Lowly, longly a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the mead of the hillock he lay, brief wallet to his side, an arm loose by his staff of citron briar. Most distressfully (but, my dear, how successfully!) to wail he did, his locks of a Lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted, those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time, whiles out of his sidewiseopen mouth the breath of him evenso languishing as the princeliest treble treacle or lichee chewchow purse could buy. Yawn in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!) what helpings of honeyful swoothead! (phew!) which earpiercing dulcitude! As were you suppose to go and push with your bluntblank pin in hand upintohis fleshasplush cushionettes of some chubby boybold love of an angel. Hwoah!
When, as the buzzer brings the light brigade, keeping the home fires burning, so on the churring call themselves came at him, three kings of three suits and a crowner, from all their cardinal parts, along the amber way where Brosna's furzy. To lift them they did, senators four, by the first quaint skreek of the gloaming, and they hopped it up the mountainy molehill, traversing climes of
old times gone by, of the days not worth remembering, inventing some excusethems, any sort, having a sevenply
sweat of nightblues moist upon them — feefee! phopho!! foorchtha!!! aggala!!!! jeeshee!!!!! paloola!!!!!! ooridiminy!!!!!!! Afeard themselves were to wonder at the class of a crossroads puzzler he would likely be, length by breadth nonplussing his thickness, ells upon ells of him, making so many square yards of him, one half of him in Conn's half but the whole of him nevertheless in Owenmore's five quarters. There would he lay till they would him descry, spancelled down upon a blossomy bed at one foul stretch amongst the daffydowndillies, the flowers of narcosis fourfettering his footlights, a halohedge of wild spuds
hovering over him, epicures waltzing with gardenfillers, puritan shoots advancing to Aran chiefs. Phopho! The meteorpulp of him, the seamless rainbowpeel. Aggala! His bellyvoid of nebulose with his neverstop navel. Paloola! And his veins shooting melanite phosphor, his creamtocustard cometshair and his asteroid knuckles, ribs and members. Ooridiminy! His electrolatiginous twisted entrails belt.
Those four claymen clomb together to hold their sworn starchamber quiry on him. Up to the esker ridge it was, Mullingar parish, to a mead that was not far, the son's rest. First klettered Shanator Gregory, seeking spoor through the deep timefield; then Shanator Lyons, tailing the wavy line of his partition footsteps (something in his blisters was telling him all along how he had been in
that place one time); then His Recordership, Dr Shunadure Tarpey, caperchasing after honourable sleep, hot on to the aniseed; and, up out of his prompt corner, old Shunny Mac, MacDougal the hiker, in the rere of them on the run to make a quorum. Roping their ass he was, their skygrey globetrotter, by way of an afterthought, and such legs on him they were that much oneven it was tumbling he was by
four lengths, the big ass, to hear with his unaided ears the harp in the air, the bugle
dianablowing, wild as wild, the mockingbird whose word is misfortune, so 'tis said, the bulbul down the wind.
The proto was traipsing through the tangle then and his station was a few perch to the weatherside of the knoll Usnach and it was from no other place unless there that he proxtended aloof upon the ether the hand making silence. The buckos beyond on the lea then stopped wheresoever they found their standings and that way they set watch about him, upholding their broadawake probers' hats on their firrum heads. And a crack quatyouare of stenoggers they made of themselves in their aggregate age, all told, not even to the seclusion of their beast by them that was the odd trick of the pack and no friend of carrots. And, what do you think, who above all other persons should be laying there forenenst them only Yawn! All of asprawl he was laying too amengst the poppies and, I can tell you something more than that, he was profoundly asleep. And it was far more similar to a satrap he lay there with unctuous beauty, by satellites all surrounded, or for whatall I know like the Lord Lumen coaching his preferred constellations in faith and doctrine, for old Matt Gregory 'tis he had the starmenagerie: Marcus Lyons and Lucas Metcalfe Tarpey and the mack that never forgave the ass that lurked behind him, Johnny na Hossaleen.
More than their good share ensorcelled you would say themselves were the way they could not rightly tell their heels from their stools, as they cooched down a mamalujo by his cubical crib, curchycurchy, gawking on him and softnoising one of them to another one, the boguaqueesthers.
And it is what they began to say to him then, the masters, what way was he.
— He's giving, the wee bairn. Yun has lived.
— Yerra, why dat, my leader?
— Is he boosed or what, alannah?
— Or his wind's from the wrong cut, says Ned of the Hill.
— Why so and speak up, do you hear me, you, sir?
— Or he's rehearsing somewan's funeral.
— Whisht outathat! Hubba's up!
And as they were spreading abroad on their octopuds their drifter nets, gleamy seiners' nets, and no lie, there was words of assonance being softspoken among those quartermasters.
— Get busy, kid!
— Chirpy, come now!
— The present hospices is a good time.
— I'll take on that chap.
For it was in the back of their mind's ear how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable net from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the puysny donkeyman and his crucifer's cauda. And in their minds years backslibris so it was how they would be meshing that way the quavers of scaly
silver and the clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold, whilst, as hour gave way to hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding indo his mouth.
— First, if yu don't mine. Name yur historical grouns.
— This same prehistoric barrow 'tis, the orangery.
— I see. Very good now. It is in your orangery, I take it, you have your letters? Can you hear here?
— Thorsends. For my darling. Typette!
— So long aforetime? Can you hear better?
— Millions. For godsends. For my darling one.
— Now, to come nearer zone, I would like to raise |v5a anotherv5| point audibly touching this. There is this maggers. I am told |v5|aby our interpreter a| thatv5| there are fully six hundred and six ragwords in your malherbal Magis language for monarch but not one |5pronounceableº5| term that grows in all Tallaght to signify majestate. Is such |v5casematter the unde derivatur the |aunde |bderivatur derivturb|a| casematter v5|? |v5Magis magis enarratur Minus hoc intelligo. Magis magis enarratur Megisº megis inerreturº mynus hocº intellygo.v5|
— C'est mal prononcé. Moy, jay trouvay la clee dang les champz.
— Hep there! Whu's thot |v5talkin talkingºv5| so cloover? Whure yu?
— Are you in your fatherick, lonely one?
— The same. Three persons. Have you seen my darling only one? |v5I am sohohoholdº .!v5|
— What are yu shevering about like a houn in hell? Is there cold on ye|v5, doraphobianv5|? |v5Have you the doraphobia?v5| Or do yu want yur schoolmam?
— The woods of Fochlut. I hear you |v5falling. falling!v5|
— I know that place better than annyone. Sure,
I used to be always over there at my grandmother's place with the long dogs coursing. That's the place for the oysters, Puldudy, county Galway. I never knew how rich I was carrying my |5ass dragoman5|, Meath's marvel, |5thass withunpronouncable tail,5| along the shore. Did you know Jasper Dougal that keeps The Anchor on the Mountain, Pat Whateveryournameis?
— The wolves of |5Fochlut. Fochlut!5| By |v5Howdoyoucallhim. Whydoyoucallme?v5|
— Wisha |v5an that's and that'sv5| a good wan right enough! Wooluvs no less!
— One moment now. I would like to put a question. Tell me now this. You told |v5us mev5| rather previously a moment since about this mound or barrow. Now I suggest to you that ere there was this plaguebarrow, as you seem to call it, there was a burial boat. Would you bear me out in that? The Frenchman, I say, was an orange boat. What?
— Norsker. Her raven flag was out. Crouch low, you pigeons three! Say, call that girl with the tan tress on. Call Wolfhound! Wolf of the sea. |v5Folchut! Folchut! Folchu! Folchu!v5|
— Very good now. I will go on with the parent ship far away from those green hills. From Daneland sailed the oxeyed man. Now mark well what I say.
— Magnus Spadebeard. Signed to me with his baling scoop. Laid bare his breastpaps to give suck |v5to mev5|, to suckle me.
— Hep! Hello there! Whu's he? Whu's |v5thes thisv5| lad wi' the pups?
— |v5Hunckalus Hunkalusv5| Childared Easterheld.
— Hey! Did you dream |v5that you were atin your own tripe, acushla v5|?
— I see, yes. |5You took the words out of my mouth.5| A child's dread for a vicefather. |v5You took the words out of my mouth.v5| You mean you lived as Milky |5with them at their lyceum5| while you learned to howl yourself |v5Wolfwise wolfwisev5|.
— Here, |v5hold howlv5| me |v5wiseacre'sºv5| hat till I die of |v5astonishment. the milkman's lupus!v5|
— Whaat! Whoah! Taalk very slowo!
— Hail him heathen, heal him holystone!
Courser, recourser, changechild, ..........
Eld as endall, earth .................
— Was this Ancestor |v5before Domini nostri yu hadº in Sancti Nostri in orv5| Anno Mundi|v5.v5|
— On a Monday I sleep. I dreamt of a Sunday. On a Monday I shall wake.
— I have your tristich now. It recurs in three times the same differently. And speaking of this same famous sire of yours, Mr Tuppling Towne, |v5Would wouldv5| he reoccur |5now5| in city |v5ifv5| or county if |v5you |awe you youa|v5| know the |v5difference difference?v5|
— Well, I am advised he might |v5bev5| in a sense be both |v5nonobstant
like myself. |v5Tigon or liger.v5| I am afraid you could not |v5yetv5| heave |v5one ofv5| your own old stepstones over a stumbledown wall here to this classic night but they |v5might wouldºv5| binge off the glosshouse back of a racerider in his |5true flesh true-to-fleshº5| colours, either handicapped on her flat or barely repeating himself. That is |5an old fellow a tiptipoldyfaher5| now, Tommy Terracotta, and he could be all our das, the brodar of the founder of the father of the author of the finder of the first man in Ranelagh.
— Muddybroth! And where do we get off, |v5young fellow chisellerv5|?
— |v5Vulva vulva vulva vulva! Vulva! vulva! vulva! vulva!v5|
— Macdougal |v5or his onagrassv5| that is, |v5or his onagrassv5| coughing. I would go near identifying you |v5by fromv5| your stavrotides. And that O'mulanchonry plucher you have |v5off fromv5| the worst coast of Ireland is no use to you either, Johnny my |v5donkey, O donkeyschottv5|. Number four, fix up your spreadeagle and pull your weight!
— D'ye ken a young stepscholar the name of Kevin that was shooing a gagag that foun the dogumen number one?
— I no way need you, stroke oar, nor your quick handles. You're too farfast a cock of the north there, Matty Armagh, and you're south so.
— South, I see. This is |v5muchv5| better. The man |v5that found who will
findv5| it there |v5was |aultimatelya| isv5| the
man |v5that who hasºv5| put it there originally. |v5But how did it come
into your possession?v5| That's the point |v5I raise of eschatology I reach forv5| now in so many counterpoint words.
Now we have cause causing
|5effect effects5| and effect recausing |5aftereffect aftereffects5|. Or I will |v5put it another way twist the tale otherwisev5|. There is a strong suspicion on counterfeit Kevin. 'Tis the bells of scandal that gave tune to grumble |v5about overv5| him and someone between me |v5& andv5| thee. Now, have you |v5av5| reasonable |v5dubitance dubitancyv5| in your mind about him or are you in your post? |v5Spell Tellv5| me that without delay.
— I'll see you moved farther, blarneying |v5Mark. Marcantonio!ºv5| That babe, the innocent of but fifteen primes you all lionise
|v5so trilustriouslyv5|, did I altermobile him to a flare in hogsfat? I |5don't know I'm sure
know not,º I am sure of,5| but |v5Godv5| the first mover
knows I was altered to thrice |v5myselfv5|. If I crouched |v5low |ahumblea|v5| down in my
past |v5and confessed to confessv5| in clean before him to my sore why did you, my |v5sext sexthv5| best friend, blather always you would be so delated to back me to Humphrey
and Nephew for |v5the suchv5| post in his night |v5office office? and Andv5| then you snub round in your moving motion to the other catechumens and you say I'm uppish and none mere Irish. Well, before Avtokinatown, I may as well |5humbly5| correct that vespian now in case of temporalities. I've my pockets full |v5complay comeplayv5| of you laycreated |v5cardinals. cardonals.v5| My ruridecanal caste is a cut above you peregrines. Look at my jailbrand High marked on me in the foreign. Eggs squawfish lean yoe nun feed marecurious!
I can |5self5| laud to my patrician morning coat |v5of atv5| arms with my |5high High5| tripenniferry cresta proper and caudal motto: Itch dean! Eeho stay so! And |v5mine Mind|a,º praisegad,a|v5| is the first |5personal praisonal5| Egoname Yod heard in |v5doomsday book |+Moy+| domesday bookv5|. Suck at!
— Suck it yourself, sugarstick! |v5Are we spreaking Inglis landage or are you spraking sea Djoytsch?v5| Misha, who's asking to |v5look luckv5| at your sore toe? |v5Are we spreakin Inglis landageº or are you sprakin sea Djoytsch?v5| What about your |v5thrupenny thruppennyv5| croucher of an old fellow, tell us? What about the bonafide peachlover, esquire earwugs, before there was a sound in the world? How big was his best friend? The swaaber! The twicer! Loud's curse to him! If you |v5hard horedv5| him outerly as we |v5here blank haremº lubberintly v5| with his drums and bones |v5and tubesv5| and hums |v5in |aerased drones,ºa|v5| your |v5inner ear'd innereer'dv5| heerdly |v5hear heerv5| he.
— Nicey Doc Mistel Lu, please! me gnemgnem walmaluky damfool. Me no savvy allsame numpa one Topside Tellmastoly fella. Me savvy nothel time. |v5Goddam Jossdamºv5| cowbellymaam belongame shepullamealong jackinaboss belongashe. Plentymuch boohoomeo.
— Thot's never the postal cleric!
Are yu |v5Roman Cathrick roman cawthrickv5| 432?
— Quadrigue my yoke.
Triple my tryst.
Tandem my sire.
— Tantris. Hattrick. I see. The old order changeth |v5yet the last is as the first and lasts like its firstv5|. Now |v5a myv5| little psychosinology. Now I am placing that initial T square upright to your temple a moment. Do you see anything, templar?
— I see a |5blackfrench blackfrinch5| |5priestrycook pliestrycook5| … who is carrying on his brainpan … a cathedral of lovejelly for his … Tiens, how he is like |v5somebody somebodiesv5|!
— I horizont the same J and lay it lightly to your lip a little. What do you feel, liplove?
— I feel a fine lady … floating on a stillstream of isisglass … with gold hair to the bed |v5…v5| and white arms to the |v5twinklars twinklersv5| … O la la!
— I |v5hear ahear ofv5| a hopper |v5behind
behidinv5| the door |v5slapping slappinv5| his feet in a pool of
bran.|v5.... Teins donc, he is diamond cut diamond!v5|
|v5—v5| Now I feel called upon to ask did it ever occur to you, qua you, prior to this, by a stretch of
your |5Irish hiberborealic5| imagination that you might, |5per bar5| accidens, be very largely substituted in |5secession from5| your next life by a complementary character? Think!
— I'm trying to. Once or twice when I thought I was trying on my |v5garment gardenv5| |5substitute substisuit5| and maybe more largely |v5than norv5| you yet realise. A few times|5, so to shape,º5| as I chanced to be stretching the life out of myself in my |5ericulous5| imagination I felt feeling a half Scotch like round my middle aging so that I'm not |v5myself meselfv5| at all|v5, no jolly fear,v5| when I realise myself how becomingly I |v5am becoming |ado toa| be goingv5| to become.
— O, is that the way with you, you craythur? The voice is the voice of jokeup, I fear. Are you imitating Roma now or Amor |v5now? Tell me, now,º eh,v5| Mr Trickpat, if you don't mind answering |v5tov5| my straight question?
— I won't mind answering |v5tov5| your |v5strict straightv5| question whereas it would be as unethical for me now to answer |v5thv5| as it would have been nonsensical for you then not to have asked. Out of my name you call me. You knew me once but you won't know me twice. I am simpliciter arduus, Friday's child in loving and thieving.
|v5— Let us hear!v5|
|v5—v5| Dearly beloved brethren! Bruno and Nolan, the |v5stationery
stationaryv5| lifepartners off |5orangey Saint5| Nessau Street, were explaining it
all round each other ere yesterweek. When himupon Nolan Bruno monopolises his egobruno most unwillingly senses by the mortal powers alionolan equal and opposite brunoipso, ipso, id est, eternally provoking alio opposite equally as provoked as Bruno at being eternally opposed by Nolan.
— You mean an alibi, do you, suffering from the singular but enjoying on the plural?
— I mean |v5in Australianv5| my alibi brother |v5Cable
Cablerv5| who is sender of the daily telegraph every night. Assass. |v5Dub. Dub. Ire.v5| Starving today
|v5Opening openingv5| tomorrow wire
|5Cable. Cabler. Won't you join me in a small halemerry for wellmet Cabler?5|
I want to know with much thanks, here's ditto, if he lives in Australia or anywhere my fond fosther, Alibi Nolan, off the |5Venerable5| Jerrybuilt, not belonging to these parts |v5whom, whoºv5| I remember him to |v5me |abe me a|v5| with his |v5roaming roaminv5| I suppose a |v5total abstainer teetotum obstainerºv5|. I call you my |v5halfbrether halfbrotherºv5| because you in your soberer moments remind me deeply of my natural brothel who is dearly beloved by Sydney and Alibany.
— Who is Mr Nolan nominally?
— Mr Nolan is pronominally Mr Gottgab.
— |v5By maiden name. I see.v5| I get |v5it. it!v5| He stands for you before a direct object in the feminine. |v5I see. By maiden sname.v5| Now will you just search through your gabgut memoirs for this impersonating pronolan. Would it be a |v5Dublinganger Doblingangerºv5| much about your own medium with a sandy whiskers?
— Treble Stouter of |5Holy5| Baggot Street (I surpassed him lately in |5Blessed5| Foster's Place) is doing the dirty
on me with his tantrums and all these |v5godgiven godforgivenv5| kilowatts
|v5thatv5| I'd be better off without. |v5Toot! Letter
Detterv5| for you, Mr Nobru! |v5Toot toot! Letter Betterv5| for you, Mr Anol!
|v5I only hope blankv5|
— Tugbag is |v5Baggut street Baggut's v5|. I see. We can |v5cap copv5| that |v5tipv5| with our street that is called |v5corkscrew corkscrewedv5|. It would be the finest boulevard billy in Europe, Patrick's, if they took the |v5bend bindv5| out of the middle of it. |v5Now you told us of this tryst. You told of a tryst too.v5| I wonder now, without releasing secrets of the alcove, have I heard the name anywhere?
— Marak! Marak! Marak!
Ha drappad has draraks |v5a tha in thev5| parak
And ha had ta barraw tha watarcrass |v5shartclathes shartclathsv5| aff tha arkbashap af Yarak!
— |v5O thrush of Tara! Oº Tara's thrush!ºv5| And he said he was only taking the grass temperature for Green
Thurdsday! The first time he put on
his recrution trousers was when |v5Ireland the boysv5| wouldn't join up.
|v5—v5| How voice you that, nice Sandy man? Not large goodman is he, Sandy nice? Ask him this one minute in his good ear |v5where whenv5| he dropped his |v5bass's voice Basso voicev5|.
— Well, I beg to traverse |v5samev5| above statement inasmuch as my |5|+|xdodear deverex|+|5| revered was confined to
guardroom by my pint of his pilsen bottle which I |v5brought was bringingv5| to our aural surgeon, Doctor Achmed Borumborad, for repairs done by bollworm
|v5on our premisesv5| in the rere of pilch knickers, property of my deeply |+5revered
|x|~feared forfear~| reveberearedx|+|5|, entailing a laxative tendency especially with him being forbidden fruit and certified to have
|v5functional emotionalv5| valvular, and thereinafter liable to succumb if served with letters of subpenis when my
|+5reputed |xrupee |arepure
ropureºa| riputedx|+|5| husband
took a brief one out of the given |v5mineral bottle mineralv5|, telling me of a welcomed aperrytiff (he never battered one eye before paying me his duty but he looked plum into my (+5face marrymouth+)5| like the end of time
) and he simply showed me his leadpoker which was |5(+as+)5| then |5(+is+)5| produced with the |5|xremere |aremind ramindºa| romere remurex|5| remark: Lithia, |5(+as+)5| this is for Sneak
— Chase me, Charley, I've got barley! Creeping through the children of Mary's class camouflaged as a blancmange and |5marmalade maple syrupº5|! Three cheers for the name Dan Magrath!
— I would misdemean to rebuke to the libels of snots from the fleshmarket. The said Sully, he is Magrath's thug and smells |v5cheaply
|achiefly cheaplya|v5| of Power's spirits |v5andv5| he is not fit enough to throw guts down to a
bear. If they cut his nose on the stitcher they had their good reasons. Here's |v5to the length ofv5| my snuff and trout |v5stoken
stockingv5| with a mosaic of |v5dispensation dispensations
if you want to if Lynch and Company are prepared tov5| stretch him by |v5the v5| starlight. Inasmuch as I am delightful to be
able to state that a handsome sovereign was freely pledged in a cherrywickerbasketfull under Shadow La Rose, to both lady performers of display |v5unmentionable
|aunquestionable onquestionablea|v5| by that |v5noblest of magistrates noblesse
leechersv5| at his Saxon tannery with motto, O'Neill Saw Queen Molly's Pants, and much admired engraving meaning complete manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief |s5mergey margeys5| magistrades as required by statues. If you won't |v5believe releasev5| me |v5stay stopv5| to please me up the leg of me. Now you see! Respect. Your wife. Anne.
Sure, that old humbugger was boycotted as I'm given now to understand. There was nobody |v5in all Britain in Galwayv5| would come next or |v5near nighv5| him after that.
— Arrah, man dear, weren't they arriving |v5fogabawlersºv5| in all their centuries |v5like lodes of ores flocking fast to Mount
Maximagnetic v5| for to pay their firstrate duties before him, |v5at andv5| in |v5the licensedº
boosiness premisesº ofv5| his reunited magazine |v5hallv5|, |v5by the magazine
wall,v5| the Grand Old |v5MacGuinness Magennisv5| Mor, boot kings and indiarubber umpires and shahs from Paisley and sultana raisins and a row of jam
sahibs and an odd principess in her pettedcoat and the queen of playing clubs and the Claddagh ringleaders and the two salames and the Halfa Ham with two fat maharashers and the German silver geyser, and he polished up gorgeous, tintinabulating to himself. And there was J. B. Dunlop, the
best tyrant of our times, and a queue of French wine stuarts and Tudor keepsakes and the Cesarewitch for the current counter riding up the holy staircase on muleback, hindquarters to the fore, and he holding on to his natural anthem, Horsey, keep your tail up, and as much as the vacant throneroom could safely accommodate of the house of Orange and Bitters M.P., permeated by Druids D.P. and Brehons B.P. and Flawhoolaghs F.P. and Anteparnellites P.P., all murdering Irish out of their boon companions after plenty of |v5hisv5| fresh stout |v5and his good balls of malt v5| for to nobble or salvage their herobit of him, the |5poor poohpooher5| old basiloose, Dodderick |v5Ogonach Ogonochv5| Wreck, |v5busted to the wurruld,v5| lying high as he lay |v5in all dimensionsºv5| with |v5a hogo round himº like an Italianº warehouse andv5| his buttend up, exposed for sale after inspection, most highly astounded, as it turned up, at thus being reduced to nothing.
— D'yu mean to set there where y'are now, Sorley boy, repeating yurself, and tell me that?
— I mean to sit here where you are now, Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live|v5, in my homespins, like a sleepingtop,º with all that's buried of sins insince insides of mev5|. If I can't upset this pound of |v5pressedv5| ollaves I can |v5sit setup set up soundv5| upon him.
— Oliver! |v5He may be an earthpresence.v5| Was that a groan |v5orv5| did I hear |v5orv5| the Dingle bagpipes? |v5Watch!v5|
— |v5Tristris! Anima mea! Tris tris a ni ma mea!v5|
— Is the |v5mound moving world moving moundv5| or what babel is this, tell |v5me usv5|?
— Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe whoishe whoishe?
— Lay yer lug till the groun', man. They're playing thimbles and bodkins. Clan of the Gael! Hep! Whu's within?
— Dovegall and finshark they are. Ring to the rescue!
Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!
We'll gore them and gash them and gun them and gloat on them.
— O, widows and orphans, it's the yeomen! Redshanks for ever! Up Lancs!
— The cry of the deer it is! Lo, the white roe! Title! Title!
Christ in the fort! Christ in the chariotseat!
Slog and sluaghter! Rape the daughter! Choke the pope!
O cloudy father! Unsure! Nongood!
Sold! I am sold! Brinabride, goodbye! Brinabride!
Pipette dear! Me! Me!
Fort! Fort! Bayroyt! March!
Me! I'm true. True! Isolde! Pipette, my precious!
Brinabride, get my price! Brinabride!
My price, my precious?
Brinabride, my price! When you sell get my price!
Pipette! Pipette, my precious one!
— Now we're gettin it. Hello!
— Hello! Tell your title?
— Hellohello! Ballymacarett! Am I thru, miss?
— What is the ti...?
— Now, just permit me a moment. |v5Are you there? Hello. Clear the line, priorityº call! Sybil! Better that or this?v5| Sybil Head |v5here. this end! Better that way?v5| Yes. Very good now. Do you remember |v5the midsummer aº particular lukesummerv5| night following a crying fair day? |v5Better?v5|
— There were fires on every bald hill in holy Ireland that night. Better so?
— You may say they were.
— Were they bonfires? That clear?
— No other name would at all befit them unless that. Bonafieries! With their blue beards streaming to the heavens.
— Was it a high white night now?
— Whitest night mortal ever saw.
— Was there rain by any chance?
— There fell some fall of littlewinter snow as well, I gather.
— The nicest at all.
— Did it not blow some gales rather strongly to less?
— Out of all jokes it did.
— Do you happen to recollect whether the moon was shining at all?
— Sure she was|v5, my darling!ºv5|
— And was there frostwork about and thick weather and |v5everything |aanything everythinga|v5|?
— There was. July at its |v5worst parkiestv5|.
|v5— One expects that kind of feeling in the sire season?
— One certainly does. And mares.v5|
— I see. Now you know the |v5wellknownv5| kikkenmidden where the |v5illassorted
|afirsta|v5| couple first met with each other?
— |v5Indeed Deedv5| then I do. |v5W.K.v5|
— Is it a place fairly exposed to the four |5last5| winds?
— Well, I |5very faithlyº5| sincerely believe so |v5indeedy indeedv5|, if all what I hope |5to charity5| is half true.
— Is it Woful Dane Bottom?
— It is woful in need whatever about anything else.
— There used to be a tree there stuck |v5up. up?v5|
— There used, sure enough. And the crandest consecrated maypole |v5treev5| in all the reignladen |v5world history of wilds Wildsv5|. Squiremade and damesman of plantagenets, high |v5& andv5| holy!
— What was it doing there, |v5tell us for instancev5|?
— Standing |v5foreninst usv5|.
— You saw it visibly from your hidingplace?
— No. From my invisibly lyingplace.
— And you then took down in stereo what took place being tunc committed?
— I then |v5took tukv5| my takenplace lying down, I thunk I told you.
— Just |v5How howv5| grand in cardinal rounders is this preeminent giant? I would like to hear you tell us in strict conclave what you know in petto about the sovereign
beanstalk|5, Tonans Tomazeusº5|. |v5Show us the latitude of his
omnitude. Speak up!v5|
— Your Ominence, Your Imminence|v5. O andv5| delicted fraternitree! There's
|v5Tuodoreºv5| queensmaids and |v5iris freegirls Idahore
shopgirlsv5| and |v5theyv5| woody babies growing upon her and Tyburn fenians snoring in his bole and crossbones strewing its holy floor and
|v5culprits culprinseºv5| of Erasmus Smith's boys climbing to her crotch
|v5with underhand leadpencils with their underhand leadpencilsv5| and the |v5Kilmainham
Killmaimthemºv5| pensioners chucking overthrown milestones up to her to fall her cranberries and cock robins |5muchmore5| hatching
|5out his most out of his5| |v5mistletoe
missadov5| eggs for him, the sun and moon pegging honeysuckle and white
heather down |v5and tomtits tapping resin there and tomahawks watching tar elsewherev5|, creatures of the |v5wild woldv5| approaching him|v5, hollow mid ivy,v5| for to claw and rub, hermits of the desert barking their infernal shins over her triliteral roots and his acorns and pinecones shooting wide on all sides out of him after the |v5birds truantsv5| of the air |v5and some tapping resin here and more watching tar therev5| and her leaves, my darling dearest, sinsinsinning since the night of time and each and all of their branches meeting and shaking twisty hands |v5once morev5| all over again in |v5the theirv5| new world.
— I've got that now. The form masculine. The gender feminine. I see. Now, are you connected with it yourself in any way? The tree, I mean.
— Now you are nearer the mark. Are you acquainted with a pagany better known as Toucher Thom who is? Consider yourself on the stand now and watch your words, take my advice. Let your motto be: |v5Post nubila blank Inter nubila numbum.ºv5|
— Never you mind about my mother. I consider, if I did, I would feel frightfully ashamed of admired vice |v5if I wasv5|.
— He is a man of around fifty who does messages. Have you ever heard of this old boy Thom who belongs to Kimmage and is not all there being most of his time down at the Green Man with the coat on him |5inside skinside5| out against apparitions and |v5systematicallyv5| mixing |v5systematicallyv5| with the public going for groceries and waltzywembling about in his accoutrements always when he would be finished with his tea? Crazy, isn't that?
— Is it that fellow? As mad as the brambles he is. Touch him. O wait till I tell you!
— We are not going yet.
— And here's what he |v5did done v5|!
— Get out! Lately?
— How do I know? Ask the horneys.
— Now, just wash |v5& andv5| brush up your |v5memory memoriesv5| a |v5littlev5| bit. |v5You will grant me, I think, that a man's old habits form his new character just as new words break old bottles. — Of course I will.v5| So I find |v5I'm I amv5| wondering to myself |5in my mind5| was Toucher, a methodist, whose name is not really Thom, was this old son of a century, |v5Oldv5| Shivering William, wearing false clothes with back buttons ostensibly for that occasion |v5onlyºv5| of the |v5Arbor Dayv5| wedding|5, I'mº wondering5|.
— I bet you are. Well, |5he was wandering in his mind too for5| I am sorry to have to tell you they were coming down from off him.
— |v5Were And werev5| P and ꟼ, mutatis mutandis, in pretty much the same pickle?
— Prettiest pickling of mute aunties I ever bopeeped at.
— Were they now? And were they watching you as watcher as well?
— They were watching the watched |v5watchingv5|.
— |v5Good.v5| Now, |v5touching our retouchingv5| friend Thom, did you gather |v5anything muchv5| from what he let drop?
— I was bloody mad, no lie.
— |v5Is that all? I suspect you must have been.v5|
— But I was awful sorry for him |v5toov5|.
— Were you sorry you were mad |5with him5| |v5then?v5|
— I was bloody mad with myself |v5altogetherv5|, so I was, for being sorry |v5for himv5|.
— How many were married |v5on |ain ona|v5| that top of all mornings, my good watcher? Everybody was thomistically |v5stoshious drunkv5|, I have been told, |v5even down tov5| the clocks?
— Well, naturally. Whiskway and mortem! But the
right reverend priest and |v5thev5| reverent bride eleft were sober enough.
— |v5Pardon me if I differ butv5| I think you're wrong there about |v5your thev5| right reverence. |v5Well noo,v5| Magrath was best man. You saw him, or did you, if that's not irrelevant?
— I |5horridly5| did. |5On the stroke of |atwelve the dozena|.5| |v5I am I'mv5| sure |v5I am I'mv5| wrong but I heard the irreverend Mr Magrath kicking |v5Fox-Goodmanv5| the old sexton|v5,º Fox-Goodman,ºv5| around the sacristy while I and the other |v5man men v5| was gickling his missus to gaggles |v5in the hallv5|, the divileen, |5with her twelve pound laugh.5| |v5that much I recall.v5|
— In epexegesis or on a point of order?
— I think it was about a pint of porter.
— |v5You don't say so!v5| And Drysalter, father of Izod, how was he now?
— In the |5pink. pink, man.5| Squeezing the life out of the liffey.
|v5⇑<— And the swiss?v5|
|v5⇑<— He was trouting for the boss.v5|
— |v5You don't say so!v5| The quobus quartet were there too |v5mastersinging
wellv5| to the fore |v5mastersinging alwaysv5| with
|v5their thatv5| consecutive fifth |v5of theirsv5|, eh?
|v5Improving on their past as usual.v5|
— They were |5scandalmoners, making scandalmongers! Making5| history all over the show!
— You are sure it was not a winker's wake you were at?
— Not a word.
— That sounds an isochronism. But it is good law. We may take those |5kicks for free kicks for5| granted. |v5You, sir, happily Happily youv5| were not quite so successful in the process whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical suppressions, it seems?
— What was that?
— Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the questions.
— Quite so.
— Now, not to mix up, cast your eyes around Capel Court. I want you|v5, witness,v5| to reconstruct for us as briefly as you can, in a mind's eye view, how these funeral games took place. |5(+
— |5Which?5| Ah, sure, |v5I forget eyewitness
forgetv5|. 'Tis all round |v5my mev5| hat.
— Ah, go on |v5with youv5| now with your |v5parrottricks parrotricksv5|! Be nice about it!
— Faith, then, first he come up the rake |5with a cock (+in on+) his hat5| dragging his feet in the usual course |v5like a schottischerv5| and |v5hang me if he wasn't wasv5| ever so naas |v5andº hang me if he wasn'tv5| wanting his calico body back before he'd take his life or save his life. Then counting as many as thirty seconds like I said he kept cursing at him for the key of John Dunn's field and the way Montague was robbed to know all what went off and who burned the hay which the man, that was raging with |v5thev5| thirst and wanting to know what |5the henconvention5| he wanted with him, knew nothing about.
— In other words, was that how their subtler angelic warfare started?
— Truly. |v5That I may never!v5|
— Did one scum then mention to the other |v5thatºv5| he was a pigheaded Swede?
— It was turnipheaded dunce.
— That would be |v5about |atowards abouta|v5| half |5eleven noon5|, pip emma, Greenwicker time, by your queer quaint |v5quatrent quadrantv5|?
— Would it?
— By which of your chronos, my man of four watches? Larboard, starboard, dog, or death?
— You can imagine!
— Will you swear all the same you saw their shadows struggling |v5about |adiabolicallya| overv5| this, that and the other|5, their virtues |aproa| and his principality |acona|,º5| near The Ruins, Drogheda Street, and kicking up the devil's own dust for the |v5Milesianv5| wind?
— I will|v5. I did. They were. |a|bI swear.b| Like the heavenly militia.a| with Withv5| my tongue through my toecap on the headlong stone of kismet if so |v5it's 'tisv5| the will of Whose |v5be done B. Dunnv5|.
— They must have |v5wilfullyv5| done some wonderful work on the quiet like. Don't you think so?
— They were only |v5— berebelling or bereppelling one another with sham bottles v5|?
— That's all.
— I mean the Morgans and the Dorans.
— I know you do.
— And this pootsch went on night after night a thousand and one times, according to your cock and a |5hen biddy5| story? For years and years perhaps?
— That's ri. From the |v5fifth lastv5| finger on the second foot of the fourth man to the first |v5toe onev5| on the last one of the first. That's right.
— This is not guid enough|v5, Mr Lastfoot Foremostv5|. D'yu mean to tall grand jurors on yur oath, |v5my mev5| lad, |v5with yur last foot foremost, thatv5| yur moon was shining and |v5wind blowing winblowingv5| night after night, for years and years perhaps, after yu swearing to it a while back |v5the other way aboutv5| that there was |v5rain reenv5| in plenty all the time?
— Perhaps so, as you grand duly affirm. I never thought |v5about overv5| it, faith. It was told me by Tarpey after
|v53 threev5| o'clock mass that some rain was promised to Mrs Lyons, the invalid, and he told me
|v5asv5| what follows. He
was doing a walk, says |5he she5|, in the feelmick's park, says he, like a |v5terrible tarrablev5| Turk, says |5he she5|, letting loose |v5in onv5| his nursery|v5, and v5| he met Mr Michael Clery of a Tuesday who said Father MacGregor was desperate to the bad place about |5thassbawls and5| |v5allv5| the stairrods |5and5| for Tarpey to go and see Father MacGregor and he was to salute that clergyman and |v5to say about Mrs Lyons was thev5| tell |5him his holiness5| about the three shillings in the confusional and |v5tov5| say |v5about howv5| Mrs Lyons was the infidel who promised to post three shillings to Mr Martin Clery for Father |v5Matthew Mathewv5| to put up a midnight mask of a |5Monday Thrushday5| for more |v5O heehawv5| hell's flutes, |v5my prodder again! and Andv5| I never brought my |v5cats & dogs blanket cats' and dogs' blanket!v5|
— Quatsch! What hell are yu fluking about? Will yu swear or affirm the day to yur second sight |v5now noov5| and recant that all yu affirmed and swore to at first sight was all
|v5paddy flaherty paddyflahertyv5|?
— Ay. I |v5firmly affirmlyv5| swear to it that it was with my |v5oleaginous holyhagionousv5| lips continuously poised upon the rubricated Annuals of |v5Ulster Saint Ulstarv5|!
— That's very |v5good of ye. guid of ye!ºv5| Maybe yu wouldn't mind |v5telling tallingv5| us, my labbrose lad, how very much bright cabbage |v5do yu d'yuv5| draw for all yur swearing?
— Vurry nothing, I call it, for I might as well tell |5you yous5| the truth. It amounts to nil in pounds |v5and orv5| pence, not as much as the |v5price costpriceºv5| of a highlandman's |v5trouserstree trousertreev5| for the whole dumb plodding |v5thing. thing! However...v5|
— Come on now, johnny! We weren't born yesterday. You were promised some staggerjuice |v5anyway. anyhow?v5|
— Yes, by the way. When?
— How would |v5you yuºv5| like to hear |v5your yurv5| right name now, my tristy minstrel, if |v5yer yurv5| not freckened of frank comment?
— Not afrightened of Frank Annybody.
— Will you repeat that |v5to mev5| outside?
— I will when it suits me.
— Guid! We make fight! |v5Ready! Raddy!v5|
— But no, from example!
— |v5If Efv5| I chuse to put a bullet like |v5you, clean yuv5| through the grill for heckling, |v5you bullock,v5| what business is that of yours, |v5pray yu bullockv5|?
— I don't know, sir. |v5Don't ask me, sir!v5|
— Gently, gently|5,º Less Northern Ire5|! Let me once more.
|v5Now my other point.v5| There are sordidly tales within |v5tales. tales,
You youv5| clearly understand |v5that. that? Now my other point.v5|
Did you know|5, whetherº by melanodactylism or purely libationally,º5|
that one of these two Crimeans with the fender, the taller man, |v5or the coffin, if you prefer that,v5| was accused of a certain offence or of a choice of two serious charges, if you like it better that way? |v5Did you now?v5| You did, you rogue, you?
— You hear things. Besides (and serially now) bushes have eyes, don't forget. Hah!
— Which |5moral turpitude5| would you select of the two, for choice, if you had your way? Playing bull before shebears or the hindlegs off a clotheshorse? Did |v5anyv5| orangepeelers or greengoaters appear periodically up your sylvan family tree?
— Buggered if I know! It all depends on how much family silver you want for |5your ass and pair a nass-and-pair5|. Hah!
— What do you mean, sir, behind your hah?
— Nothing, sir. Hahah!
— You're a nice third-degree witness, faith! Do you think we are tonedeafs |v5, bray?v5| in our noses to boot? Can you not distinguish the sense|v5, prain,v5| from the sound, bray? |v5Get yourself psychoanalysedº!v5|
|v5— I can psoako-onalooseº myself any time I want |awithout your interferencesa|.
— Have you evew weflected, wepowtew, that the evil, what though it |v5wewe chosen |awere wasa| willedv5|, might nevewtheless lead somehow |v5unto on tov5| good towawd the genewality?
— |5Talking of plebiscites by a show of hands5| In all |v5earnestness seriousness, and taking a show of limbs as a plebiscite does hasv5| it become to dawn |v5on you now in you yetv5| that the deponent, |v5this thev5| man from Saint Yves, may have been (one is reluctant to use the passive voice)|v5, mayº have beenv5| as much sinned against as sinning, for if we look at it verbally perhaps there is no true noun in active nature where every |v5ballyv5| being is becoming in its own |v5eyes. eyeballs?ºv5|
— Ladiesgent, |v5Me mev5| and Frisky Shorty and a few fleabesides was just arguing friendly like over the old party
|5and his moral turps5|. What me and Frisky wants to know is thisahere. Supposing him to have taken his epicene licence before the divisional respectively as regards them male privates and or concomitantly
with all common or neuter respects to them
public females as was very properly detained by the metropolitan in connection with this regrettable nuisance, being in strict contravention of schedule in board of forests and works |v5byelaws bylawsv5| regulationing amusements section of our beloved park in pursuance me and Shorty have approached a reverend gentleman |v5andv5| of the name of Mr Coppinger with reference to a piece of fire fittings as was most obliging in this matter of his explanations given to me and Shorty, touching what the good book says concerning the merits of early bisexualism besides him citing example given by a valued friend |v5of the Reverend Mr Coppingerv5| of the name of Mr J. P. Cockshott as owns a pretty maisonette fronting on to the South |v5bluffs Bluffsv5| as was telling us how Mr Cockshott, present holder of the swearing belt, he tells him, the reverend Mr Coppinger, as how he |v5reckoned reckonsºv5| himself up to seven mile of a school of herring passing themselves by the Bloater Naze from |v5themv5| twelve and them mayriding him by the silent hour. And, reverend, he says, gut me, but them |v5herring errinv5| was as gladful as kippers could well be considering, flipping their little coppingers, pot em, the fresh little flirties, the dirty little gillybrighteners, pickle their spratties, the little smolty gallockers, and, reverend, says he, them little salty populators, says he, as sure as my briam eggs is on cockshot under noose, all them little upanddowndippies they was all of a wriggolo finsky doodah in testimonials to their early bisexualism.
— Ta hell wi' ye and yer coprulation! Pelagiarist! Y'are obsexed, so y'are!
— Wait now, Leixlip! I don't follow you that far. Was it esox lucius now or salmo ferox. You are taxing us into the driven future, are you not, with this fishery.
— Gubbernathor! Spawning all over his seven parish churches!
— Lift it now, Hosty! Hump's your mark!
— There's an old psalmsobbing lax salmoner Fogeyboren Herrin Plunderowse
Who went floundering with his boatloads of spermin spunk about
Leaping freck after every long tom and wet lizzy between Howth and Humbermouth.
Our Human Conger Eel!
— Hep! I can see him in the fesh! Up wi' yer whippy! Hold that lad! Play him!
— Pull you, sir! Olive quill does it. Did a rise?
— Never a fear but they'll
land him yet, Slitheryscales on liffeybank, times and times and a half a time with a pillow of sand to polster him.
Do you say they will? I bet you they will. Among the shivering sedges so? Weedywaving. Or tulipbeds of Rush below.
— Grenadiers. And tell me now. Were these anglers or angelers coexistent and compresent with or without their tertium quid?
— Three in one, one and three,
Shem and Shaun and the shame that sunders them,
Wisdom's son, folly's brother.
— God bless your ginger, wigglewaggle! You're forgetting the jennyjos for the joyboys.
— Yes, sure I thought it was larking in the clover with two |v5fine youngv5| stripping baremaids he was that time. I was given to understand there was that one that was always mad gone on him, her first king of cloves, in Carrick-on-Shannon, county Leitrim. Sure she was near drowned in coldstreams admiration for herself, making faces at her crystal likeness in the brook after, all tossed as she was, the |v5playactress playactressv5|!
— Listen, meme |v5dearest. mearest!v5| Am so sorry you lost him, |v5Poor poorv5| lamb! Of course I know you are a |v5very wicked |afairly wicked very wickeda|v5| girl. And it was a |v5fav5| very wrong thing to do. Still, you do look lovely with the coldcream I always use in the wards and derive the greatest benefit! My, you do! Simply |v5too adorable adorable! missing Only The way they taper!ºv5| Only my |v5hands armsv5| are whiter, dear. Whitehands, idler. Fairhair, frail one. Listen, meme sweety! It's only us two, meme. Of course it was downright wicked of him, |v5really it was. really!v5| Perfectly appalling! How he adores me simply! Still, me and you, you poor child, will make it up with a lie between us so as nobody in the convent, of course, need ever know. So, meme mearest, be free to me! And, listen, youyou beauty, I'll be true to who knows you while I lie with warm lips on the Tolka.
— |v5How's How isv5| this at all at all? |v5One moment
now.v5| Think of a maiden. Double her.
Take your first thoughts away from her. This young barlady, what exactly is she doing? Is she having a dual act |v5with herself herselfºv5| with herself?
— Yer crackling out of yer turn, my Moonster |5friend firefly5|. Answer my queskins first, johnny. Ye've as much cheek on you now as would boil a cauldron of
kalebrose. Did the market missioners, Hyde and Wombwell, fine more than sixteen per cent of chalk in the purity flour of this raw materialist? We young chaps are briefed here to know had the two generals, who have been getting nosemoney cheap and stirring up the public opinion about private balls with their legs, had they their service books in order and duly signed J. H. North and Company when discharged from their last situations? Will ye gup and tell the board in the anterim how did |+5Magrath or MacMonaghan O'Bejorumsen or |saMockmacmahonson Mockmacmahonitch sa|+|5| come into awful position of the barrel of bellywash? And why, is it any harm to ask, was this hackney man in the coombe|5|s+, Fauxfitzhuorson,ºs+|5| carrying his ark across his back when he might have been settin inside of her made up like a cabman? Where were the doughboys, three in number, directing their steps according to the liaison officer, with their trench ulcers open and their hands in their pockets contrary
to military rules, when confronted with his lifesize obstruction? Is it a factual fact that this fancydress nordic in child's kilts and wellingtons is co-owner of a hengster's circus near North Great Denmark Street and that the shamshemshowman has been complaining to the police barracks and applying for an order of certiorari and crying about him being molested, after him having triplets, by offers of vacancies from females in this city neighing after the man ever since they seen his X-ray picture turned out in wealthy red in the sabbath sheets? Was it him that suborned a deafmute son of his to turn a Roman and gout in his bare socks, the sweep, and buy the usual jar of porter at the Morgue and Cruses and set it down before the wife with her fireman's |v5halmet helmetv5| on her, bidding her |v5mine mindv5| the hoose, the strumpet, while him and his |v5lagan loves lagenlovesv5| were rampaging the roads under the noses of the constabulary? Where's that auxiliary |v5officerv5| that reported on the whole hoodlum, relying on his morse-erse wordybook and the truncheon |v5in upv5| his tail? Recall Sickerson|v5,v5| the lizzyboy! Sackerson!
— Day |v5sorker shirkerv5| four vanfloats he verdants market.
High liquor made lust torpid dough hunt her orchid.
— Hunt her orchid! Gob, and he found it on her, right enough! Bloody old preadamite with his twohandled |v5umbrella umberellav5|!
— That's enough. I mean to tap the top of this, at last. And will too, if I have at first to down every mask in |v5Mononia Trancenania v5|. The |v5governor general himself governorgeneralhimselfv5| no less! Off with |v5the Persians your persiansv5|! Search ye the Finn! Ho, call evildoer! Doff!