— Could you, of course, dear Shaun, I knew, |1while in the barrel1| read the strangelooking |1Shem1| language of this letter to His Majesty?
— I, replied Shaun, could play it |1like anything1|. But it is awful in its handwriting. It is a piece of scribble. |1A child sailing eggshells on the floor of a wet day would have more sabby1|
Letter written by Shem, brother of Shaun, for Alp, mother of Shaun, about Hek, father of Shaun.
— Dear Shaun, I said, since you came to the use of language have you not|1, without suggesting for |aa moment an instanta|,1| millions of times used language ten times as worse as the language used up by your Shem.
— What for, dear Shaun? I asked.
— For his language, Shaun replied, in inside his letter.1|
— |1But1| You could come near it, dear Shaun, I suppose,? I asked.
— No-one could, Shaun replied, for its being incendiary.
— |1But Still1| I suppose you could use worse yourself dear Shaun, I supposed, if you only would take the trouble of so doing?
— Undoubtedly so, Shaun replied, & by the powers of war I could do it any time I liked even with my left hand |1as easy as a keg of beer1| and much worse than |1what1| my |1bogus1| brother Shem |1is conversant with1| only for|1, as an amateur & other things,1| I would never take so much trouble in doing so. And by all Mind you, he was in the deepest of earnest about it though his jaw was too heavy to talk but only, in looking up to find out what age he might be by the polar star I hold sacred I swear my oath by the name of Shaun that I will commit to the flames any incendiary whoever will try to set a mother of mine on fire.
Mind you, he was in the deepest of earnest about it though his jaw was too heavy to talk a lot only, in looking up to find out what age he might be by the polar star, he overbalanced by |1the mighty fine1|
weight of the barrel and|1, as the wisest course,1| rolled backwards |1round Sane's corner out of further
earshot1| with his curious mode of motion a fairish way enough behind the times in the direction of
MacAuliffe's of Delgany before he was really uprighted.
Well, thou art passing hence, dear Shaun, from |1friends carnal relations1| and |1parents dear familiar places, more is the pity1| but |1for all your deeds of goodness1| may the moss of prosperousness gather you rolling home! May foggy dews bediamondise your hoops! May the fireplug of filiality safeguard your bunghole! We know you were loth to leave us but, sure, you will turn up some day when your pocket is empty and anyway in any case may the grass grow quickly under your feet or the daisies grow lightly over your toes!º