountynotty man was everybully and the first leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway everybuddy else to his lovesaking eyes and when everybilly lived alove with everybiddy else and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse, laying cold hands on himself. And his two little jiminies, cousins of ours, Tristopher and Hilary, were kickaheeling their dummy on the oilcloth flure of his homerigh, castle and earthenhouse. And, be dermot, who come to the keep of his inn only the niece-of-his-in-law, the prankquean. And the prankquean pulled a rosy one and made her wit forenenst the dour. And she lit up and fireland was ablaze. And spoke she to the dour in her petty perusienne: Mark the Wans, why do I am alook alike a poss of porterpease? And that was how the skirtmisshes began. But the dour handworded her grace in dootch nossow: Shut! So her grace o'malice kidsnapped up the jiminy Tristopher and into the shandy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother warlessed after her with soft dovesgall: Stop deef stop come back to my earin stop. But she swaradid to him: Unlikelihud. And there was a brannewwail that same sabbaoth night of falling angles somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years' walk in Tourlemonde and she washed the blessings of the lovespots off the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and she had her four owlers masters for to tauch him his tickles and she convorted him to the onesure allgood and he became a luderman. So then she started to rain and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother's in a brace of samers and the jiminy with her in her pinafrond, lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his bristolry. And Jarl van Hoother had his baretholobruised heels drowned in his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with himself, and the jiminy Hilary and
the dummy in their first infancy were below on the tearsheet, wringing and coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prankquean nipped a paly one and lit up again and redcocks flew flackering from the hillcombs. And she made her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am alook alike two poss of porterpease? And: Shut! says the wicked, handwording her madesty. So her madesty a'forethought set down a jiminy and took up a jiminy and all the lilipath ways to Woeman's Land she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother bleethered atter her with a loud finegale: Stop domb stop come back with my earring stop. But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it. And there was a wild old grannewwail that altarsame laurency night of starshootings somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years' walk in Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of a top into the jiminy and she had her four larksical monitrix
to tauch him his tears and she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a tristian. So then she started raining, raining, and in a pair of changers, be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother's and the Larryhill with her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of his mansionhome of another nice lace for the third charm? And Jarl van Hoother had his hurricane hips up to his pantrybox, ruminating in his holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), and the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy were belove on the watercloth, kissing and spitting, and roguing and poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and in their second infancy. And the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling. And she made her wittest in front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark the Tris, why do I am alook alike three poss of porterpease? But that was how the skirtmisshes endupped. For, like the campbells acoming with a forklance of lightning, Jarl van Hoother Boanerges himself, the old terror of the dames, came hip hop handihap out through the pikeopened arkway of his three shuttoned castles in his broadginger hat and his civic chollar and his allabuff hemmed and his bullbraggin soxangloves and his ladbroke breeks and his cattegut bandolair and his furframed
panuncular cumbottes like a rudd yellan gruebleen orangeman in his violet indigonation, to the whole longth of the strongth of his bowman's bill. And he clopped his rude hand to his eacy hitch and he ordurd and his thick spch spck for her to shut up shop, dappy. And the duppy shot the shutter clup. (gokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!) And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always for any girls under shurts. And that was the first peace of illiterative porthery in all the flamend floody flatuous world. Saw fore shalt thou sea. Betoun ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jiminies was to keep the peacewave and van Hoother was to git the wind up. Thus the hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis.
O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes mickelmassed bonum. Hill, rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride! Only for that these will not breethe upon Norrönesen or Irenean the secrest of their soorcelossness. Quarry silex, Homfrie Noanswa? Undy gentian festyknees, Livia Noanswa? Wolkencap is on him, frowned; audiurient, he would evesdrip, were it mouse
at hand, were it dinn of bottles in the far ear. Murk, his vales are darkling. With lipth she lithpeth to him all to time of thuch on thuch and thow on thow. She he she ho she ha to la. Hairfluke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves are his
buffeteers. They trompe him with their trompes: the wave of roary and the wave of hooshed and the wave of bawhawawrd and the wave of neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlistletomine. Landloughed by his neaghboormistress and perpetrified in his offsprung, sabes and suckers, the moaning pipers could tell him to his faceback, the louthly one whose loab we are devorers of, how butt for his hold halibutt, or her to her pudorpuff, the lipalip one whose libe we drink at, how biff for her tiddywink of a windfall, our breed and washer givers, there would not be a holey spier on the town nor a vestal flouting in the dock, nay, to make plein avowels, nor a yew nor an eye
to play cashcash in Novo Nilbud by swamplight nor a'toole o'tall o'tall and noddy hint to the convaynience.
He dug in and dug out by the skill of his tilth for himself and all belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath his auspice for the living and he urned his dread|6, |awho felled the dragon that dragon volanta|,6| and he made louse for us and delivered us to boll weevils amain, Unfru-chikda-uru-wukru, that mighty liberator, and begad he did|6, our ancestor most worshipful,6| till he thought of a better one in his windower's house with that blushmantle upon him from earsend to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies wake him. |6Andº may again when the fiery bird disembers. And will again if |aso bea| sooth |athe bya| elder to his youngers |asaith shall be saida|. |aCome to the ballet at the Have you whines for my wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is a? Wake!ºa|6| Usqueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul! Did ye drink me |6dead doornail6|?
Now, be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure and don't be walking abroad. Sure, you'd only lose yourself |6in Healiopolis now6| the way your roads are that winding
|6now |atherea| |shafter
the calvarysh|6| and wet your feet maybe. And the weather's so mean too!
|6|shToº part from Devlin is hard,º
as Nugent knew, to leave the clean tanglesome one lushier than its neighbour enfranchisable fieldssh|.º Butº
you're |shlet your ghost have no
grievancesh|.6| You're better off, sir, where you are, on the pillow of your babycurls, under your sycamore |6where
the Tory's clay will scare the varmints6|, and have all you want|6|a, pouch, gloves, flask, bricket, kerchief, ring and amberulla,a|
|shin the land of |asouls witha| Homin and Broin Baroke and pole ole N Lonan and
Nobucketnozzler and the Guinnghis Khansh|6|.
And we'll be |6coming here |shto rake your gravelsh| and6| bringing
you presents, won't we|6, fenians6|? And it isn't our spittle we'll stint you of|6., is it, druids?6| Not shabbty little imagettes, pennydirts and dodgemyeyes. But offerings of the field. Mieliodories. |6(+Poppypap's a passport out.+)6| (+6Honey And honey+)6| is the holiest thing ever was|6, |shhive, comb and earwax,sh| |a|b|shab| food for the godssh|a|6| (mind you keep the pot |6|shor your nectar cup may yield too lightsh|6|!), |6or and6| some goat's milk, sir, like the maid used to bring you. |6|shYour fame is spreading like Basilico's ointmentsh| |a|shsince the Fintan Lalors piped you overbordersh|a| |shand there's whole households beyond the Bothnians and they calling names after you.sh|6| The menhere's always talking of you |6in |shthe Salmon Housesh|6|. The game old Gunne, they do be saying, that was a planter for you, a spicer of them all! Begog but he was, the G.O.G! He's duddandgunne now but peace to his great limbs with the long rest of him! There was |6no-one never a warlord6| in Great |6Ireland Erinnes6| and |6Britain |shBrettlandsh|, no, nor in all |shPike Countysh|,º6| like you, they say. |6No, nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king.6| You could fell an elmtree twelve urchins couldn't ring round and hoist high the stone that Liam failed. |6|aIf you was most |shhogglebullysh| itself and |shmost fieftysh|º |shlike you was taken waterssh|, still what all?ºa| Whereº was your like to lay the cable or who was the batter could better Your Grace? Mick MacMagnus MacCawleyº can take you off to
the pure perfection and Leatherbags Reynolds tries your shuffle and cut. But as |aRyley Pares Hopkins and Hopkinsa| puts it, you were the raleº eggynaggy and a kis to tilly up.6| You had a gamier cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose of geese |6stubbled6| for All Angels' Day. So may the priest of seven worms and scalding |6water |abogboil tayboila|6| come never anear you as your hair grows wheater beside the Liffey that's in Heaven! Hep, hep, hurrah there! Your heart is in the system of the Shewolf and your crested head is in the tropic of Copricapron. Your feet are in the cloister of Virgo. Your olala is in the region of sahuls. Be not unrested! |6|aThe headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith:º I know thee, |sbwinejar metherjarsb|,º I know thee, salvation boat.a| For we have performed upon thee, thou abramanation, who comest ever without being invoked, whose coming is unknown, all the things which the company of the precentors and of the |shgrammarianssh| of |shChristpatrick'ssh| ordered concerning thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing.6|
Everything's going on the same|6, orº so it appeals to all of us6|. |6As popular as when
Belly the First was king keng |aand his members met in the Diet of Mana|.º6| The
|6horn for breakfast, one o'gong for lunch and dinnerchime, the6| same old slop in the window, Jacob's lettercrackers and Dr Tipple's Vi-Cocoa and the Eswaurds' desippated soup beside Mother Seagull's Syrup. Coal's short but we've
plenty of bog in the yard. Meat took a drop when Reilly-Parsons failed. But barley's up again, begrained to it! The |6boys lads6| is attending school nessons regular, sir. All for the books and never
after Tom Bowe-Glassarse. 'Tisraely the truth! |6Nowº isn't it, roman pathoriksº?6| Kevin's just a doat with his cherub cheek |6and his little lamp and schoolbeltº and bag of knicks playing postman's knock round the diggings,º6| but the devil does be in that knirps of a Jerry sometimes|6, the tarandtan plaidboy, making encostive inkum out of the last of his lavings and writing a blue streak |aon overa| his bourseday shirt6|. Hetty Jane's a Child of Mary. |6She'll be coming (for they're sure to choose her) in her white of gold with a tourch of ivy to rekindle the flame on Felix Day.6| And Essie Shanahan has let down her skirts. You remember Essie in Our Luna's Convent? |6They called her Holly Merry her lips were so ruddy berryº |aand Pia de Purebelle when the redminers'º riots was on about hera|.6| She's making her rep at Lanner's twicenightly. |6With the tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees.6| 'Twould delight your heart to go.
Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and repose your honour's lordship!
|6⇒ |shHoldº him |ayou thereºa|, Ezekiel Irons, and may God strengthen you!sh| |shIt's our warm spirits, lads boys, he's spooring.sh| |aDimitrius O'Flagonan, cork that cure for the Clancartys! You swamped enough since Portobello to float the Pomeroy.a|6|
I've an eye on queer Behan and old Kate and the butter, trust me. |6She'll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcardsº to help to build me murial. Tippers,º I'll
trip your traps! |aAssure a sure there!a|6| And we put on your clock again, sir, for you. |6Did or didn't we, sharestutterers?6| I
seen your missus in the hall. Arrah, it's herself that's fine, sure, don't be talking! Dibble a hayfork's wrong with her only her lex's salig. Bald Tib does be yawning and smirking cats' hours, watching her sewing a dream together|6, the tailor's daughter, stitch to her last6|. Or decoying more nesters to fall down the flue. She likes a song and adores a scandal when the last post's gone by. Fond of a concertina and pairs passing when she's had her forty winks for supper and is reading her Evening World. |6Anna S To see is it |shsmarts, full lengths or swaggerssh|.6| News, news, all the news. |6Death, a leopard, kills fellah in Fez. Angry scenes at Stormount. Stilla Star with her lucky in goingaways.6| Opportunity fair |6and with6| the China floods and we hear these rosy rumours. She's seeking her way, a chickle a chuckle, in and out of their serial story, Les Loves of Selskar et Pervenche, freely adopted |6to The Nowvergian's Bride6|. There'll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear. |6The Zee6| End. But that's a world of ways away. No silver ash or switches for that one! While flattering candles flare. |6|shAnna Stacey's how are you!sh| |shWorther waist in the noblest,º says Adams and Sons, the wouldb wouldpay
actionneers.sh|6| Her hair's as brown as ever it was. And wivvy and wavy. Repose you now! Finn no more!
For, be |6the that same6| hooky salmon, there's already a big rody lad at random on the premises of his
haunt of the hungred bordles, as it is told me, Shop Illicit, flourishing like a lordmajor or a buaboabaybohm, litting flop a deadlop (aloose!) to lea but lifting a benbranch a yardalong (ivoeh!) on the breezy side (for showm!), the height of Brewster's chimpney and as broad below as Phineas Barnum, humphing his share of the showthers on him he's such a granfallar, with a pocked wife in pickle that's a flyfire and three lice nittle clinkers, two twilling bugs and one midgit pucelle. And aither he cursed and recursed and was everseen doing what your foorfootlers saw or he was neverdone seeing what you coolpigeons know, weep the clouds aboon for smiledown witnesses, and that'll do now about the fairyhees and the frailyshees. Very much so! But however 'twas 'tis sure for one thing that the man, Humme the Cheapner, Esc, overseen as we thought him, came at this timecoloured place where we live one tide on another with a bumrush in a hull of a wherry, the twin turbane dhow The Bey for Dybbling, |6|sh|aour thisa| archipelago's first visiting schooner,sh| with a |shwicklowpatternº waxenwench at her prow for a figureheadsh|, the |shdeadsea dugong updipdripping from his depths,sh|6| and has been repreaching himself like a fishmummer these sixtyten years ever since, growing hoarish under his turban and changing cane sugar into sethulose starch (Tuttut's cess to him!), as also that, batin the bulkihood he bloats about when innebbiated, our old offender was humile, commune and ensectuous from his nature, which you may gauge after the byname was put under him (praisers be!), and, totalisating him, that he, sober serious, he is ee and no counter he who will be ultimendly respunchable for the hubbub caused in Edenborough.