And there they were too listening in as hard as they could |6(only a
quarterbuckº askull for the last acts)º6| to the solans and sycamores and the wild geese and gannets and the migratories and mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening.
They were the big four, the four master 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 enough: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure thank God 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 itself for auld lang syne. And so there they were |6with their palms in their hands like the pulchrum's proculs,6| spraining their ears listening and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn, |6an oscar sister,6| the hero, that was very wrong and most improper, and cuddling her and kissing her|6, Isolamisola,º |aand whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three a|6| 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 her |6after an oyster supper in Cullen's barn6| from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-poghue in one of the farback pitchblack centuries when who made the world when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and peeping tom boys, with their slates and satchels playing Florian's fables in the queen's Ultonian colleges with another fellow |6and paying a pot of tribluts to Boris O'Brien to see the mad dane ating his vitals6|. Ah ho! It brought the dear
prehistoric scenes all back again as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, and after that now there he was and his Arrah-na-poghue before the four of them so shocking and scandalous and now thank God there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing and there they were listening, 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, Luke and Johnny MacDougall, and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water.
Johnny. |6'|~From the urizen of speeches.~|6'| 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 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 hat just now like the old marquess of Powerscourt, the determined old despot, only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near
O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the emancipated statues and powerscourts,
James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green |6after he made the centuries6| going to the |6tailturn6| horse show before the |6angler nomads6| flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters
from the Curragh and confusionaries and the authorities over from England and American cattleraiders (so they say) all over in his grey half a tall hat |6and his amber necklace and his crimson harness and his leathern jib and his cheapskeinº hairshirt and his scotobrit sash and his parapelagianº blank6| (how do you do, jaypee?) and his gallowglasses to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? get out of my way!) and all the horsepowers. But now that reminds me |6about manausteriums6| 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 now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times Momonian and Lally |6in the rain with the blank prints after the wreak of |aWorman's Wormans'a| Noe whyº the barmaisigheds6| when my heart knew no care and after that then there was the official landing of Lady James Casement in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S. and the christening of Queen Battersby the Fourth |6Buzzersbee6| according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J. P. Bishop, Senior, |6off the whate shape6| 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 Martin Cunningham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay! And so he was.
Marcus. |6'|~Tharmaz syphon Mark.~|6'| And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada all scattered and all officially drowned there and then on a lovely morning after the universal flood at
about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick the anabaptist and Saint Kevin the lacustrian |6and after
convertingº6| Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon, the equestrian and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet round about the year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so landing from under Madam-general Bonaboche in
his half a grey traditional hat and after that there he was, so terrestrial, cuddling and poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, in single combat, under the sycamores and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-poghue, so silvestrious, near the queen's colleges in 1132 Bride street behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest universal lectures (hello,
Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard in the Latimer Roman history of Latimer repeating himself (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 |6'|~, construing and glosing and~|6'| nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots round their twelve tables in the four trinity colleges of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure. Those were the
grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Jane Andersdaughter universary for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady lived to a great age at or in or about No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias repeating herself 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! How it all came back to them to hear him there kissing her and cuddling her so nefarious before the four of us in his Roman catholic arms by the Cornelius Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. Umque.
Ah, dearo dearo dear! It was so sorry for all the whole twice two four of us |6with their familiar making the totem6| and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat |6and all belongings to him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches,6| and repeating himself and telling him now to forget the past |6when the burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil6| and contradicting all about Lally and his old fellow the Lagener |6in the Locklane Lighthouse earingº his wick with a pierce of railing and liggen heg with his ladder up and Skelly6| and all the old drakes ever he had up in the bohereen and the old folks at home and Duignam and Lapole and the grand confarreation and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers. And now that reminds me not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their half a Roman hat with an ancient Greek gloss on it in Chichester college auction and thank God they were all summarily divorced four years before, so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands in dear byword days and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, on the best of terms and be forgot which was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim song |6that they were singing through the wettest indies6| As I was going to Ballymacarett we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.
Lucas. |6'|~For the luvah the lauds Lucas.~|6'| And, O, so well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig
and beard 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 Scotsman, dinna forget, so frightened on account of her fullbottom, and the four masters because he was so slow grooming her ladyship instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper like any old methodist and all divorced according to their dear faithful. Ah, now, it was too bad! And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted by everybody he was, by decree absolute because he forgot himself making wind and water and made a |6Neptune's6| mess of all of himself |6sculling over the giamond's courseway6| and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old morning proxy paper, a request in writing to herself on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb all drowned too poor Dion before the world and her husband because it was most improper and most wrong when he attempted to — well, he was shocking bad in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him — because he — ah, well now, we won't be too hard on
him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that he made his last will and went to confession on his two bare marrowbones to Mother Evangelist Sweeney and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootbutton in the hansom cab and now, tell the truth, |6'|~crosshatching or no,~|6'| |6unfriends never,6| there
were faults on both sides — well, he attempted (or so they say) — ah, now, forget and forgive, and sure, |6|x|~given a dogget badge name in Haughann,~|x|6| 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 familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red ocean and sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!), her poor old divorced male, in the hospice for the dying |6at the Martyrº Mrsmacawleys6| and trying to hold the nursetender's hand (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and dying to remembore who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!
And where do you leave Matt|6'|~, the grand old Urthonian~|6'||6, theº laychief of
Abbotabishop6|? They were all so sorry for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat that she grew all out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and his overalls 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, sitting there
|6in |athe hera| beaver bonnet,6|, a family all
to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone with her face to the wall in sight of the poorhouse, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, with her ivyclad hat and gripping an old pair of curling tongs belonging to Mrs Dana O'Connell to blow his brains with, with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk,
waiting for the end to come — God of heaven, when you think of it! 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 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! Ay, ay!
And still and all at that time |6of old king Soteric Sulkinbored6| they were always |6with
assisting grace6| thinking (up) and not forgetting about auld lang syne (up) their four hosenbands that were four (up) beautful sister masters, now happily married, and there they were always counting and contradicting every night the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons 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, the beautfour sisters and that was her modern republican name right enough and they used to be getting up from under |6in their tape and straw
garlands6| at the kookaburra bell ringing 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, at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, when nobody wouldn't even let them rest
|6from playing their gastspiels6|, and getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown bed they used to sleep under and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals
and a panegyric and repeating themselves, look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool to break fire to 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
|6bawneen and6| 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 be flapping and cycling around the waists of the
ships, as tired as they were, |6at their windswidths in the wavelengths,º6| the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally and Roe and he telling him before he
forgot that one about |6M Eithneº Meithne
married a mailde and6| a goose a love a goldeny egg |6all out of his oldy
headº6| and Johnny MacGory, dear mister John, |6hacking away at a parchment pie6| and all the other analist,
the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing ocean ladies' foursome and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' modern toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening,
|6qua committeeº,6| the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass
ladies|6, serious me, spring as you fancy, courting in bed,6| enfamillias and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet under all their
familarities, |6by preventing grace6| forgetting to say their grace before chambadory so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all hee hee hee quaking, so fright, and shee shee shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
And then after that they used to be so forgetful counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu modern
maiden name by the dream. 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 asthore as for days galore of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.
But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be at the end of it all at that time (up) always, tired and all, |6after doing the mousework and making it
up,6| over their singing (up) the top of the voice of Mamalujo |6like the senior follies at murther magrees6| sitting round two by two, the four confederates,
|6with Caxon,º the Coxswainº,6| (up) the wet air register in Old
Man's House |6crowning themselves in lauraly branches6| with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds fast asleep and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their
bowl of brown schackle and milky and clots for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of eat a lovely munkybown and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons |6to be not beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses
but6| to pass the teeth for choke sake Amensch when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after eat a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and their farthing dip and read a letter or two every night before going to sleep
|6with their catkins bonnets6| in the twilight, a capitaletter for further auspices on their old one page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor by Mrs Shemans, final
buff lunch edition, |6in the regatta covers6| and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good they did in their time|6, the
rigorists,6| 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, |6beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept and severalty,º6| and one by one and sing a mamalujo.
And after that now in the future please God |6after nonpenal death,º6| all start repeating ourselves |6in medios loquos deathº6| and all now united sansfamillias say oremus prayer for auld acquaintance to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants et peregrinantibus in all the old and imperial sea and sing a lovasteamadorion in her doaty ducky little blue and roll a hoop and how she ran we never never shall forget and old Luke |6with his kingly leer6| and Senchus Mor and another more for |6the lives of Lazarus and6| auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole Shanghai.