And there they were too listening in as hard as they could |7in Dubbeldorp the donker |aby the
tourneyold of the wattarfialls withº their vuoxens and they kemin in so
hattajockya|7| (only a
quarterbuck askull for the last acts) 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 |7master maaster7| 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 |7|aBausnabeatha,a| in Miracle Squeer7|: 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 with their palms in their hands like the pulchrum's proculs, spraining their ears |7listening luistering7| and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn, an oscar sister, the hero, that was very wrong and most improper, and cuddling her and kissing her, Isolamisola, and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three 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 after an oyster supper in Cullen's barn from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-poghue|7, the otherworld of the passing of the key of Twotongue Common, with Nush, the carrierº of the word, and with Mesh, the cutter of the reed,7| 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, |7|ain neera| the Nodderlands Nurskery,7| whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and |7peeping piping7| tom boys, |7raising hell while the sin was shining,7| with their slates and satchels playing Florian's fables |7and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum members7| in the queen's Ultonian colleges |7along7| with another fellow|7, a prime number, Totius Quotius,7| and paying a pot of tribluts to Boris O'Brien|7, the buttler of Clumpthump, |atwo looves, two turnovers plus and (one) crown,a|7| to see the mad dane ating his vitals. 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 |7like the |aMoreigner |bNoriner Moreignerb|a| bowed his crusted hoed and Tilly the tailor's tugged a tar in the Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number7| 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|7, the wald times and the fald times and the times and the times,7| 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. 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 |7(quiescents in brage!)7|, only for |7the
extrusion of7| the saltwater or the auctioneer there |7dormont7| in front of the place
near O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell |7prostituent7| behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby
Sisters|7, the prumisceous creaters,7| that sells all the emancipated statues and
James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green after he made the centuries going to the tailturn horse show before the angler nomads flood along with another fellow|7, active impalsive,7| and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and |7|athe barrancos anda| the cappunchers childerun, Jules, Franz, |aXavy Xaviesa| and Polidors,º7| everyone|7, Gotopoxy,7| highstepping |7the fissure and fracture lines7| to get out of his way|7, like the hopolopocattlsº erumping oround their Fudgityº Yaman,7| and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters
from the Curragh and confusionaries and the authorities |7over from England and American |aNoorda| Amrikaans and South Aferican7| cattleraiders (so they say) all over |7like a tiara |adull fuoco dullfuocoa|7| 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 |7blank gallowglasses7| (how do you do, jaypee? |7Elevato!7|) |7and his gallowglasses7| to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? |7get Get7| out of my way!) and all the horsepowers. But now|7, talking of wolkingology, and how our seaborn isle came into exestuanceº (the explutor, his three andesiters and the two pantellarias),º7| 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 now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times Momonian |7when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem7| and Lally in the rain with the blank prints|7, now extincts,7| after the wreak of Wormans' Noe why the barmaisigheds 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 Buzzersbee according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J. P. |7Bishop, Biskop,º7| 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 Martin Cunningham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off |7Dunleary theº Erin Islesº7| at that time|7, Suirº knows,7| in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God|7, as Saman said,7| there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay! |7Sobbos.7| And so he was. |7Sabbus.7|
Marcus. 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 after converting Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon, the
equestrian|7, on his whuite hourse of Hunover,7| and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet |7from Hidalgoland7| round about
the year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so |7landing disumbunking7| from under |7Madam-general
Motham-generalº7| Bonaboche |7(noo poopery!)7| in his half a grey traditional
hat|7, alevoila come alevilla,7| and after that there he was, so terrestrial, cuddling and poghuing her scandalous and very wrong,
|7the maid,7| in single combat, under the sycamores |7amid the
bladderingsº from the boom7| and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-poghue, so silvestrious, |7near
neer7| 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 |7droning along peanzanzangan and7| nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots|7, in her abijance service,7| round their twelve tables |7per pioja at pulga bollas7| in the four trinity colleges |7for |aearnasyoulearn earnasyoulearninga| inº Eringrowback7| 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|7, that eredwellers' afterliving,º7| where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias repeating herself |7on which purposeth7| 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 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 now |7for the seek of
Newslaters7| to forget the |7past last7| when the burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil and contradicting all about Lally|7, the ballest master of Goaterstownº,7| and his old fellow the Lagener in the Locklane Lighthouse |7|x|~, off Sir Johnny Rogersons the lurchships jesters,~|x|7| earing his wick with a pierce of railing and liggen heg with his ladder up and |7that oldtime turner, and his sadderday erely cloudsing, the old croniony,7| Skelly|7, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts, full of lightweight beltts,º7| and all the |7old baldº7| drakes ever he had up in the bohereen |7off Artsichekes Road with Mollsº and Mullarty7| and the old folks at home and Duignam and Lapole and the grand confarreation |7as per |athea| Cabbangers richestore7| 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, |7over |aolda| Battleshore and Deaddleconchs,7| 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, |7of7| 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, |7per Nupiter Privius,7| on the best of terms and be forgot |7which whilk7| was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim |7song cocklesong7| that they were singing through the wettest indies As I was going to |7Ballymacarett Burrymecarott7| 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. And, O, so well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman|7, foorsitter,7| 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 |7Scotsman Scuitsman7|, dinna forget, so frightened |7(zweep! zweep!º)7| on account of her fullbottom, |7that put the yearl of mercies on him7| and the four |7masters maasters7| because he was so slow |7to borstel her schoon for her when he was7| 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|7, too bad and stout entirely7|! 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 Neptune's mess of all of himself sculling over the giamond's courseway and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old morning proxy paper, a |7request in writing writing in request7| 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 |7bad poor7| in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him — because he — ah, well now, |7let not the song go dong upon your Ire, and as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and7| we won't be too hard on
him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that|7, as red as a Rosse is,7| he made his last will and went to confession |7like the general of the Berkeleyites |aat the rim of the roma|7| on his two bare marrowbones to |7Her Worship his7| Mother |7and Sister7| Evangelist Sweeney |7on Cailcainnin widnight7| and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootbutton in the hansom cab and now, tell the truth, unfriends |7never, never, she was his first messes dogess and |ait was a very pretty peltry anda|7| there
were faults on both sides — well, he attempted (or so they say) — ah, now, forget and forgive |7(don't we all?)7|, 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 familiarities after |7eating eten7| 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 at the Martyr Mrsmacawleys 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 |7Emeritus7|, the laychief of Abbotabishop? |7|xAnd
|aa blank eschullardºa| of ffrench and gherman.
Achoch!x|7| They were all so |7sorry sorgy7| 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 |7|x(the porple blussing upon them!)x|7|, sitting
there|7|x, below ground, |afor |banb| expiatory
|brites riteb|, in postulation of his causeº (who shall
say?),ºa|x|7| in her beaver bonnet, |7|xthe crapoppely billycoque back from Presscoatts and
|aDyers Dyarsa|, |alike theº king of the
Caucusesa|x|7|, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone |7|xandº she
due to kid by sweetpea time,ºx|7| 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, |7|xtill the heights of Newhigherland heardº the bristolshut,x|7| with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown
loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come — |7God of heaven Gordon Hi Heighland7|, 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! (7Take breath!7) Ay, ay!
And still and all at that time (7of the dynast daysº7) of old (7king
konningº7) Soteric Sulkinbored (7and Bargomuster Bart when they struck coil and shock haunts in
old Hungerford-on-Mudway and the Finnan haddies and the Noal Sharks and the muckstails turtles and the griesouperº patauge 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,7) they were always with assisting grace thinking (up) and not forgetting about (7shims and shawls week in7) auld lang syne (up) their four
hosenbands that were four (up) beautful sister |7masters misters7|, 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 (7modern mudhen7) republican name right enough and
they used to be getting up from under in their tape and straw garlands (7with all the worries awake in their hair7) 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, (7like Knockneeghs bumpsed by the fisterman's straightsº (ys!
ys!),7) at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, |7with the oerkussens under their
|aarmaxters armsaxtersa|, |aall puddled and mistified the way the wind wheeled the schooler
round,a|7| when nobody wouldn't even let them |7rest rusten7| from playing their
gastspiels, |7and crossing their sleep by the shocking silence |awhen they were in dreams of yore
standing behind the
door or leaning out of the chair or kneeling |bon underb| the sofacover and sittingº on the souptureena| and thenº7| getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown |7convibrational7| bed they used to |7sleep slumper7| under |7when hope was there no more7| and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, |7like svvollovving stickers7| look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool to break |7fire to toy fyre toyº7| 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 be flapping and cycling |7and a
dooing a doonloop panementically7| around the waists of the ships, as |7tired tyred7| as they were, at their windswidths in the wavelengths, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally |7, of the cleftoft bagoderts7| and Roe |7|aof the fair cheats,a| exchanging fleas,º from host to host, with arthroposophia7| and he |7telling selling7| him before he forgot|7, with a mandible fong in his suckmouth ear,7| that one |7fresh from the cow7| about Eithne Meithne married a mailde and |7that one too from Engrvakarº saga7| a |7goose gooth7| |7a love a alav a7| |7goldeny gotheny7| egg all out of his oldy head |7and the parkside pranks of quality queens and Huber and Harman7| and |7Johnny Jolly7| MacGory, dear |7mister mester7| John, |7the belated dishevelled,7| hacking away at a parchment |7pie pieº,7| and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing |7melia marmels in7| ocean ladies' foursome|7, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety, duk,7| and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, |7like the narcolepts on the lakes of Coma7| through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' |7modern madorn7| toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening, qua committee, the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies, serious me, spring as you fancy, courting in bed, enfamillias and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet|7,º bootyfilly yours,7| under all their familarities, by preventing grace forgetting to say their grace before chambadory |7before going to boat with the verges of the
chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema-Knatut7| 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 |7modern mouldern7|
maiden name |7for |aoverflowing overflauwinga|7| by the dream |7of woman the Owneirist in forty lands7|. 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 |7in lethargy's love7| at the end of it all at that time (up) always, tired and all, after doing the
mousework and making it up, over their |7community7| singing (up) the top of the voice of Mamalujo like the senior follies at murther magrees |7sitting
squatting7| round two by two, the four confederates, with Caxon, the Coxswain, (up) the wet air register in Old Man's House|7, Millenium
Road,7| crowning themselves in lauraly branches with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds fast |7asleep
ovasleep7| and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and
|7both boterham7| clots|7,
a potion apeace a peace apeaceº, a piece aportion, |aa
lepel alip, alup a lap,a|7| for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of |7eat
ate7| a lovely munkybown and 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 Amensch when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after
|7eat ete7| a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and |7their
the7| farthing dip|7, their caschal pandle7| and read a letter or two every night before going to
|7dodo7| sleep |7atrance7| with their catkins
|7bonnets coifs7| 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
|7his fellow girl the7| Mrs Shemans, |7in her summerseal house
onsampleº, with the broadtail caracul caracul
broadtail|a, her totam in tutu,ºa|7| final buff |7lunch
noonmeal7| edition, in the regatta covers|7|a, uptenable from the orther,a|
for to regel their reves by incubation7| and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good 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.
And after that now in the future please God after nonpenal death, all start repeating ourselves in medios loquos death and all now united sansfamillias say oremus prayer |7|afor meter and petera| to temple |aasleep a eslaapa|7| for auld acquaintance to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants et peregrinantibus in all the old |7and imperial imperial and Fionnachan7| 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 with his kingly leer and Senchus Mor and another more |7to name no others7| for the lives of Lazarus and auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole Shanghai.