Galleys, 2 sets, November 1938, II.2§7 draft level 5, 5+

MS British Library 47480 311-317; 47488 260-261 Draft details

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Boumce! It is polisignstunter. The Sockerson boy. To pump the fire of the lewd into those soulths of bauchees, havsousedovers, tillfellthey deadwar knootvindict. An whele time he was rancing there smutsy flaskons nodunder ycholerd for their poopishers, ahull onem! Fyre maynoother endnow! Shatten up ship! Bouououmce! Nomo clandoilskins cheakinlevers! All ashored for Capolic Gizzards! Stowlaway there, glutany of
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stainks. Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters! Oooom oooom!

As these vitupetards in his boasum he did strongleholder, bushbrows, nobblynape, swinglyswanglers, sunkentrunk, that from tin of this clucken hadded runced slapottleslup. For him had hord from fard a piping. As? Of?

|55| Dour Douchy was a |5sieguldson, sieguldson.5| He cooed that loud nor he was |5young, young.5| He cud bad caw nor he was |5gray, gray5| Like wather parted from the say.

Ostia, lift it! Lift at it, Ostia! From the |5say. say!5| Away from the |5say. say!5|

Himhim. Himhim.

Hearhasting he, himmed, reromembered all the chubbs, chipps, chaffs, chuckinpucks and chayney chimebells That he had mistributed in port, pub, park, pantry and poultryhouse, While they, thered, the others, that are, were most emulously concerned to cupturing the last dropes of summour down through their grooves of |5blarneying, blarneying.5| Ere the sockson locked at the dure. Which he would, shuttinshure. And lave them to sture.

For be all |5the5| rules of sport 'tis |5right, right5| That youth bedower'd to charm the |5night, night5| Whilst age is dumped to mind the |5day, day5| When wather parted from the say.

The humming, it's coming. Insway onsway.

|5Fingool, MacKishguard, Obesume, Burgeurse, Benefice Fingool MacKishguardº Obesume Burgeurseº Benefice5|, He was bowen hem and scrapin him in recolcitrantament to the rightabout And these probonopubblicoes clamatising for an extinsion on his hostillery With his chargehand bombing their eres. Tide, genmen, plays, she been goin shoother aff allmaynoother onawares.

You here nort farwellens rouster? Ashiffle ashuffle the wayve they.

From Dancingtree till Suttonstone |5,5| Theres lads |5,5| no lie |5,5| would filch a crown |5,5| To mull their sack and brew their tay With wather parted from the say.

Lelong Awaindhoo's a selverbourne enrouted to Rochelle Lane and libreties those Mullinguard minstrelsers are marshalsing|5,5| par tunepiped road|5,5| under where|5,5| perked on hollowy hill|5,5| that poor man of Lyones, good Dook Weltington, hugon come errindwards,
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had hircomed to the belles' bows and been catattrapped by the mausers. Now is it town again, londmear of Dublin. And off coursse the toller, ples the dotter of his eyes with her: Moke the Wanst, whye doe we aime alike a pose of poeter peaced? While the dumb he shoots the shopper rope. And they all pour forth. Sans butly
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Tuppeter Sowyer, the rouged engenerand, a barttler of the beauyne, still our benjamin liefest, sometime frankling to thise citye, whereas bigrented him a piers half subporters for his arms, Josiah Pipkin, Amos Love, Raoul Le Febber, Blaize Taboutot, Jeremy Yopp, Francist de Loomis, Hardy Smith and Sequin Pettit followed by the snug saloon seanad of our Café Béranger. The scenictutors.

|55| Because they wonted to get out by the goatweigh afore the sheep was looset for to wish the Wobbleton Whiteleg Welshers kaillykailly kellykekkle and savebeck to brownhazelwood from all the dinnasdoolins on the labious banks of their swensewn snewwesner, turned again weastinghome, by Danesbury Common, and they onely, duoly, thruely, fairly after rainydraining fountybuckets (chalkem up, hemptyempty!) till they caught the wind abroad (alley loafers passingjeering!) all the rockers on the roads and all the boots in the stretes.

Oh dere! Ah hoy!

Last ye, lundsmin, hasty hosty! For an anondation of mirification and the lutification of our paludination.

His bludgeon's bruk, his drum is |5tore, tore.5| For spuds we'll keep the hat he |5wore, wore5| And roll in clover on his |5clay, clay5| By wather parted from the say.


From Free Rogue Mountone till Dew Mild Well to corry awen and glowry. Are now met by Bawnaboy Fuinnuiguinn's former for a lyncheon partyng of his burgherbooh. The Shanavan Wacht. Rantinroarin Batteries Dorans. And that whistling thief, O'Ryne O'Rann. With a catch of her cunning and nowhere a keener.

The fore olders were aspolootly at their wetsends in the moiling walters, trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! Because number one lived at Bothersby North and he was trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide!
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Seek! And number two digged up Poors Coort|5,5| Soother, trying to. Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek! And number three he sleeped with Lilly Tekkles at The Eats and he was trying to. |s5Hide! Seek! Hide! Seek!s5| And the last with the sailalloyd donggie he was berthed on the Moherboher to the Washte and they were all trying to and baffling with the walters of, hoompsydoompsy walters of. High! Sink! High! Sink! Highohigh! Sinkasink!


The gangstairs strain and anger's up As Hoisty rares the can and cup To speed the bogre's barque away O'er wather parted from the say.

Horkus chiefest ebblynuncies!

— He shook be ashaped of hempshelves, hiding that shepe in his goat. And for rassembling so bearfellsed the magreedy prince of Roger Thuthud.
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Heigh hohse, heigh hohse, our kindom from an orse! Bruni Lanno's woollies on Brani Lonni's hairyparts. And the hunk in his trunk it would be an insalt foul the matter of that cellaring to a pigstrough. Stop his laysense. |5Ink him!5| You would think |5he was him5| Alddaublin. Staking his lordsure like a gourd on puncheon. Deblinity devined! Wholehunting the pairk on a methylogical mission whenever theres imberillas! And calling Rina Roner Reinette Ronayne. To what mine answar is a lemans. Arderleys, beedles and postbillers heard him. Three points to one. Ericus Vericus corrupted into ware eggs. Dummy up, distillery! Broree aboo! Run him a johnsgate down jameseslane! Begetting a wife which begame his nieces by pouring her youngthings into skintighs. That was when he had dizzy spells. Till Gladstools Pillools made him ride as the mall. Thanks to his huedobrass beerd. Lodebroke the Longman, now he canseels under veerious persons but is always that Rorke relly. On consideration for the musickers he ought to have down it. Pass out your cheeks, why daunt you? Penalty, please! Then you'll know how warder barded the bollhead that parssed our alley. |5We just are |aupsidedowna| singing whateverº the dimkims mummur allalilty she |aputs pullsa| inner |aour outa| heads.5| This is not the end of this by no manners means. |5|xWhen you've bled till you're bou're bone it crops |saout |sbup outsb|sa|
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in your flesh. To tell how your mead of, mard, is made of. All old Dadgerson's dodges one conning one's copying and that's what |awonderland's wanderland'sa| wonderlad'llº flaunt to the fair. A trancedone boyscript with tittivits by. Ahem. You'll read it tomorrow, mornº, when the curds areº on the the table. |+A nigg for a nogg and a thrate for the throte.+| The auditor learns. |+Still pumping on Yorkenwhite. Radlumpº, Lencs.
+|x|5| In preplay to Anonymay's lefthinted palinode obviously inspiterabled by a sibspecious connexion. Note the notes of admiration! See the signs of suspicion! Count the hemisemidemicolons! Screamer caps and invented gommas, quoites puntlost, forced to farce! The pipette will say anything at all for a change. And you know what aglove means in the Murdrus dueluct? Fewer to feud and rompant culotticism, a fugle for the gleemen and save, sit and sew. |5And a pants outsizinned on the |aDoughertys'a| duckboard pointing to peace at home.5| In some, lawanorder on lovinardor. |5Wait till we hear the Boy of Biskop reeling around your postoral lector! Epistlemadethemology for deep dorfy doubtlings. As we'll lay till break of day in the bunk of basky, O. Our island, Rome and duty!5| Well tried, bucktiff! Batt in, boot! Sell him a breach contact, the vendoror, the buylawyer! One hyde sack, hic! Two stick holst, hucky! Finnish Make Goal! First you were Nomad, next you were Namar, now you're Numah and it's soon you'll be Nomon. |5Hence counsels Ecclesiast.5| There's every resumption. The forgein offils is on the shove to lay you out dossier. Darby's in the yard, planning it on you, plot
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and edgings, the whispering peeler after Cooks wearing an illformation. The find of his kind! An artist, sir! And dirt cheap at a sovereign a skull! He knows his Finsbury Follies backwoods so you batter see to your regent refutation. Ascare winde is rifing again about nice boys going native. You know who was wrote about in the Orange Book of Estchapel? Basil and the two other men from King's Avenance. |5Just press this cold brand against your brow for a mow. |aCainefully Cainfullya|! |aThe sinus the curse.a| That's it. |aHung Chung n Egglyfellaº now speak he tell numptywumpty topsawys belongahim pidgin. Secret things other persons place there covered not.a| |+How you fell |afrom story to storya| like a sagasand
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to lie. Enfilmingº infirmity. |a|bBecause On the becauseb| of youº alleging to having a finger a fudding in pudding and pie.a|+| |+Then old Hunphydunphyville'll be blasted to bumboards of by the youthful herald who would once you were. (aHe'd be our chosen one in the matter of Brittas more than anarthur. But we'll wake and see.a) The wholes |apoors richesa| ofº ours |ahundreds ofa| manhoods and womhoods. Two cents, two mills and two |amyrs myrdsa|.º Glue on to him, Greevy! Bottom anker, Noordeece! And a kick kick killykick for the house that Jukeº built!
+|5| Wait till they send you to sleep, scowpow! By jurors' cruces! And you face all us rangers again you in the box before the twelfth correctional. |5Like one man, gell?º5| Between all the Misses Mountsackvilles in their halfmoon haemicycles|5,5| gasping to giddies to dye for the shame. Just hold hard till the one we leapt out gets her yearing! Hired in cameras, extra! With His Honour Surpacker on the binge. So yelp your guilt and kitz the buck. |5You'll have loss of fame from Wimmegame's fake.5| Forwards! One bully son growing the gaff and his twinger read out by the Nazi Priers. You fought as how they'd never woxen up, did you, crucket? It will wecker your earse, that it will! When hives the court to exchequer 'tis the child which gives the sire away. Good for you, Richmond Rover! Scrum around, our side! Let him have another between the spindlers. A grand game! Dalymount's decisive. Don Gouverneur Buckley's in the Tara Tribune sporting the insides of a Rhutian Jhanaral and little Mrs |5Skaerer-Sissers Ex-Skaerer-Sissers5| is bribing the halfpricers to pray for her widower in his gravest embazzlement. |5You on her, hosy |aJigses jigsesa|, that'll be |aa somea| nonstop marrimont! You in your stolen mace and anvil, Magnes, and her burrowed in Berkness cirrchus |aclouthes clouthsesa|. Fummuccumul with a grauneenº aveiled.5| Playing down the slavey touch. Much as she was when the fancy cutter out collecting milestones espied her aseesaw on a fern. |5|a|bSo nimb, he said, a dat of dew.b| |+The smiling |aof her. ever!ºa| If you pulls me over pay me, prhyse!º+| Between Furr-y-Benn and Ferr-y-Bree. |+In |athat thisa| tear Vikloe vich he lofed.º+| |bA talor would adapt a his caulking trudgers on to any shape at see. Address deceitfold,º of wovens weard.b|a| |aHis Thea| wonder of the women of the world
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|a, moyaa|! And the lovablest
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|alima Limaa| since Ineen MacCormick MacCoort MacConn O'Puckins MacKundred. |aOnly but she'sº a little width wider got. Be moving abog.
a|5| You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx. |5|aListen & Listun tilla| you'll hear the Mudquirt accent.5| This is a bulgen horesies, this is wollan indulgencies, this is a fflemsh. Tik. Scapulars, beads and a stump of a candle, Hubert was a Hunter, chemins de la croixes and Rosairette's egg|5, all the trimmings off the tree5| that she picked up after the Clontarf voterloost when O'Bryan MacBruiser bet Norris Nobnut. |5Becracking his cucconut between k his kknneess.5| Umpthump, Here Inkeeper, it's the doatereen's wednessmorn! |5Delphin dringing! Grusham on the gang! And the Real Hymernians strenging strong at knocker knocker! |aHoly and massalltolled.ºa| |+|aTik.ºa| You ought to tak a dos of frut, saussº.+| |aYou're getting hoovier, a twelve stone hoovier, |bfullends a twelve stone hoovier,b| in your corpus entis and it scurves you right, demnye! |b|cAnd Auntc| as unclish ams they make oom. But |cNichtia's Nichtia you bound not to loose'sc| gone on Neffin since she clapped her charmer on him at Gormagereen. At the Gunting Munting H Hunting Punting. The eitch is in her blood, |cscaldhead arrahc|! For a frecklesome freshcheeky sweetworded lupsqueezer. |cAnd he shows how he'll pick him the lock of her fancy.c| Poghue! Poghue! Poghue! And a good jump, |cPole Powellc|! |c|dClean over all their heads.d| We could kiss him for that one, couddled we, Huggins?c| |cSparkes is the footer to hance off nancies.c| Scaldhead, pursue! Before you bunkledoodle down upon your birchentop again after them three blows from time, drink and hurry. |cThe same three that nursed you, Skerry, Badbols and the Grey One.c| All of your own club too. With |ca thec| fistful of burryberries |cwere for the massusc| |cforc| to feed you living in dying. |cBuy bran biscuits and you'll never say dog. And be in the finest of companies. Morialtay and the Kniferope Walker and Rowley the Barrel. An With Longbow of the lie,º Slick of the trick and Blennercassel of the brogue. |dClanrickard Clanruckardd| for ever!c| |cThe Fenn, the Fenn, the kinn of all Fenn! Deaf to the winds |dwhend| for Croonacreena. |dFisht!d| And it's not |dnowd| saying |dhowd| we are |dwhered| who's softing what rushes. Merryvergin forbed! But ifº they never eat |dsoulfreed soulefreedeºd| they're ating it now. With easter
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greeding.c| Angus! Angus! Angus! The keykeeper of the keys of |cthe seven doors of the dreamadoory inc| the house of the household of Hecech saysaith. Whitmore, whatmore? Give it over, give it up! Mawgraw! |cHead of a helo, chesth of aº champgnon, eye of a gollº! What you'd if he'd.
c|b|a|5| The groom is in the greenhouse|5,5| gattling out his. |s5Gum! Gun!s5| That lad's the style for Lannigan's ball! Now a drive on the naval! |5The Shallburn Shock.º5| Never mind your gibbous. Slip on your ropen collar and draw the noosebag on your head. Nobody will know or heed you|5, Postumus,5| if you |5slip skip5| round schlymartin by the back and come front sloomutren to beg in one of the
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shavers' sailorsuits. |5Three climbs |sathreequickenthees threequickenthreessa| in the garb of nine.5| We'll split to see you mouldem imparvious. A wing for |5old oldboy5| Welsey Wandrer! |5Well spat, witty wagtail! Now piawn to bishop's forthe! Moove!º5| There's Mumblesome Wadding Murch cranking up to the hornemoonium. |5Drawg us out Ivy Eve in the Hall of Alum! |aThe finnecies of poetry wed music.a|5| Feeling the jitters? You'll be as tight as Trivett when the knot's knutted on. Now's your never! Peena and Queena are duetting a giggle-for-giggle and the brideen Alannah is lost in her diamindwaiting. What a magnificent gesture you will show us this gallus day. Clean and easy, be the hooker! And a free for croaks after. Dovlen are out for it. |5So is Rathfinn.5| And, hike, here's the hearse and four horses with the interprovincial crucifixioners throwing lots inside to know whose to be their gosson and whereas to brake the news to morhor. How our mysterbilder his fullen aslip. And who will wager but he'll Shonny Bhoy be, the fleshlumpfleeter, from Poshtapengha and all he bares sobsconcious inklings shadowed on soulskin. Its segnet yores, the strake of a hin. Nup. Laying the cloth, to fore of them. And thanking the fish, in core of them. To pass the grace for Gard sake! Ahmohn. Mr Justician Matthews and Mr Justician Marks and Mr Justician Luk de Luc and Mr Justician Johnston-Johnson. And the aaskart, see, behind! Help, help, hurray! Allsup, allsop! Four ghools to nail! |5Cut it down, mates, look slippy! They've got a dathe with a swimminpull.5| Dang! Ding! Dong! Dung! Dinnin. Isn't it great he is swaying above us for his good
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and ours. |5Fly your balloons, dannies and dennises! He's doorknobs dead! And Annie Delap is |afree once more. free. ones Ones more.a|5| We could ate you, par Buccas, and imbabe through you reassuranced in the wild lac of gotliness. One fledge, one brood till Hulm culms evurdyburdy. Huh the throman! Huh the traidor. Huh the truh. Errorsure, he's the mannork of Arrahland oversense he horrhorrd his name in thuthunder. Rrrwwwkkkrrr! And seen it rudden up in fusefiressence on the flashmurket. P.R.C.R.L.L. Royloy. Of the rollorrish rattillary. The lewdningbluebolteredallucktruckalltraumconductor! |5The unnamed nonirishblooder that |abecame becomesa| a Greenislander overnight!5| But we're molting superstituettes out of his fulse thorotin guts. Tried mark, Easterlings. Sign, Sideric O'Cunnuc, Rix. Adversed ord, Magtmorken, Kovenhow. A die for due and Du for Dy. There's a great conversion, myn! Coucous! Find his causcaus! From Motometusolum through Bulley and Cowlie and Diggerydiggerydock down to baseness's usual. He's alight there still, by Mike! Loose afore! Bung! Bring forth your deed! Bang! Till is the right time. Bang! Partick Thistle agen S. Megan's versus Brystal Palace agus the Walsall! Putsch! Tiemore moretis tisturb badday! The playgue will be soon over, rats! Let sin! Geh tout! All we wants is to get peace for possession. We
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dinned unnerstunned why you sassad about thurteen to aloafen, sor, kindly repeat! Or ledn us alones of your lungorge, parsonifier propounde of our edelweissed idol worts! Shaw and Shea are lorning obsen so hurgle up, gandfarder, and gurgle me gurk. You can't impose on frayshouters like os. Every tub here spucks his own fat. Hang coersion everyhow! And smotthermock Gramm's laws! But we're a drippindhrue gayleague all at ones. In the buginning is the woid, in the muddle is the sounddance and thoreinofter you're in the unbewised again, vund vulsyvolsy. You talker dunsker's brogue men we our souls speech obstruct hostery. Silence in thought! Spreach! Wear an artful of outer nocense! Pawpaw, wowwow! Momerry twelfths, noebroed! That was a good one, ha! So it will be quite a material what May farther be unvuloped for you, old Mighty, when it's aped to foul a delfian in the Mahnung, ha ha! Talk of Paddybarke's
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echo! Kick nuck, Knockcastle, Muck. And you'll nose it, O you'll nose it|5,5| without warnward from we. We don't know the sendor towhome. But you'll find Chiggenchugger's taking the Treaclyshortcake with Bugle and the Bitch pairsadrawsing and Horssmayres Prosession tyghting up under the threes. Stop. Press stop. To press stop. All to press stop. And, be the seem talkin, wharabahts hosetanzies, dat sure is sullibrated word? Bing bong! Saxolooter! For congesters are salders' prey. Snap it up in the loose, patchy the blank! Anyone can see you're the son of a gunnell. Fellow him up too, Carlow! Woes to the wormquashed, aye, and wors to the winner! Think of Aerian's Wall and the Fall of Toss. Give him another for to volleyholley doodlem! His lights not all out yet, the liverpooser! Boohoohoo it oose! With seven hores always in the home of his thinkingthings, his nodsloddledome of his noiselisslesoughts. Two Idas, two Evas, two Nessies and Rubyjuby. Phook! No wonder, pipes as kirles, that he sthings like a rheinbok. One bed night he had the delysiums that they were all queens mobbing him. Feel stiff. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ah, he, he! Abedicate yourself! It just gegs our goad. He'll be the deaf of us, pappappoppopcuddle, samblind daiyrudder. Yus, sord, fathe, |5yuo you5| woll, putty our wraughther! |5What we waits be after? Whyfore we come agooding? None of you, cock icy! You keep that henayearn and her fortycantle glim lookbehinder. We might do with |salacey ribbons rubiny leesessa|. But |aof all your waningsºa| send us out your |sapuppydecked tails peppydecked alessa| and you'll not be such a bad lot. The rye is well for whose amind but the wheateny one is proper lovely.5| Beng! We sincerestly trust that Missus with the kiddies of sweet Gorteen has not B I N K to their very least tittles deranged if in B U N K and we greesiously augur for Your Meggers a B E N K  B A N K B O N K to sloop in with all sorts of odceteras and adsaturas. |5It's our last fight, Megantic, fear you will!5| The refergee's took to hailing to time the pass. |5There goes the blackwatchwomen all
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|aina| white
, |afuxed flaxeda| up, burgadº!
5| Right toe, Armitage! |5Tem for Tam at Timmotty Hall. |+We're been carried away. Beyond bournes and bowers.+|5| So we'll leave it to Keyhoe, Danelly and Pykemhyme, the three muskrateers,
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at the end of this age that had it from Variants' Katey Sherratt that had it from Variants' Katey Sherratt's man for the bonnefacies of Blashwhite and Blushred of the Aquasancta Liffey Patrol to wind up and to tells of all befells after that to Mocked Majesty in the Malincurred Mansion.

So you were saying, boys? Anyhow he what?

So anyhow, melumps and mumpos of the hoose uncommons, after that to wind up that longtobechronicled gettogether thanksbetogiving day at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle, the anniversary of his first holy communion, after that same barbecue beanfeast was all over poor old hospitable corn and eggfactor King Roderick O'Conor, the paramount chief polemarch and last preelectric king of all Ireland who was anything you say yourself between fiftyodd and fiftyeven years of age at the time after the socalled last supper he greatly gave those maltknights and beerchurls in his umbrageous house of the hundred bottles, with the radio beamer tower and its hangars, chimbneys and equilines, or at least he wasn't actually the then last king of all Ireland for the time being for the jolly good reason that he was still such as he was the eminent king of all Ireland himself after the last preeminent king of all Ireland, the whilom joky old top that went before him in the Taharan dynasty, King Arth Mockmorrow Koughenough of the leathered leggions, now of parts unknown (God guard his generous comicsongbook soul!), that put a poached fowl in the poor man's pot before he took to his pallyass with the weeping eczema for better and worse until he went under the grass quilt on us nevertheless the year the sugar was scarce and we to lather and shave and frizzle him like a bald surging buoy and himself down to three cows that was meat and drink and dogs and washing to him, 'tis good cause we have to remember it, going through summersultryngs of snow and sleet with the widow Nolan's goats and the Brownes girls neats, anyhow wait till I tell you what did he do|5,5| poor old Roderick O'Conor Rex, the auspicious waterproof monarch of all Ireland|5,5| when he found himself all alone by himself in his grand old handwedown pile after all of them had all gone off with themselves to their castles of
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mud|5,5| as best they cud|5,5| on footback|5,5| owing to the leak of McCarthy's mare|5,5| in extended order|5,5| a tree's length from the longest way out|5,5| down the switchbackward slidder of the landsown route of Hauburnea's liveliest vinnage on the brain, the unimportant Parthalonians with the mouldy Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Danaan googs and the ramblers from Clane and all the rest of the notmuchers and other slygrogging suburbanites that he didn't care the royal spit out of his
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ostensible mouth about|5,5| well|5,5| what do you think he did, sir, but|5,5| faix|5,5| he just went heeltapping through the winespilth and weevily popcorks that were kneedeep round his own right royal round rollicking topers' table|5,5| with his old Roderick Random pullon hat at a Lanty Leary cant on him and Mike Brady's shirt and Greene's linnet collarbow and his ghenter's gaunts and his Macclefield's swash and his readymade Reillys and his panprestuberian poncho, the body you'd pity him, the way the world is, poor he, the heart of Midleinster and the supereminent lord of them all, overwhelmed as he was with black ruin like a sponge out of water|5,5| allocutioning in bellcantos to his own oliverian society McGuiney's Dreans of Ergen Adams and thrumming through all to himself with diversed tonguesed through his old tears and his ould plaised drawl starkened by the most regal of belches like a blurney |5Cashelamagh Cashelmagh5| crooner that larking Clare air, the blackbard's ballad I've a terrible errible lot todue todie todue tootorribleday, well|5,5| what did he go and do at all His Most Exuberant Majesty King Roderick O'Conor but|5,5| arrah bedamnbut|5,º5| he finalised by lowering his woolly throat with the wonderful midnight thirst was on him|5,5| as keen as mustard|5,5| he could not tell what he did ale, that bothered he was from head to tail, and|5,5| wishawishawish|5,5| leave it|5,5| what the Irish, boys, can do|5,5| if he didn't go sliggymaglooral reemyround and suck up sure enough like a Trojan|5,5| in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue|5,5| whatever surplus rotgut sorra much|5,5| was left by the lazy lousers in the different bottoms of the various different replenquished drinking utensils left there behind them on the premises by that whole hogsheaded firkin family of departed honourable homegoers|5,5|
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such as it was, fall and fall about, to the brindishing of his charmed life, as toastified by his cheeriubicundenances, no matter whether it was chateaubottled Guinness's or Phoenix brewery stout it was or John Jameson and Sons or Roob Coccola or|5,5| for the matter of that|5,5| O'Connell's famous old Dublin ale that he wanted like hell|5,5| more than halibut oil or jesuits tea|5,5| as a fallback|5,º5| of several different quantities and qualities amounting in all to I should say considerably more than the better part of a gill or naggin of imperial dry and liquid measure till, welcome be from us here, till the rising of the morn, till that hen of Kaven's shows her beaconegg and Chapwellsendows stain our horyhistoricold and Father MacMichael stamps for aitch o'clerk mess and the Litvian Newestlatter is seen, sold and delivered and all's set for restart after the silence, till like his ancestors to this day after him (that the blazings of their ouldmouldy gods may attend to them we pray!), overopposides the cowery lad in the corner and forenenst the staregaze of the cathering candled, that adornment of his album and folkenfather of familyans, he came acrash a crupper sort of a
{f10, 296}
sate on accomondation and the very boxst in all his composs|5,5| whereuponce, |5behome the fore for cove and trawlers,5| heave hone, leave lone, Larry's on the focse and Faugh MacHugh O'Bawlar at the wheel, one to do and one to dare, par by par, a peerless pair, ever here and over there, with his fol the dee oll the doo on the flure of his feats and the feels of the fumes in the wakes of his ears our wineman from Barleyhome he just slumped to throne.

So sailed the stout ship Nansy Hans. From Liff away. For Nattenlaender. As who has come returns. Farvel, farerne! Goodbark, goodbye!

Now follow we out by Starloe!