— Three quarks for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasn't got much of a bark
And sure any he has it's all beside the |s11mark mark.s11|
But, O Wreneagle Almighty, wouldn't un be a sky of a lark
To see that old buzzard whooping about for uns shirt in the dark
And he hunting round for uns speckled trousers around by Palmerston Park?
Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah's ark
And you think you're cock of the wark.
|s11Fowls up Fowls, up!s11| Tristy's the spry young spark
That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
Without even winking the tail of a feather
And that's how that chap's going to make his money and mark!
That song sang seaswans. The winging ones, overhoved, shrillgleescreaming. Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercailzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde.
And there they were too, when it was dark, whiltes the wildcaps was circling, as slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne the fates, the wardorse moved, by courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau Dowbellow Kaempersally, listening |s11in
in,s11| as hard as they could, in Dubbeldorp, the donker, by the tourneyold of the wattarfialls, with their vuoxens and they kemin in so hattajocky (only a
quarterbuck askull for the last acts) to the solans and |s11thes11| sycamores and the wild geese and |s11thes11| gannets and the migratories and |s11thes11| mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the rockbysuckerassousyoceanal sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening. Moykle ahoykling!
They were the big four, the four maaster waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old
Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right |s11enough enough, Bausnabeatha bausnabeathas11|, in Miracle Squeer: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us |s11and sure and,º sure,s11| thank |s11God God,s11| there are no more of us: and sure now you wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow and old Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ' sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish, repeating |s11itself itself,s11| after the interims of |s11Ausgublirgh Augusburgh,ºs11| for auld lang syne. And so there they were, with their palms in their |s11hands hands,s11| like the pulchrum's proculs, spraining their ears, |s11luistering luistenings11| and listening to the oceans of kissening, with their eyes glistening, all the four, when he was kiddling and cuddling and bunnyhugging scrumptious his colleen bawn and dinkum belle, an oscar sister, on the fifteen inch loveseat, behind the chieftainess stewardess's cabin, the hero, of Gaelic champion, the onliest one of her choice, her bleaueyedeal of a girl's friend, neither bigugly nor smallnice, meaning pretty much everything to her then, with his sinister dexterity, lightandrufthandling vicemversem her ragbags et assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and offsides, the brineburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was palpably wrong and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and kissing her, tootyfay charmaunt, in her ensemble of maidenna blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies, Isolamisola, and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three, and dissimulating themself, with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four remembored Who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar era
cuddling and kiddling |s11her her,s11| after an oyster supper in Cullen's |s11barn barn,s11| from under her mistlethrush and kissing and |s11listening listening,s11| in the good old bygone days of Dion |s11Boucicault Boucicault,s11| the elder, in Arrah-na-poghue, in the otherworld of the passing of the key of Twotongue Common, with Nush, the carrier of the word, and with Mesh, the cutter of the reed, in one of the farback pitchblack centuries when Who made the |s11world world,s11| when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, neer the Nodderlands Nurskery, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of tim boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the sin was shining, with their slates and |s11satchels satchels,s11| playing Florian's fables and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum |s11members members,s11| in the queen's Ultonian |s11colleges colleges,s11| along with another fellow, a prime number, Totius Quotius, and paying a pot of tribluts to Boris O'Brien, the buttler of Clumpthump, two looves, two turnovers plus (one) crown, to see the mad dane ating his vitals. Wulf! Wulf! And throwing his tongue in the snakepit. Ah ho! The ladies have mercias! It brought the dear
prehistoric scenes all back |s11again again,s11| as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, natural born lovers of nature, in all her moves and senses, and after that now there he was, that mouth of mandibles vowed to pure beauty, and his |s11Arrah-na-poghue Arrah-na-poghue,s11| when she murmurously, after she let a cough, gave her firm |s11order order,s11| if he wouldn't please |s11mind mind,s11| for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best favourite lyrical national blooms in Luvillicit, though not too much, reflecting on the situation, drinking in draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the great outdoors, before the four of them, in the fair fine night, whilst the stars shine bright, by |11the she11| light of |11the he11| moon, |11she we11| longed to |11be11| spoon, before her honeyoldloon, the plaint effect being in point of fact there being in the whole a seatuition so shocking and scandalous and |s11now now,s11| thank |s11God God,s11| there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing like the Moreigner bowed his crusted hoed and Tilly the tailor's tugged a tar in the Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number and there they were, like a foremasters in the |s11rolls rolls,s11| listening, to Rolando's deepen darblun Ossian roll (Lady, it was just too gorgeous, that expense of a
lovely tint, embellished by the charms of art and very well conducted and nicely mannered and all the horrid rudy noisies locked up in nasty cubbyhole!), as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering, along with the other fellow, so pass the poghue for Christ' sake, Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering, all the four, the old connubial men of the sea, yambing around with their old pantometer, in duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall, and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times, the wald times and the fald times and the |11(+hampty hempty+)11| times and the |11(+empty dempty+)11| times, for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman |s11squash squash,s11| with them, all |s11four four,s11| listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water.
Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked awfully pretty and so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the
fathoms and their half a tall |s11hat hat,s11| just now like the old Merquus of Pawerschoof, the determined old despot (quiescents in brage!), only for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer
there dormont, in front of the place near O'Clery's, at the darkumound numbur wan, beside that ancient Dame street, where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell, prostituent behind the Trinity |s11College
College,s11| that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Bootersbay Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters, the prumisceous creaters, that sells all the emancipated statues and flowersports,
James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin |s11Green Green,s11| after he made the centuries, going to the tailturn |s11horseshow horseshow,s11| before the angler nomads flood, along with another fellow, active impalsive, and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and the barrancos and the cappunchers childerun, Jules, Franz, Xavies and Polidors, everyone, Gotopoxy, with the houghers on them, highstepping the fissure and fracture |s11lines lines,s11| to get out of his way, onasmuck as their withers conditions could not possibly have been improved upon (praisers be to deeseesee!), like hopolopocattls erumping oround their Fudgity Yaman, and all the tercentenary horses and |s11priesthunters priesthunters,s11|
from the |s11Curragh Curragh,s11| and confusionaries and the authorities, Noord Amrikaans and Suid Aferican cattleraiders (so they say) all over like a tiara dullfuoco, in his grey half a tall hat and his amber necklace and his crimson harness and his leathern jib and his cheapskein hairshirt and his scotobrit sash and his parapelagian gallowglasses (how do you do, jaypee? Elevato!), forkbearded and bluetoothed and bellied and boneless, from Strathlyffe and Aylesbury and Northumberland Anglesey, to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? Get out of my way!), especially he being amphotically the right man in the right place, |11the whole yaghoodurt sweepstakings11| and all the horsepowers. But now, talking of |s11hayastdanars ands11| wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance (the explutor, his three andesiters and the two pantellarias), that reminds me about manausteriums of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were |s11now now,s11| listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore, long long ago in the olden times |s11Momonian Momonian,s11| throw darker hour |s11sorrows sorrows,s11| the princest |s11day day,s11| when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem, and Lally in the rain, with the blank prints, now extincts, after the wreak of Wormans' |s11Noe Noe,s11| why the |s11barmaisigheds barmaisigheds,s11| when my heart knew no care, and after that then there was the official landing of Lady Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S., and the christening of Queen |s11Battersby Battersby,s11| the Fourth Buzzersbee, according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J. P. Biskop, Senior, off the whate shape, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off the Erin Isles at that time, Suir knows, in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God, as Saman said, there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. The arzurian deeps o'er his humbodumbones sweeps. And his widdy the giddy is wreathing her murmoirs as her gracest triput to the Grocery Trader's Manthly.
Mind mand gunfree by Gladeys Rayburn. Runtable's Reincorporated. The new world presses. Where the
old conk cruised now croons the yunk. Exeonc throw a darras Kram of Llawnroc, ye gink guy, kirked into yord. Enterest attawonder Wehpen, luftcat revol, fairescapading in his natsirt. Tuesy tumbles. And mild aunt Liza is as loose as her neese. |s11Ful fest Fulfests11| withim |s11inerbrace inbraces11| behent. As gent would deem oncontinent. So mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin. Like the newcasters in their old plyable of A Royenne Devows. Jazzaphoney and Mirillovis and Nippy she nets best. Fing. Ay, ay! Sobbos. And so he was. Sabbus.
Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish |s11armada armada,s11| all
|s11scattered scattered,s11| and all officially |s11drowned
drowned,s11| there and then, on a lovely |s11morning morning,s11| after
the universal |s11flood flood,s11| at about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cominghome and Saint
|s11Patrick Patrick,s11| the |s11anabaptist
anabaptist,s11| and Saint |s11Kevin Kevin,s11| the
|s11lacustrian lacustrian,s11| with toomuch of tolls and lottance of |s11beggars
beggars,s11| after converting Porterscout and Dona, our first marents, and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite hourse of Hunover, |11rising Clunkthurf over
Cabinhogan,º11| and all they remembored and then there was the Frankish floot of |s11Noahsdovahs
Noahsdovahs,ºs11| from |s11Hedalgoland Hedalgoland,s11| round about the freebutter year of
Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so, disumbunking from under Motham-general Bonaboche (noo poopery!) in his half a grey traditional hat, alevoila come alevilla, and after that there he was, so terrestrial, like a Nailscissos, cuddling and poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, the maid, in single combat, under the
|s11sycamores sycamores,s11| amid the bladderings from the boom and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-poghue, so silvestrious, neer the Queen's
|s11Colleges Colleges,s11| in 1132 Brian or Bride |s11street
street,s11| behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest |s11gloriaspanquosts11| universal
howldmoutherhibbert lectures |s11on anarxaquy out of doxarchologys11| (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures
|s11postcard postcard,s11| with sexon grimmacticals, in the Latimer Roman history, of Latimer repeating
|s11himself himself,s11| from the vicerine of Lord |s11Hugh
Hugh,ºs11| the |s11Lacytynant Lacytynant,s11| till Bockley shuts the rahjahn gerachknell and
regnumrockery roundup (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and
sages and the Plymouth brethren, droning |s11along peanzanzangan along, peanzanzangan,s11| and nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots, in her abijance service, round their twelve |s11tables tables,s11| per pioja at pulga bollas, in the four trinity |s11colleges colleges,s11| for earnasyoulearning in |s11Eringrowback Eringrowback,s11| of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges supper the matther of |s11Erryn Erryn,s11| of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure, where their role was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo rolled round. Those were the
grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Janesdanes Lady Andersdaughter |s11universary Universary,s11| for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady, breathtaking beauty, Bambam's bonniest, lived to a great age at or in or about the late No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary Round, that eredwellers' afterliving, where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias, repeating herself, on which purposeth of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! O weep for the hower when eve aleaves bower! How it did but all come eddaying back to |s11them them,s11| if they did but |11gaze get gaze, gagagniagnian,11| to hear him |s11there there,s11| kissing her and cuddling her, after the gouty old |s11galahat galahat,s11| with his peer of quinnyfears and his troad of thirstuns, so nefarious, from his elevation of one yard one handard and thartytwo lines, before the four of |s11us us,s11| in his Roman |s11catholic Catholics11| arms, while his deepseepeepers gazed and sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloon rodolling olosheen eyenbowls by the Cornelius Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. Umque. Napoo.
Ah, dearo dearo dear! Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses gandered gamen. |s11Mahazar ag Dod!s11| It was so scalding sorry for all the whole twice
two four of us, with their familiar making the totem, and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and all belongings to him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and repeating himself and telling him |s11now
now,s11| for the seek of Senders
Newslaters and the mossacre of Saint |s11Brices Brices,s11| to forget the |s11past past,s11| when the burglar he shoved the wretch in |s11churneroil churneroil,s11| and contradicting all about Lally, the ballest master of Goaterstown, and his old |s11fellow fellow,s11| the |s11Lagener Lagener,s11| in the Locklane Lighthouse, earing his wick with a pierce of |s11railing railing,s11| and liggen hig with his ladder |s11up up,s11| and that oldtime turner and his sadderday erely cloudsing, the old croniony, Skelly, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts, full of lightweight beltts, and all the bald drakes |s11ors11| ever he had up in the bohereen off Artsichekes Road with Molls and Mahmullagh Mullarty, the man in the Oran mosque, and the old folks at home and Duignam and Lapole and the grand |s11confarreation confarreation,s11| as per the |s11Cabbangers richestore cabbangers richestore,s11| of the filest |s11archives archives,s11| and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers, all nangles, sangles, angles and wangles. And now, that reminds me, not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their Lumbag |s11Walk Walk,s11| over old Battleshore and Deaddleconchs, in their half a Roman |s11hat hat,s11| with an ancient Greek gloss on |s11it it,s11| in Chichester |s11college Colleges11| auction and,
thank God, they were all summarily |s11divorced divorced,s11| four years before, or so they say, by their dear poor |s11shehusbands shehusbands,s11| in dear byword |s11days days,s11| and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, per Nupiter Privius, |11only terpary,11| on the best of terms and be |s11forgot forgot,s11| whilk was plainly foretolk by their old pilgrim cocklesong |s11that ors11| they were singing through the wettest indies As I was going to Burrymecarott we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb |11so there was said thus11| That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. As evil flaws so Ivel flows. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. As the holymaid of Kunut said to the haryman of Koombe. For his humple pesition in odvices. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.
Lucas. And, O, so well they could remembore at that time |11when Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland11| Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman, foorsitter, in her fullbottom wig
and beard |11(Erminia Reginia!)11|, in or aring or around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1798 Y.W.C.A., at the Married Male Familyman's Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of the Dougals, the poor Scuitsman |11(Hohannes!)11|, nothing if not amorous, dinna forget, so frightened (zweep! zweep!) on account of her fullbottom |11(undullable attraxity!)11|, that put the yearl of mercies on |s11him him,s11| and the four maasters, |11in chors, with a hing behangd them,11| because he was so slow to borstel her schoon for her, when he was grooming her |s11ladyship ladyship,s11| instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper, like any old methodist, and all divorced and innasense |s11interdict interdict,s11| in the middle of the |s11temple temple,s11| according to their dear faithful. Ah, now, it was too bad, too bad and stout entirely|11, all the missoccurs11|! And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, from the brownesberrow in nolandsland, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted with ally croaker by everybody he was, by decree |s11absolute absolute,s11| through |s11Herrinsilde Herrinsilde,s11| because he forgot |s11himself himself,s11| making wind and |s11water water,s11| and made a Neptune's mess of all of himself, sculling over the giamond's |s11courseway courseway,s11| and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old morning proxy paper, a writing in request to hersute |s11herself herself,s11| on stamped brownanoleum, from Roneo to Giliette, before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned |s11too too,s11| poor |s11Dion Dion,s11| before the world and her |s11husband husband,s11| because it was most improper and most |s11wrong wrong,s11| when he attempted to (well, he was shocking poor in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him), because he (ah, well now, peaces pea to Wedmore and let not the song go dumb upon your Ire, as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and we won't be too hard on
him as an old Manx presbyterian), and after that, as red as a Rosse is, he made his last will and went to |s11confession confession,s11| like the general of the |s11Berkeleyites Berkeleyites,s11| at the rim of the |s11rom rom,s11| on his two bare |s11marrowbones marrowbones,s11| to Her Worship his Mother and Sister Evangelist |s11Sweainey Sweainey,s11| on Cailcainnin widnight and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootybutton in the handsome cab and now, tell the truth, unfriends never (she was his first messes dogess and it was a very pretty peltry and there
were faults on both sides), well, he attempted (or so they say), ah, now, forget and forgive (don't we all?), and sure, he was only funning, with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him, well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish |s11familiarities familiarities,s11| after eten a bad |s11crab crampºs11| in the |s11red rudes11| ocean and|s11, hevantonoze,s11| sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!), her poor old divorced male, in the housepays for the daying at the Martyr Mrs |s11MacCawley's MacCawley's,s11| where at the time he was taying, and toying to hold the |s11nursetender's nursetendereds11| hand (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!
And where do you leave Matt Emeritus, the laychief of Abbotabishop? And eschullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! They were all so sorgy for poorboir |s11Matt
Matt,ºs11| in his saltwater |s11hat hat,s11| with the Aran
|s11crown crown,s11| |11that
or11| she grew |11all that11| out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and
his |s11overalls overalls,s11| all falling over her in folds — sure, he hadn't the heart in her to pull them up — poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man (the porple blussing
upon them!), sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground, for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause (who shall say?), in her beaver bonnet, the crapoppely billycoque back from Presscoatts and Dyars, like the king of the Caucuses, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea time,
with her face to the |s11wall wall,s11| in view of the poorhouse, and taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening, with her ivyclad
|s11hood hood,s11| and gripping an old pair of curling |s11tongs
tongs,s11| belonging to Mrs Duna |s11O'Cannell O'Cannell,s11| to blow his brains with, till the heights of Newhigherland
heard the Bristolshut, with his can of tea and a purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come, Gordon Heighland, when you think of it! The merthe dirther! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlourmen laudabiliter of woman squelch and all on account of the
smell of Shackleton and Scratchman and his mouth watering, acid and alkolic, signs on the salt, and so now pass the loaf for Christ' sake, Amen. And so. And all.
Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath! Ay, ay!
And still and all at that time of the dynast days of old konning Soteric Sulkinbored and Bargomuster |s11Bart Bart,s11| when they struck coil and shock
|s11haunts haunts,s11| in old |s11Hungerford-on-Mudway
Hungerford-on-Mudway,s11| where first I met thee oldpoetryck flied from |s11may may,s11| and the Finnan haddies and the Noal Sharks
and the muckstails turtles like an acoustic pottish and the griesouper bullyum and how he poled him up his boccat of vuotar and got big buzz for his name in the airweek's honours from home, colonies and empire, they were always with assisting |s11grace
grace,s11| thinking (up) and not forgetting about shims and shawls |s11week week,s11| in auld lang syne (up) their four
|s11hosenbands hosenbands,s11| that were four (up) beautful sister misters, now happily married, |11unto old
Gallstonebelly,11| and there they were always counting and contradicting every night |11'tis early11| the lovely mother-of-periwinkle
|s11buttons buttons,s11| according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was, in the end, the deary, soldpowder and all, the beautfour
|s11sisters sisters,s11| and that was her mudhen republican |s11name
name,s11| right |s11enough enough,s11| from alum and
|s11oves ovesº,s11| and they used to be getting up from
|s11under under,s11| in their tape and straw |s11garlands
garlands,s11| with all the worries awake in their |s11hair hair,s11| at the kookaburra bell
|11ringing rinrginrg11| all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lousy louts!) so frightened,
|11for the dthclangavore,11| like |s11Knockneeghs
knockneeghss11| bumpsed by the fisterman's straights (ys! ys!), at all hours every |s11night night,s11| on their mistletoes, the
four old oldsters, with the oerkussens under their armsaxters, all puddled and |s11mythified mythified,s11| the way the wind wheeled the schooler round, when nobody wouldn't even let them
|s11rusten rusten,s11| from playing their gastspiels, crossing their sleep by the shocking
|s11silence silence,s11| when they were in dreams of yore, standing behind the
door, or leaning out of the chair, or kneeling under the sofacover and sitting on the souptureen, and then getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown convibrational bed |s11ors11| they used to slumper |s11under under,s11| when hope was there no |s11more more,s11| and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, like svvollovving |11stickers stickers,º like the time they were dadging the talkeycook that chased them,11| look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool, to break fyre toy all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bawneen and bath slipper and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to |s11be be,s11| flapping and |s11cycling cycling,s11| and a
dooing a |s11doonloop doonloop, panementically panementically,s11| around the waists of the ships, as tyred as they were, at their windswidths in the wavelengths, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts and Roe of the fair cheats, exchanging fleas, from host to host, with |s11arthroposophia arthroposophia,s11| and he selling him before he forgot, issle issle, after having prealably dephlegmatised his gutterful of throatyfrogs, with a lungible fong in his suckmouth ear, while the dear invoked to the coolun dare by a palpebrows lift left no doubt in his minder, till he was instant and he was trustin, sister soul in brother hand, the subjects being their passion grand, that one fresh from the cow about Eithne Meithne married a mailde and that one too from Engrvakar saga abooth a gooth a gev a gotheny egg all out of his oldy head and the parkside pranks of quality queens, katte efter kinne, for Earl Hoovedsoon's choosing and Huber and Harman orhowwhen theeuponthus (chchch!) eysolt of binnoculises memostinmust egotum sabcunsciously sense upers the deprofundity of multimathematical immaterialities wherebejubers in the pancosmic urge the allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone (hear, O hear, Caller Errin!) exteriorises on this ourherenow plane in disunited solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) perilwhitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited
selfdom (murky whey, abstrews adim!) in the higherdiminsional selfless Allself, theemeeng Narsty meetheeng Idoless and telling Jolly MacGolly, dear mester John, the belated dishevelled, hacking away at a parchment pie, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing melia marmels in ocean ladies' foursome, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety, duk, |11downaluppingº (how long tandem!) like a foreretyred schoonmasters,11| and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, like the narcolepts on the lakes of |s11Coma Coma,s11| through the steamy |s11windows windows,s11| into the honeymoon |s11cabins cabins,s11| on board the big |s11steamadories steamadories,s11| made by |s11Fumadory Fumadory,s11| and the saloon ladies' madorn toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows |s11and and,s11| hee |s11hee hee,s11| listening, |11qua qua11| committee, the poor old quakers, oben the |s11dure dure,s11| to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies, serious me, a lass spring as you fancy, and sheets far from the lad, courting in blankets, |s11enfamillias enfamillias, and and,s11| shee |s11shee shee,s11| all |s11improper improper,s11| in a lovely mourning toilet, for the rosecrumpler, the thrilldriver, the sighinspirer, with that olive throb in his nude neck, and, swayin and thayin, thanks ever so much for the tiny quote, which sought of maid everythingling again so very much more delightafellay, and the perfidly suite of her, bootyfilly yours, under all their familarities, by preventing grace forgetting to say their grace before chambadory, before going to boat with the verges of the
chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema-Knatut|s11,s11| so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And |s11all all,s11| hee hee |s11hee hee,s11| quaking, so fright, |s11and and,s11| shee |s11shee shee,s11| shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
For it was then a pretty thing happened of pure diversion mayhap, when her flattering hend, at the justright moment, like perchance some cook of corage might clip the lad on a poot of porage, handshut his duckhouse, the vivid girl,deaf with love (ah sure, you know her, our angel being, one of romance's fadeless wonderwomen, and, sure now, we all know you dote on her even unto date), with
a queeleetlecree of joysis crisis she renulited their disunited, with ripy lepes to ropy lopes (the dear o'dears!) and the golden importunity of aloofer's leavetime, when as quick as greased pigskin, Amoricas Champias, with one |s11virul
aragans11| throast, druve the massive of |s11vigtoury virilvigtourys11|
bothlines of forwards (Eburnea's down, boys!) rightjingbangshot into the goal of her gullet.
And now upright and add them! And plays be honest! And pullit into yourself, as on manowoman do another! Candidately, everybody! |11A mot for amot. Comong, meng, and
douh!11| There was |s11this this,s11| wellyoumaycallher, a strapping fine young modern old
ancient Irish prisscess, so and so hands high, such and such paddock weight, in her madapolam smock, nothing under her hat but red hair and solid ivory (now you know it's true in your hardup hearts!) and a firstclass pair of bedroom eyes of most unholy blue (how weak we are, one and all!), the charm of favour's fond consent! Could you blame her, we're saying, for one psocoldlogical
moment? What would Ewe do? With that so tiresome old milkless a ram, with his tiresome duty peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old |s11hairygs11| orangogran
|s11beaver beaver,s11| in his tiresome old twentysixandsixpenny sheopards |s11Plods
plodss11| drowsers! |s11Hagakhroustioun!s11| It were too exceeding really if one woulds to offer at sulk an oldivirdual a pinge of
hinge hit. The mainest thing ever! Since Edem was in the boays noavy. No, no, the dear heaven knows, and the farther the from it, if the whole stole stale misbetold, whoever the gulpable, and whatever the pulpous was, the twooned togethered, and giving the mhost phassionable wheathers, they were doing a lally a lolly a dither a duther one lelly two dather three lilly four dother. And it was a
fiveful moment for the poor old |s11timetellers timetellersº ticktacking
ticktacking,s11| to tenk the count. Till the spark that plugged spared the chokee he gripped and (volatile volupty, how brieved are thy lunguings!) they could and they could hear like of a lisp lapsing, that was her knight of the Truths Thong plipping out of her chapellledeosy, after where he had gone and polped the questioned. Plop.
Ah now, it was tootwoly torrific, the mummurrlubejubes! And then after that they used to be so |s11forgetful forgetful,s11| counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu mouldern
maiden |s11name name,s11| for |s11overflauwing overflauwing,s11| by the dream of woman the |s11Owneirist owneirist,s11| in forty lands. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn |s11asthore asthore,s11| as for days |s11galore galore,s11| of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.
But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be in lethargy's |s11love love,s11| at the end of it
|s11all all,s11| at that time (up) always, tired and all, after doing the mousework and making it up, over their community singing (up) the toploft of the voicebox of
|s11Mamalujo Mamalujo,ºs11| like the senior follies at murther
|s11magrees magrees,s11| squatting round two by two, the four confederates, with Caxon, the Coxswain, (up) the wet air register in Old Man's House, Millenium Road, crowning themselves in lauraly
|s11branches branches,s11| with their cold knees and their poor (up) |s11quadrupeds
quadrupeds,ºs11| fast |s11ovasleep
ovasleep,s11| and all dolled |s11up up,s11| for their blankets and
materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and boterham clots, a potion apeace, a piece aportion, a lepel alip, alup a lap, for a cup of kindest |s11yet yet,s11| with hold take
hand and nurse and only touch of ate, a lovely munkybown and |11for xmell and11| wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to be not beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses but to pass the teeth for
choke sake |s11Amensch Amensch,s11| when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world
|s11forgot forgot,s11| since the phlegmish |s11hoopicough
hoopicough,s11| for all a |s11possabed possabed,s11| after ete a bad cramp and johnny
|s11magories magories,s11| and backscrat the poor bedsores and the farthing dip, their caschal pandle |s11of
magmegnousioumº,s11| and read a letter or two every |s11night
night,s11| before going to dodo sleep |s11atrance atrance,s11| with their catkins
|s11coifs coifs,s11| in the twilight, a capitaletter for further |s11auspices
auspices,s11| on their old one page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor by his fellow |s11girl
girl,s11| the Mrs Shemans, in her summerseal house onsample, with the caracul broadtail, her totam in tutu, final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta covers, uptenable from the orther, for to regul their reves by incubation and
|s11Lally Lally,s11| through their gangrene |s11spentacles
spentacles,s11| and all the good |s11ors11| they did in their time, the rigorists, for Roe and O'Mulconry a
Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty MacGregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept and severalty, and one by one and sing a mamalujo. To the heroest champion of Eren and his braceoleanders and Gowan, Gawin and Gonne.
And after that now in the future, please God, after nonpenal death, all start repeating |s11ourselves ourselves,s11| in medios
|s11loquos loquos,s11| from where he got useful arm busy
on the touchline due south of her western shoulder down to death and the love |s11embrace embrace,s11| with an interesting tallow complexion and all now |s11united united,º sansfamillias sansfamillias,s11| let us ran on to say oremus prayer and homeysweet |s11homely homely,s11| after fully realising the gratifying experience of highly continental evenements, for meter and peter to temple an |s11eslaap eslaap,s11| for auld |s11acquaintance acquaintance,s11| to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and |s11Peregrine Peregrine,s11| for navigants et |s11peregrinantibus peregrinantibus,s11| in all the old imperial and Fionnachan sea and for vogue awallow to sing a lovasteamadorion to Ladyseyes, here's Tricks and Doelsy, delightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop and how she ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and awfully bucked, right glad we never shall forget, Miss Yiss, you fascinator, you, thoh the dayses gone still they loves young dreams, and old Luke with his kingly leer, so wellworth watching, and Senchus Mor, possessed of evident notoriety, and another more of the bigtimers, to name no |s11others others,s11| of whom great things were expected in the fulmfilming department, for the lives of Lazarus and auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole Shanghai.