Lowly, longly a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the mead of the hillock he lay, heartsoul dormant mid shadowed landshape, brief wallet to his side, an arm loose by his staff of citron briar, tradition stick-pass-on. His dream monologue was over, of cause, but his drama parapolylogic had yet to be, affact. 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 ouze 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 and (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, from the westborders of the eastmidlands, 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
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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
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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. For he was ever their quarrel, the way they would see themselves when they would see themselves, everybug his bodiment atop of annywom her notion, and the meet of their night was worth two of his morning. 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, trailing the wavy line of his partitional 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, Shunny 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 by no means legless either for such sprouts on him they were that much oneven it was tumbling he was by four lengths, within the bawl of a mascot, kuss yuss, kuss cley, patsy watsy, like the kapr in the kabisses, the big ass, to hear with his unaided ears the harp in the air, the bugle
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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, Mathew Walker, ⁽¹²godsons' goddestfar, deputising for gossipocracy,¹²⁾ and his station was a few perch to the weatherside of the knoll ⁽¹²Usnach Asnoch¹²⁾ and it was from no other place unless there, how and ever, that he proxtended aloof upon the ether Mesmer's Manuum, the hand making silence. The buckos beyond on the lea then stopped wheresoever they found their standings and that way they set ward about him, doing obedience, nod, bend, bow and curtsey, like the watchers of Prospect, upholding their broadawake probers' hats on their firrum heads, the travelling court on its findings circuiting that personer in his fallen. And a crack quatyouare of stenoggers they made of themselves, solons and psychomorers, all told, with their hurts and daimons, spites and clops, not even to the seclusion of their beast by them that was the odd trick of the pack, trump 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, drear writer, profoundly as you may bedeave to
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it, he was oscasleep asleep. And it was far more similar to a satrap he lay there with unctuous beauty, by satellites all surrounded, the poser, 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 of their five senses ensorcelled you would say themselves were, fuming censor, the way they could not rightly tell their heels from their stools, as they cooched down a mamalujo by his cubical crib, as question time drew nighing and the map of the souls' groupography rose in relief within their quarterings, to play tops or kites or hoops or marbles, curchycurchy, gawking on him for the issuance of his pnum and softnoising one of them to another one, the boguaqueesthers.
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And it is what they began to say to him tetrahedrally then, the masters, what way was he.

— He's giving, the wee bairn. Yun has lived.

— Yerra, why dat, my leader?

— Wisha, is he boosed or what, alannah?

— Or his wind's from the wrong cut, says Ned of the Hill.

— Lesten!

— 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, the chronies, 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, temptive lissomer, how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable nets, their nansen nets, from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the puisny donkeyman and his crucifer's cauda. And in their minds years backslibris so it was, slipping beauty, how they would be meshing that way, when he rose to it with the planckton at play about him, the quavers of scaly silver and their clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold, whilst, as hour gave way to mazing hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would and let out classy the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding mellifond indo his mouth.
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— Y?

— Before you!

— Ecko! How sweet thee answer makes! Afterwheres? In the land of lions' odor?

— Friends!

— First, if yu don't mine. Name yur historical grouns.

— This same prehistoric barrow 'tis, the orangery.
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— I see. Very good now. It is in your orangery, I take it, you have your letters? Can you hear here me, you, sir?

— Thorsends. For my darling. Typette!

— So long aforetime? Can you hear better?

— Millions. For godsends. For my darling dearling one.

— Now, to come nearer zone, I would like to raise my deuterous point audibly touching this. There is this maggers. I am told by our interpreter⁽¹²,¹²⁾ Hanner Esellius⁽¹²,¹²⁾ that there are fully six hundred and six ragwords in your malherbal Magis landeguage in which wald wand rimes alpman and there is resin in all roots for monarch but yao hace not one pronounceable teerm that blows in all the vallums of Tartallaght to signify majestate even provisionally nor no rheda rhoda or torpentine path nor hallucinian via nor Aurellian gape nor sunkin rut nor grossgrown trekk nor crimeslaved cruxway and no moorhen's cry or mooner's plankgang there to lead us to hopenhaven. Is such the unde derivatur casematter, Messio? Frankly. Megis megis inerretur mynus hoc intelleyegow.

— How? C'est mal prononsable, tartagliano, perfrances. Vos navez pas d'O dong votr boche provenciale, mousoo. Je m'incline mais Moy, jay trouvay la clee dang les chants. Hay sham nap paddy velour, come on!

— Hep there! Commong, sa na pa de valure? Whu's teit dans yur jambes? Whu's thot inclining and talking about the Messiah so cloover? A trues to your trefling! Whure yu?

— Trinathan Partnick Dieudonnay. Have you seen her? Typette, my tactile, O!

— Are you in your fatherick, lonely one?

— The same. Three persons. Have you seen my darling only one? I am sohohohold!

— What are yu shevering about, ultramontane, like a houn in hell? Is there cold on ye, doraphobian? Or do yu want yur primafairy schoolmam?

— The woods of Fogloot. O mis padredges!

— Whisht awhile, greylag! The duck is rising and you'll wake that stand of plover. I know that place better than annyone. Sure,
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I used to be always over there on the fourth day at my grandmother's place, Tear-nan-Ogre,
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my little grey home in the west, in or about Mayo, when the long dogs gave tongue and they coursing the marches and they straining at the leash. Tortoiseshell for a guineagould! Burb! Burb! Burb! Follow me up, ⁽¹²Observer Tucurlugh¹²⁾! That's the place for the ⁽¹²claire¹²⁾ oysters, ⁽¹²Puldudy Polldoody¹²⁾, County ⁽¹²Gallwey Conway¹²⁾. I never knew how rich I was, like another story in the zoedone of the zephyros, strolling and strolling and carrying my dragoman, Meath's marvel, thass withumpronounceable tail, along the shore. Did you know my cousin, Mr Jasper Dougal that keeps The Anchor on the Mountain, the parson's son, Jasper of the Tuns, Pat Whateveryournameis?

— ⁽¹²Dood and I dood.¹²⁾ The wolves of Fochlut! By Whydoyoucallme? Do not flingamejig to the wolves!

— Turcafiera! That's a good wan right enough! Wooluvs no less!

— One moment now, if I foreshoreten the bloss on your bleather. Encroachement spells erosion. Dunlin and turnstone augur us where, how and when best as to burial of carcass, fuselage of dump and committal of noisance. ⁽¹²But But,¹²⁾ since you invocate austers for the trailing of ⁽¹²vixens. vixens,¹²⁾ I would like to send a cormorant around this blue lagoon. Tell me now this. You told my larned friend rather previously⁽¹²,¹²⁾ a moment since⁽¹²,¹²⁾ about this mound or barrow. Now I suggest to you that ere there was this plagueburrow, as you seem to call it, there was a burial battell, the boat of millions of years. Would you bear me out in that, relatively speaking? With her jackstaff jerking at her jennyladders, why not, and sizing a fair sail? Knowest thou the kind? The Pourquoi Pas, bound for Weissduwasland, that fourmaster barquentine, Webster says, our ship that ne'er returned. The Frenchman, I say, was an orange boat. He is a boat. You see him. The both how you see is they! Draken af Danemork! Sacked it or ate it? What? Hennu! Spake ab laut!

— Couch, cortege, ringbarrow, dungcairn. Beseek the runes and see the longurn. All maun away when ye hear the gonghorn. And meet Nautsen. Ess Ess. O ess. Warum night! Conning
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two lay payees. Norsker. Her raven flag was out, the slaver. I trow pon Good, Jordan's scaper, Good's Barnet and Trustyman. Crouch low, you pigeons three! Say, call that girl with the tan tress awn! Call Wolfhound! Wolf of the sea. Folchu! Folchu!

— Very good now. That's folklore straight from the ass his mouth. Now, to come to the midnight middy on this levantine ponenter, I will crusade on with the parent ship, weather prophetting, far away from those green hills. A station, Ireton tells me, bonafide for keeltappers. From Daneland sailed the oxeyed man. Now mark well what I say.

— Magnus Spadebeard, korsets krosser, welsher perfyddye. A destroyer in our port. Signed to me with his baling scoop. Laid bare his breastpaps to give suck, to suckle me. Ecce hagios chrisman!
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— O Jeyses' fluid! says the poisoned well. Futtfishy the First. Hootchcopper's enkel at the navel manoeuvres!

— Hep! Hello there, Bill of Old Bailey! Whu's he? Whu's this lad wi' the pups?

— Hunkalus Childared Easterheld. It's his lost chance, Emania. Ware him well!

— Hey! Did you dream you were ating your own tripe, acushla, that you tied yourself up that wrynecky fix?

— I see now. We move in the beast circuls. Grimbarb and pancercrucer! You took the words out of my mouth. A child's dread for a dragon vicefather. Hillcloud encompass us! You mean you lived as Milky at their lyceum, couard, while you learned, volp volp, to howl yourself wolfwise. Dyb! Dyb! Do your best!

— I am dob dob dobbling like old Booth's, courteous. The cubs are after me, it zeebs, the whole totem pack, vuk vuk and vuk vuk to them, for Robinson's shield.

— Scents and gouspils! The animal gangs again! Find the Fingall harriers! Here, howl me wiseacre's hat till I die of the milkman's lupus!

— Whaat! Wolfgang! Whoah! Taalk very slowo!
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— Hail him heathen, heal him holystone!
Courser, recourser, changechild, ..........
Eld as endall, earth .................

— A cataleptic mithyphallic! Was this Totum Fulcrum Est Ancestor yu had in Dies Eirae where no spider webbeth or Anno Mundi ere bawds plied in Skiff Strait? Be fair, Chris!

— Dream. On a ⁽¹²monday nonday¹²⁾ I sleep. I dreamt of a ⁽¹²sunday somday¹²⁾. On a ⁽¹²monday wonday¹²⁾ I shall wake. Ah! May he have now of here fearfilled me! Sinflowed, O Sinflowed! Fia! Fia! Befurcht Christ!

— I have your tristich now. It recurs in three times the same differently. And comming nown from the asphalt to the concrete, from the human historic brute, Finnsen Faynean, occeanyclived, to this same vulcanised hillsir from yours (there is such a fui fui story which obtains of him), Mr Tuppling Toun of Morningside Heights, with his lavas flow and his rambling undergroands, would he reoccur ad horam⁽¹²,^12| as old Romeo Rogers⁽¹²,^12| in city or county, by, with or from an urb, an you're sure of you know the differenciabus, as brauchbarred in Apabhramsa, sierrah! We speak of ⁽¹²Gunne Gun¹²⁾, the farther. And in the locative. Bap! Bap!

— Ouer Tad, Hellig Babbau, whom certayn orbits assertant re humeplace of Chivitats Ei, Smithwick, Rhonnda, Kaledon, Salem (Mass), Childers, Argos and Duthless. Well, I am advised he might in a sense be both nevermoreless
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every atman like myself, suffix it to say. Abrahamsk and ⁽¹²Brookbar! Brookbear!¹²⁾ By him it was done bapka, by me it was gone into, to whom it will beblive, mushame, mushame! I am afraid you could not heave ahora one of your own old stepstones, barnabarnabarn, over a stumbledown wall here in Huddlestown to this classic Noctubrr night but itandthey would binge, much as vecious, off the glosshouse back of a racerider in his true-to-flesh colours, either handicapped on her flat or barely repeating himself. That is a tiptip tim oldy faher now, the man I go in fear of, Tommy Terracotta, and he could be all your and my das, the brodar of the founder of the father of the finder of the pfander of the pfunder of the furst man in Ranelagh. Fué! Fué! Petries and violet ice (I am yam, as Me and Tam Tower used to jagger pemmer it over at the house of
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Eddy's Christy, meaning Dodgfather, Dodgson and Coo) and spiriduous sanction!

— Breeze softly. Aures are aureas. Hau's his naun?

— Me das has or oreils. Piercey! Piercey! Piercey! Piercey!

— White eyeluscious and no hears! Muddyhorsebroth! Pig Pursy Riley! But where do we get off, chiseller?

— Haltstille, Lucas and Dublinn! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva! Vulva!

— Macdougal, Atlantic City, or his onagrass that is, chuam and coughan. I would go near identifying you from your stavrotides, Jong of Maho, and the westarias round your yokohahat. And that O'mulanchonry plucher you have from the worst curst of Ireland, Glwlwdd of the Mghtwy Grwpp, is no use to you either, Johnny my donkeyschott. Number four, fix up your spreadeagle and pull your weight!

— Hooshin hom to our regional's hin and the gander of Hayden, would ye ken a young stepschuler of psychical chirography the name of Kevin or (let outers pray) Evan Vaughan, of his Posthorn in the High Street, that was shooing a Guiney gagag, Poulepinter, that foun the dogumen number one? An illegible, I would suggest, downfumbed by an unelgible.

— If I do know sainted sageness? Sometimes he would keep silent for a few minutes and clasp his forehead, as if in prayer, and during that time he would be thinking to himself and he would not mind anybody who would be talking to him or crying stinking fish. But 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 due south so.

— South, I see. You're up-in-Leal-Ulster and I'm free-Down-in-Easia. This is much better. He is cured by faith who is sick of fate. The prouts who will invent a writing there ultimately is the ⁽¹²poeta poeta,¹²⁾ still more ⁽¹²learned learned,¹²⁾ who has discovered the raiding there originally. That's the point of eschatology our book of kills reaches for now in soandso many counterpoint words.
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What can't be coded can be decorded if an ear aye sieze what no eye ere grieved for. Now, the doctrine obtains, we have, let me suggest, occasioning cause causing
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effects and affects occasionally recausing altereffects. Or I will take it upon myself to twist the penman's tale posterwise. The gist is the gist of Shaum but the hand is the hand of Sameas. Shan-Shim-Schung. There is a strong suspicion on counterfeit Kevin. And we all remember ye in childhood's revery. 'Tis the bells of scandal that gave tune to grumble over him and someone between me and thee. He's our sent on the fern. He would preach to the two Turkies and dipdip all the Dindians, this master the abbey, and give gold tidings to all that are in the bonze age of anteproresurrectionism to entrust their easter uppearance to Borsaiolini's house of hatcraft. Now, have you reasonable hesitancy in your mind about him after fourpriest red mass or are you in your post? Tell me that and sans dismay. Leap, pard!

— Fierappel! Putting years on me! Nwo, nwo! This bolt in hand be my worder! I'll see you moved farther, blarneying Marcantonio! What cans such wretch to say to I or how have My to doom with him? We were wombful of mischief, everliking a liked, hairytop on heeltipper, alpybecca's umwachsibles, an ikeson am ikeson. That babe, imprincipially and initiumwise, my leperd brethern, the Puer, ens innocens of but fifteen primes, ya all in your kalb lionised so trilustriously, standing the real school, to be upright as his match, healtheous as is egg, saviour as the salt and good wee broad parallaling buttyr, did I altermobile him to a flare insiding hogsfat? Been ike hins kindergardien? I know not, O cashla, I am sure offed habitand this underedheaven, meis enfins, contrasting the first mover, that father I ascend fromming, knows, as I think, caused whom I, a self the sign, came remaining being dwelling ayr, plage and watford as to I was altered impostulance possessing my future state falling towards thrice myself when I, a palegrim, received the habit following Mezienius connecting Mezosius including was verted embracing circumcissed my hairs, O laud, and removed my clothes from patristic motives, meas minimas culpads! Permitting this ick (ickle coon icoocoon) crouched low entering humble down dead true resting the childhide mid mean scatological
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past, accompanying my thraintropps offering meye eyesalt, making so smell partaking myself to confess abiding clean tumbleuponing yous octopods, mouthspeech allno fingerforce, owning my mansuetude before him attaching Audeon's prostratingwards mine sore what I (the person whomin I now am) did not do, how he to say essied anding how he was making errant andanding how he all lowcutey sunt, why did you, my sexth best friend, blabber always you would be so delated to back me, then ersed irredent, toppling Humphrey
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hugging Nephew, old beggelaut, designing such post sitting his night office? Annexing then, producing Saint Momoluius, you snub round enclosing your moving motion touching the other catechumens continuing you say providing append of signature quoniam you will celebrand my dirthdies quoniam, concealed a concealer, I am twosides uppish, a mockbelief insulant, ending none meer hiber Irish. Well, chunk your dimned chink, before Avtokinatown, forasmuch as many have tooken in hand to, I may as well humbly correct that vespian now in case of temporalities. I've my pockets full comeplay of you laycreated cardonals, ap rince, ap rowler, ap rancer, ap rowdey! Improperial! I saved you fore of the Hekkites and you loosed me hind, blind harry, to the burghmote of Oud Dub. I teachet you in fair time, my elders, the W.X.Y.Z. and P.Q.R.S. of legatine powers and you, Ailbeybar and Ciaradeclan, I learn, episcoping me altogether, circumdeditioned me. I brought you from the loups of Lazary and you have remembered my lapsus langways. Washiwattchywataywatashy! Oiraseshaorebokujibun! Watacooshy lot! Mind of poison is. That time thing think! Honorific remembrance to spit humble makes. My ruridecanal caste is a cut above you peregrines. Say voche to rumanescu. See the leabhour of my generations! Has not my master, Theophrastius Spheropneumaticus, written that the spirit is from the upper circle? I'm of the ochlocracy with Prestopher Palumbus and Porvus Parrio. Soa koa Kelly Terry per Chelly Derry lepossette. Ho, look at my jailbrand Exquovis and sequencias High marked on me fakesimilar in the foreign by Pappagallus and Pumpusmugnus. Aham! Anglicey: Eggs squawfish lean yoe nun feed marecurious!
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Sagart can self laud nilobstat to Lowman Catlick's patrician morning coat of arms with my High tripenniferry cresta proper and caudal mottams: Itch dean! Which Gaspey, Otto and Sauer he renders: Eeho stay so! Addressing eat or not eat body Yours am. And Mind, praisegad, is the first praisonal Egoname Yod heard boissboissy in Moy Bog's domesday. Hastan the vista! Or in alleman: Suck at!

— Suck it yourself, sugarstick! Misha, Yid think whose was asking to luck at your sore toe or to taste your gaspy, hot and sour! Ichthyan! Hegoat's tosser! Gags be plebsed! Between his voyeurs and her consinnantes! Thugg, Dirke and Hacker with Rose Lankester and Blanche Yorke! Are we speechin d'anglas landage or are you sprakin sea Djoytsch? Oy soy, Bleseyblasey, where to go is knowing remain? Become quantity that discourse bothersome when what do? Knowing remain? Come back, baddy wrily, to Bullydamestough! Cum him, buddy rawly, with me! What about your thruppenny croucher of an old fellow, me boy through the ages, tell us, eh? What about Brian's the Vaunt-and-Onlieme master monk, eh, eh, Spira in Me
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Domino, spear me Doyne! Fat prize the bonafide peachumpidgeonlover, esquire earwugs, escusado, of Jenkins' Area, with his I've ivy under his tangua and the hohallo to his dullaphone, before there was, eh, eh, eh, a sound in the world? How big was his boost friend and be shanghaied to him? The swaaber! The twicer, trifoaled in Wanstable! Loud's curse to him! If you hored him outerly as we harem lubberintly, from morning rice till nightmale, with his drums and bones and hums in drones, your innereer'd heerdly heer he. Ho ha hi he hung! Tsing tsing!

— Nicey Doc Mistel Lu, please! Me no angly mo. Me speakee Yellman's lingas. Me no pigey ludiments allsame numpa one Topside Tellmastoly fella. Me pigey savvy a singasong anothel time. Pleasie, Mista Lukie Walkie! Jossdam cowbellymaam belongame shepullamealalmalong, begolla, jackinaboss belongashe. Plentymuch boohoomeo.

— Hell's Confucium and the Elements! Tootoo moohootch! Thot's never the postal cleric, checking chinchin chat with nipponnippers!
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Halte there, sob story, to your lambdach's tale! Are yu roman cawthrick 432?

— Quadrigue my yoke.
Triple my tryst.
Tandem my sire.

— History as her is harped. ⁽¹²To the tune Too the toone¹²⁾ your owldfrow lied of. Tantris, hattrick, tryst and parting, by vowelglide! I feel your thrillojoy. Mouth's overtspeaking, O dragoman, hand's understudium. Plunger words what paddle verbed. Mere man is mimic: God is jest. The old order changeth and lasts like the first. Every third man has a chink in his conscience and every other woman has a jape in her mind. Now, fix on the little fellow in my eye, Minucius Mandrake, and follow my little psychosinology, poorarmer in slingslang. Now I⁽¹²,¹²⁾ the lord of ⁽¹²Tuttoo Tuttu,¹²⁾ am placing that initial T square of burial jade upright to your temple a moment. Do you see anything, templar?

— I see a blackfrinch pliestrycook … who is carrying on his brainpan … a cathedral of lovejelly for his … Tiens, how he is like somebodies!

— Pious, a pious person. What sound of tistress isoles my ear? I horizont the same J, this serpe with ramshead, 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 … and white arms to the twinklers … O la la!

— Purely, in a pure manner. O, seay but swift and still a vain essaying! I invert the initial I of your tripartite and sign it sternly, an adze to girdle, on your breast. What do you hear, breastplate?

— I ahear of a hopper behidin the door slappin his feet in a pool of bran.
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— Bellax, acting like a bellax. And so the triptych vision passes. Out of a hillside into a hillside. Fanshee fading. Again am I deliciated by the picaresqueness of your irmages. Now, the oneir urge iterimpellant, I feel called upon to ask did it ever occur to you, qua you, prior to this, by a stretch of
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your iberborealic imagination, when it's quicker than this quacking, that you might, bar accidens, be very largely substituted in potential secession from your next life by a complementary character, voices apart? Upjack! I shudder for your thought! Think! Put from your mind that and take on trust this. The next word depends on your answer.

— I'm thinking to. Thogged, be thenked! I was just trying to think when I thought I felt a flea. I might have. I cannot say for it is of no sangnificance at all. Sometider, once or twice when I was in Odinburgh with me addlefoes, Jake Jones, the handscabby, when I thinkled I wore trying on my garden substisuit, boys's apert, at my nextword nighboor's, and maybe more largely nor you, quosh you, messmate, yet realise. A few times, so to shape, as I chanced to be stretching, in the shadow as I thought, the liferight out of myself in my ericulous imagination I felt feeling a half Scotch and pottage like round my middle ageing like Bewley in the baste so that I indicate out to myself and I swear my gots how that I'm not meself at all, no jolly fear, when I realise bimiselves how becomingly I to be going to become.

— O, is that the way with you, you craythur? You have all our empathies. In the becoming was the weared, wontnot? Hood maketh not frere. The voice is the voice of jokeup, I fear. Are you imitating Roma now or Amor now, eh, Mr Trickpat, if you don't mind, that is, aside from pings and mush, answering to my straight question?

— God save the monk! I won't mind, this is, answering to your strict crossquests, whereas it would be as unethical for me now to answer as it would have been nonsensical for you then not to have asked. Out of my name you call me, Leelander. But in my sheltar you'll miss me. When Lapac walks backwords he's the darkest horse in Capalisoot. Same no can, home no will, gangin I am. Gengang is mine and I will return. You knew me once but you won't know me twice. I am simpliciter arduus, ars of the school, Freeday's child in loving and thieving.

— My child, know this! Some portion of that answer appears to have been taken by you from the writings of Saint Synodius,
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that first liar. Let us hear, therefore, as you honour and obey the queen, whether the indwellingness of that which shamefieth be entwined of one or atoned of two. Let us hear, Art simplicissime!

— Dearly beloved brethren! Bruno and Nola, ⁽¹²leymon¹²⁾ bogholders and stationary lifepartners off orangey Saint Nessau Street, were explaining it avicendas
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all round each other ere yesterweek out of Ibn Sen and Ipanrussch. When himupon Nola Bruno monopolises his egobruno most unwillingly senses by the mortal powers alionola equal and opposite brunoipso, id est, eternally provoking alio opposite equally as provoked as Bruno at being eternally opposed by Nola. Poor omniboose singalow singlearum! So is he!

— Aver who is? Ib is itsen? ⁽¹²One might hear in their beyond that lionroar in the air again, the zoohoohoom of Felin make Call.º¹²⁾ Or you positively mean nolans but volans, an alibi, do you, Mutemalice? Bruin goes to Noble, suffering unegoistically from the singular but enjoying, the skipgod, on the plural? Dustify of that sole, you breather! Ruemember, blither, thou must lie!

— Oessoyess! I never dramped of prebeing a postman but I mean in Ostralian someplace my allaboy brother, Negoist Cabler of this city, whom 'tis better ne'er to name, my said brother, expulled for looking at churches from behind, mults deeply belubdead, who is sender of the Hullo Eve Cenograph in prose and worse every Allso's night. High Brazil, Brandan's Deferred, midden Erse clare language, Noughtnoughtnought. Nein. Assass. Dubbire, per Neuropaths. Punk. Starving today plays punk opening tomorrow two plays punk wire splosh how two plays punk Cabler. Have you forgotten poor Alby Sobrinos, Geoff, you blighter, identifiable by the necessary white patch on his rear? How he went to his swiltersland after his lungs, my sad late brother, before his coglionial expancian? Won't you join me in a small halemerry, a bottle of the best, for wellmet Capeler, united Irishmen, what though preferring the stranger, the coughs and the itches and the minnies and the ratties and the opulose and the bilgenses, for of his was the patriots mistaken. The heart that wast our Graw McGree!
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Yet be there some who mourn him, concluding him dead, and more there be that wait astand. His fuchs up the staires and the lodgers in his haires, he ought to win that V.V.C. Fullgrapce for an endupper, half muxy on his whole! Would he were even among the lost! From ours bereft beyond belongs. Oremus poor fraternibus that he may yet escape the gallows and still remain ours faithfully deported. I wronged you. I never want to see more of bad men but I want to learn from any on the airse, like Tass with much thanks, here's ditto, if he lives in the antipathies of Austrasia or anywhere with my fawngest on his hooshmoney, safe and damned, or has hopped it, or who can throw any lime on the sopjack, my sameplace fond fosther, E. Obiit Nolan, The Workings, N.S.W., his condition off the Venerable Jerrybuilt, not belonging to these parts, who I remember ham to me, when we were like bro and sis over our castor and porridge, with his roamin I suppose, expecting for his clarenx negus, a teetotum obstainer. He feels he ought to be
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as asamed of me as me to be ashunned of him. We were in one class of age like to two clots of egg. I am most beholding to him, my namesick, as we sayed it in our Amharican, through the Doubly Telewisher. Outpassed hearts wag short pertimes. Worndown shoes upon his feet, to whose redress no tongue can ^(12|shtell^sh|: in ^|shtell^sh|! In¹²⁾ his hands a boot! Spare me, do, a copper or two, and happy I'll hope you'll be! It will pleased me behind with thanks from before and love to self and all I remain here your truly friend. I am no scholar but I loved that man who has africot lupps with the moonshane in his profile. My semblabble! My freer! I call you my halfbrother because you in your soberer otiumic moments remind me deeply of my natural saywhen brothel in feed, hop and jollity, S. H. Devitt, that benighted irismaimed, who is tearly belaboured by Sydney and Alibany.

— As you sing it it's a study. That letter selfpenned to one's other, that neverperfect everplanned!

— This nonday diary, this allnights newseryreel.

— My dear sir! In this wireless age any owl rooster can peck
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up bostoons. But whoewaxed he so anguished? Was he vector victored or victim vexed?

— Mighty sure! Way way for his wehicale! A parambolator ram into his bagsmall when he was reading alawd with two ecolites and he's been failing of that kink in his arts over sense.

— Madonagh and chiel, idealist leading a double life! But who for the brilliance of brothers is the Nolan as appearant nominally?

— Mr Nolan is pronuminally and rereally a Mr Gottgab.

— I get it, you reeker! An untaken mispatriate! By hearing his thing about a person one begins to place him for a certain in true. He stands pat for you before a direct object in the feminine. I see. By maiden sname. Now, I am earnestly asking you and putting it as between this yohou and that houmonymh, will you just search through your gabgut memoirs for all of two minutes for this impersonating pronolan, fairhead on foulshoulders. Would it be in twofold truth a Doblinganger much about your own medium with a sandy whiskers? Poke me nabs in the ribs and pick the erstwort out of his mouth.

— Too fullfully true! Treble Stauter of Holy Baggot, formerly Swordmeat, Street (I surpassed him lately for four and six bringing home the Christmas, as heavy as music, hand to eyes on the peer for Noel's Arch, in Blessed Foster's Place) is doing the dirty on me with his tantrums and all these godforgiven kilowatts I'd be better off without. Though she's write to him she's levt by me, Jenny Rediviva! Toot! Detter for you, Mr Nobru! Toot toot! Better for you, Mr Anol! This is the way we. Of a redtettetterday morning.
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— When your countraman from Tuwarceathay is looking for righting, that is not a good sign? Not?

— I speak truly, it's a shower sign that it's not.

— What though it be for the sow of his heart? If even she were a good poor Pegeen?

— If she ate your windowsill you wouldn't say sow.

— Would you be surprised after that at my asking have you a bull, a bosbully, with a whistle in his tail to scare other birds?

— I would.
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— Were you with Sindy and Sandy attending Goliath, a bull?

— You'd make me sag what you like to. I was intending a funeral. Simply and samply.

— They are too wise of solbing their silbings?

— And both croon to the same theme.

— Tugbag is Baggut's, when a crispin sokolist besoops juts kamps or clapperclaws an irvingite offthedocks. A luckchange, I see. Thinking young through the muddleage spread, the moral fat his mental leans on. We can cop that with our straat that is called corkscrewed. It would be the finest boulevard billy for a mile in every direction, from Lismore to Cape Brendan, Patrick's, if they took the bint out of the mittle of it. You told of a tryst too, two a tutu. I wonder now, without releasing seeklets of the alcove, turturs or raabraabs have I heard mention of whose name anywhere? Mallowlane or Demaasch? Strike us up either end Have You Erred off Van Homper or Ebell Teresa Kane.

— Marak! Marak! Marak!
Ha drappad has draraks an Mansianhase parak
And ha had ta barraw tha watarcrass shartclaths aff tha arkbashap af Yarak!

— Broadribnob's on the bummel?

— And lillypets on the lea.

— A being again in becomings again. From the sallies to the allies through their central power?

— Pirce! Perce! Quick! Queck!

— O Tara's thrush! The sharepusher! And he said he was only taking the average grass temperature for Green Thurdsday, the blutchy scaliger! Who you know the musselman, his musclemum and mistlemam? Maomi, Mamie, My Mo Mum! He loves a drary lane. Feel Phylliscitations to Daff Mr Hairwigger who as just added twinned little curls! He was resting between Horrockses' sheets, wailing for white warfare, prooboor welshtbreton, unbiassed by the embarrassment of disposal, but the first woking day in Baltic Bygrad, by Thunder, he stepped into the breach and put on
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his recriution trousers and riding apron, the old soggy, was when the bold bhuoys of Iran wouldn't join up.
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— How voice you that, nice Sandy man? Not large goodman is he, Sandy nice? Ask him this one minute upthrow inner lotus of his burly ear womit he dropped his Bass's to P flat.

— And for that he was allaughed? And then baited? The whole gammat?

— Loonacied! Marterdyed!! Madwakemiherculossed!!! Judascessed!!!! Pairaskivvymenassed!!!!! Luredogged!!!!!! And, needatellye, faulscrescendied!!!!!!!

— Dias Domnas! Dolled to dolthood? And Annie Delittle, his daintree diva, in deltic dwilights, singing him henpecked rusish through the bars? My Wolossay's wild as the Crasnian Sea! Grabashag, groogy, scoop and I'll cure ye! Mother of emeralds, ara poog neighbours!

— Capilla, Rubrilla and Melcamomilla! Dauby, dauby, without dulay! Well, I beg to traverse same above statement by saxy luters in their back haul of Coalcutter what reflects upon my administrants of slew poisoning inasmuch as my dodear devere revered meinhirr was confined to guardroom, I hindustand, by my pint of his Filthered pilsen's bottle due to Zenaphiah Holwell, H and J. C. S, which I was bringing up my quee parapotacarry's orders in my sedown chair with my mudfacepacket from my cash chemist and family drugger, Surager Dowling, V.S., to our aural surgeon, Afamado Hairductor Achmed Borumborad Sahib, M.A.C.A., of 1001 Ombrilla Street, Syringapadham, Alleypulley, to see what was my watergood, my mesical wasserguss, for repairs done by bollworm in the rere of pilch knickers, seven yerds to his galandhar pole on perch, together with his for me unfillable slopper, property of my deeply forfear revebereared, who was costing us mostfortunes which I am writing in mepetition to Kavanagh Djanaral, when he was sitting him humpbacked in dry dryfilthyheat to his Trinidad pinslers at their orpentings, entailing a laxative tendency to mary, especially with him being forbidden fruyt and certified by his sexular clergy to have as badazmy emotional valvular, with a basketful of priesters crossing the singorgeous to aroint him with tummy moor's maladies, and thereinafter liable to succumb, when served with letters potent below the belch, if my rupee ropure riputed husbandship H.R.R.
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took a brief one in his shirtsails out of the alleged given mineral, telling me see in Foraignghistan sambatpapers his Sunday features of a welcomed aperrytiff with vallad of Erill Pearcey O (he never battered one eagle's before paying me his duty on my annaversary to the parroteyes list in my nil ensemble in his lazychair but he hidded up my hemifaces in all my mayarannies and he looked plum into my mirrymouth like Ysamasy morning in the end of time
{f10, 383}
with the songlight's hope singling on his ruddycheeks and rawjaws) and, my charmer, when I dipped my hand in he simply showed me his propendiculous loadpoker, Seaserpents hisses Sissastones, which was as then is produced in his man's way by this wisest of the Vikramadityationists with the remere ramind remure remark, in his gulughurutty: Yran for parasites with rum for the turkeycockeys so, Lithia, M.D., as this is for Snooker, bort.

— Which was said by whem to whom?

— It wham. But whim I can't whumember.

— Fantasy! Funtasy on fantasy! Amnes' fintasies! ⁽¹²and And¹²⁾ there is nihil nuder under the clothing moon. When Ota, weewahrwificle of Torquells, bumpsed her dumpsydiddle down in her woolsark, she mode our heuteyleutey girlery of peerlesses to set up in all their bombossities of feudal fiertey, fanned, flounced and frangipanned, while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the measure, simplex mendaciis, by which our Outis cuts his thruth. Arkaway now!

— Yerds and nudes say ayes and noes! Vide! Vide!

— Let Eivin bemember for Gates of Gold for their fadeless suns berayed her. Irise, O sirises! Be thy mouth given unto thee! For why do you lack a link of luck to poise a pont of perfect, peace? On the vignetto is a ragingoos. The overseer of the house of the oversire of the seas, Nu-Men, triumphant, sayeth: Fly as the hawk, cry as the corncrake, Ani Latch of the postern is thy name; shout!

— My heart, my mother! My heart, my coming forth of darkness! They know not my heart, O coolun dearast! Mon gloomerie! Mon glamourie! What a surpraise, dear Mr Preacher,
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I to hear from your strawnummical modesty! Yes, there was that skew arch of chrome sweet home, floodlit up above the flabberghosted farmament and bump where the camel got the needle. Talk about iridescencies! Ruby and beryl and chrysolite, jade, sapphire, jasper and lazul.

— Orca Bellona! Heavencry at earthcall, etnat athos? Extinct your vulcanology for the lava of Moltens!

— It's you not me's in erupting, hecklar!

— Ophiuchus being visible above t'horizon, Muliercula occluded by Satarn's serpent ring system the Pisciolinies, Nova Ardoris and Prisca Parthenopea, are a bonnie feature in the northern sky. Ers, Mores and Merkery are surgents below the rim of the Zenith Part, while Arctura, Anatolia, Hesper and Mesembria weep in their mansions over Noth, Haste, Soot and Waste.

— Apep and Uachet! Holy snakes! Chase me, Charley, Eva's got barley! Under her fluencies, all in! The Ural Mount he's on the move and he'll quivvy
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her with his strombolo! Waddlewurst, the bag of tow, as broad above as he is below! Creeping through the liongrass and bullrusshies, the obesendean, before the Emfang de Maurya's class in Bill Shasser's shotshrift writing academy camouflaged as a blancmange and maple syrup! Obeisance to their sitinims is the follicity of this Orp. Her sheik to Slave, his dick to Dave, and the fat of the land to Guygas. The treadmill pebbledropper haha halfahead overground and she'd only chitschats in her spanking bee bonnetry, Allapolloosa! Up the slanger! Three cheers (and a heva heva heva!) for the name Dan Magraw!

— The giant sun is in his emanence but which is chief of those white dwarfees of which he ever is surabanded?

— And to think I might have being his seventh! He will kitssle me on melbaw. What about his age? says you. What about it? says I. I will confess to his sins and blush me further. I would misdemean to rebuke to the libels of snots from the fleshambles, the canalles. Synamite is too good for them. Two overthirties in shore shorties! She's askapot at Nile Lodge and she's citchincarry at the left Mrs Hamazum's. Will you warn your old habasund, barking at baggermen, his chokefull chewing his chain? Responsif you
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plais. The said Sully, a barracker associated with tinkers, the blackhand Shovellyvans, wreuter of annoyingmost letters and skirriless ballets in Parsee Franch, he is Magrath's thug and smells cheaply of Power's spirits like a deepsea dibbler and he is not fit enough to throw guts down to a bear. Sylphling me when is a maid nought a maid he would go to anyposs length for her! So long, Sulleyman! If they cut his nose on the stitcher they had their seven good reasons. Here's to the leglift of my snuff and trout stockangt henkerchoff, orangefin with a mosaic of dispensations from my church milliner and a frozen black patata, when Lynch, Brother, Withworkers, Friends and Company with T. C. King and the Warden of Galway is prepared to stretch him sacred by the powers to the starlight, L.B.W. Hemp, hemp, hurray! says the captain in the moonlight. I could put him under my pallyass and slepp on him all night, as I would roll myself for holy poly over his barrowing places. How we will make laugh over him together, me and my Riley in the Vickar's bed! Quink! says I. He cawls to me Granny-stream-Auborne when I am hiding under my hair from him and I cool him my Finnyking he's so joyant a bounder. Plunk! said he. Inasmuch as I am delightful to be able to state, with the joy of lifing in my forty winkers, that a handsome sovereign was freely pledged in their pennis in the sluts maschine, alonging with a cherrywickerkishabrack of maryfruit under Shadow La Rose, to both the legintimate lady performers of display unquestionable, Elsebett and Marryetta Gunning, ⁽¹²H.2.O. H₂O¹²⁾, by that noblesse of
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leechers at his Saxon tannery with motto in Wwalshe's ffrenchllatin, O'Neill Saw Queen Molly's Pants, and much admired engraving meaning complete manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief mergey margey magistrades, five itches above the kneecap, as required by statues. V.I.C.5.6. If you won't release me stop to please me up the leg of me. Now you see! Respect. S.V.P. Your wife. Amn. Anm. Amm. Ann.

— You wish to take us, Frui Mria, by degrees as artis litterarumque patrona but I am afraid, my poor woman of that same name, what with your ⁽¹²silvans silvanes¹²⁾ and your salvines, you are misled.
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⁽¹²— Alas for livings' pledjures!¹²⁾

— Lordy Daw and Lady Don! Uncle Foozle and Aunty Jack! Sure, that old humbugger was boycotted and girlcutted in debt and doom, on hill and haven, even by the show-the-flag flotilla, as I'm given now to understand. Illscribed in the gratuitouses and conspued in the takeyourhandaways. Bumbty Tumbty Sot on a Wall. Mute art for the Million. There wasn't an archimandrite of Dane's Island and the townland's tropics nor a minx from the Isle of Woman nor a one of the four cantins nor any on the whole wheel of his ecunomical counciliabulum nor nogent ingen meid on alled the holed scurface of the jorth would come next or nigh him, Mr Eelwhipper, seed and nursery man, or his allgas bumgalowre, Auxilium Meum Solo A Domino (Amsad), for rime or ration, from piles or faces, after that.

— All ears did wag old Eire wake as Piers Aurell was flappergangsted.

⁽¹²— Recount!¹²⁾

— I have it here to my fingees' ends. This liggy piggy wanted to go to the jampot. And this leggy peggy spelt pea. And threese lucky puckers played at pooping tooletom. Ma's da. Da's ma. Madas. Sadam.

— Pater patruum cum filiabus familiarum. Or, but, now, and, ariring out of her mirgery margery watersheads and, to change the subjunct from the traumaturgid for a once in a while and darting back to stuff, if so be you may identify yourself with the him in you, that fluctuous neck merchantur, bloodfadder and milkmudder, since there are too many of her, Abha na Lifé, and getting on to dadaddy again, as them we're ne'er free of, was he in tea e'er he went on the bier or didn't he onetime do something seemly heavy in sugar? He sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird's unbespokables in his beak and then he sent out Le Caron Crow and the peacies are still looking for him. The seeker from the swayed, the beesabouties from the parent swarm. Speak to the right! Rotacist ca canny! He caun ne'er be bothered but maun e'er be waked. If there is a future in every past that is present Quis est qui non novit Quinnigin and Qui quwere quot at
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Quinnigain's Quake? Stump! His producers, are they not his consumers?
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Your exagmination round his factification for incamination of a warping process. Declaim!

— Arra irraha hirarra, man, weren't they arriving in clansdestinies for the Imbandiment of the Ad Regias Agni Dapes, fogabawlers and panhibernskers, after the crack and the lean years, scalpjaggers with houthheadhunters, like the messiats of the great god, a scarlet trainful, the Twoedged Petrard, totalling, leggats and prelaps, in their aggregate ages two and thirty plus undecimmed centries of them, with tuitifruities, insiders and extraomnes allcunct, from Rathgar, Rathangan, Roundtown and Rush, from America Avenue and Asia Place and the Afrian Way and Europa Parade and besogar the walds of Noo Souch Wilds, and from Vico, Mespil, Rock and Sorrento, for the lure of his weal and the fear of his oppidumic, to his salon de espera in the keel of his kraal, like lodes of ores flocking fast to Mount Maximagnetic, afeerd he was a gunner but affaird to stay away, Merrionites, Dumstdumbdrummers and Luccanicans, Ashtowners, Battersby Parkes and Krumlin Boyards, Phillipsburgs, Cabraists and Finglossies, Ballymunmen, Raheniacs and the bettlers of Clontarf, for to contemplate in manifests and pay their firstrate duties before the both of him, twelve stone a side, with their Thieve le Roué! and their Shvr yr Thrst! and their Uisgue ad Inferos! and their Usque ad Ebbraios! at and in the licensed boosiness premises of his delhightful bazar and reunited magazine hall, by the magazine wall, Hosty's and Co, Exports, for his five hundredth and sixtysixth ^|12bortday borthday,^12| the Grand Old Magennis Mor, ^|12Parsee Persee^12| and Rahli, taker of the tributes, their Rinseky Poppakork and Piowtor the Grape, holding Dunker's durbar, boot kings and indiarubber umpires and shawhs from Paisley and muftis in muslim and sultana reiseines and jordan almonders and a row of jam sahibs and an odd principeza in her pettedcoat and the queen of knight's clubs and the Claddagh ringleaders and the two salaames and the Halfa Ham and the Hanzas Khan with two fat maharashers and the German selver geyser, and he polished up, protemptible, tintinabulating to himsilf so silfrich. And there was J. B. Dunlop, the
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best tyrent of ourish times, and a swanks of French wine stuarts and Tudor keepsakes and the Cesarewitch for the current counter, Leodegarius Sant Legegleger, riding lapsaddlelonglegs up the oakses staircase on muleback, like Amaxodios Isteroprotos, hindquarters to the fore and kick to the lift, and he handigrabbed on to his trulley natural anthem, Horsibus, keep your tailyup, and as much as the halle of the vacant throneroom, Oldloaf's Buttery, could safely accommodate of the houses of Orange and Bitters M.P., permeated by Druids D.P. and Brehons B.P. and Flawhoolaghs F.P. and Agiapommenites A.P. and Antepummelites P.P. and Ulster Kong and Munster's Herald with
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Athclee Ensigning and Athlone Poursuivant and his Imperial Catchering, his fain awan, and his gemmynosed sanctsons in epheud and ordilawn and his diamondskulled granddaucher, Adamantaya Liubokovskva, all murdering Irish, amok and amak, out of their ^|12boon boom^12| companions in paunchjab and dogril and pammel and gougeroutty after plenty of his fresh stout and his good balls of malt, not to forget his oels a'mona nor his beers o'ryely, sopped down by his pani's annagolorum (at Kennedy's kiln she kned her dough, back of her bake for me, buns!), socialising and communicounting in the deification of his members, for to nobble or salvage their herobit of him, the poohpooher old bolssaloose, with his arthurious clayroses, Dodderick Ogonoch Wreck, busted to the wurrld at large, lying high as he lay in all dimensions on the table round in court dress and ludmers chain, as true as the Vernons have Brian's sword, with the floodlight switched back and a dozen and one by one tilly tallows round in ringcampf, circumassembled by his daughters in the foregiftness of his sons and with a hogo, fluorescent of his swathings, round him like the cummulium of scents in an Italian warehouse, erica's clustered on his hayir, the spectrum in his prisent mocking the candiedights of his dadtid, bagpuddingpodded to his deafspot, bewept of his chilidrim and serafim, poors and personalities, venturous, drones and dominators, ancients and auldancients, with his buttend up, expositoed for sale after referee's inspection, bulgy and blowrious, bunged to ignorious, healed, cured and
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embalsamate, ^|12fending pending^12| a rouseruction of his bogey, most highly astounded, as it turned up, after his life overlasting, at thus being reduced to nothing.

— Bappy-go-gully and gaff for us all! And all his morties calisenic, tripping a trepas, neniatwantyng: Mulo Mulelo! Homo Humilo! Dauncy a deady O! Dood dood dood! O Bawse! O Boese! O Muerther! O Mord! Mahmato! Moutmaro! O Smirtsch! O Smertz! Wo Hillill! Wa Hallall! Thou Thuoni! Thou Thaunaton! Umartir! Udamnor! Tschitt! Mergue! Eulumu! Huam Khuam! Malawinga! Malawunga! Ser Oh Ser! See ah See! Hamovs! Hemoves! Mamor! Rockquiem eternuel give donal aye in dolmeny! Bad luck's perpepperpot loosen his eyis! (Psich!)

^|12— But there's leps of flam in Funnycoon's Wick. The keyn has passed. ^|aLoud Lung^a| lift the keying!^12|

— God save you king! Master of the Hidden Life!

— God serf yous kingly, adipose rex! I had four in the morning and a couple of the lunch and three later on but, your saouls to the dhaoul, do ye. Finnk. Fime. Fudd?

— Impassable tissue of improbable liyers! D'yu mean to set there where y'are now, coddlin' your supernumerary leg, wi' that bizaar tongue in yur
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tolkshap, Sorley boy, repeating yurself like a muck in a market with your hindies and shindies, and tell me that?

— I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, like a sleepingtop, with all that's buried ofsins insince insensed insidesofme. If I can't upset this pound of pressed ollaves I can sit up zounds of sounds upon him.

— Oliver! He may be an earthpresence. Was that a groan or did I hear the Dingle bagpipes? Wasting war and. Watch!

— Tris tris a ni ma mea! Prisoner of Love! Bleating Hart! Lowlaid Herd! Aubain Hand! Wonted Foot! Usque! Usque! Usque! Lignum in …

— Rawth of Gar and Donnerbruck Fire! Is the strays world moving mound or what static babel is this, tell us?

— Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe whoishe whoishe?
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— The snare drum! Lay yer lug till the groun. The dead giant, man alive! They're playing thimbles and bodkins. Clan of the Gael! Hep! Whu's within?

— Dovegall and finshark they are. Ring to the rescue!

Zinzin. Zinzin.

Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!

We'll gore them and gash them and gun them and gloat on them.

Zinzin.

— O, widows and orphans, it's the yeomen! Redshanks for ever! Up Lancs!

— The cry of the roedeer it is! The white hind! Their slots, linklink. The hounds hunt horning! Send us peace! Title! Title!

Christ in our Irish times! Christ on the airs' independence! Christ hold the freedman's chareman! Christ light the dully expressed!

Slog, slagt and sluaghter! Rape the daughter! Choke the pope!

Awe! Cloudy father! Unsure! Nongood!

Zinzin.

Sold! I am sold! My ersther! My sidster! Brinabride, goodbye! Brinabride! Us! Us!

Pipette dear! I sold! Me! Me!

Fort! Fort! Bayroyt! March!

Me! I'm true. True! Isolde! Pipette, my precious!

Zinzin.

Brinabride, get my price! Brinabride!

My price, my precious?

Zin.

Brinabride, my price! When you sell get my price!
{f10, 389}

Zin.

Pipette! Pipette, my priceless one!

O! Mother of my tears! Believe for me! Fold thy son!

Zinzin. Zinzin.

— Now we're gettin it. Tune in and pick up the forain counties! Hello!
{f39, 501}

Zinzin.

— Hello! Tittit! Tell your title?

Abride!

— Hellohello! Ballymacarett! Am I thru, miss?

True! Iss!

— Tit! What is the ti...?

Act drop. Stand by! Blinders!

SILENCE.

Curtain up. Juice, please! Foots!

— Hello! Are you Cigar shank and Wheat?

— I gotye. Gobble Ann's Carrot Cans.

— Parfey! Now, after that justajiff siesta, just permit me a moment. Challenger's Deep is childsplay to this but, by our soundings in the swish channels, land is due. A truce to demobbed swarwords. Clear the line, priority call! Sybil! Better that or this? Sybil Head this end! Better that way? Follow the baby spot. Yes. Very good now. We are again in the magnetic field. Do you remember a particular lukesummer night following a crying fair day? Moisten your lips for a lightning strike and begin again. Mind the flickers and dimmers! Better?

— Well. The isles is Thymes. The ales is Penzance. Vehement Genral. Delhi expulsed.

— Still calling of somewhave from its specific? Not more? Lesscontinuous. There were fires on every bald hill in holy Ireland that night. Better so?

— You may say they were, son of a cove!

— 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 our lord of the heights nigh our lady of the valley?

— He was hosting himself up and flosting himself around and ghosting himself to merry her murmur like an andeanupper balkan.

— Lewd's carol! Was there rain by any chance, mistandew?
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— Plenty. If you wend farranoch.
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— There fell some fall of littlewinter snow, holy-as-ivory, as well, I gather, jesse?

— By sneachtha clocka. The nicest at all. In hilly-and-even zimalayars.

— Did it not blow some gales, westnass or ostscent, rather strongly to less?

— Out of all jokes it did. Pipep! Icecold. Brr na brr, ny prr! Lieto galumphantes!

— Stll cllng? Nmr? Peace, Pacific! Do you happen to recollect whether Muna, that highlucky nackt, was shining at all?

— Sure she was, my midday darling! And not one but a pair of pritty geallachers.

— Quando? Quonda? Go datey!

— Latearly! Latearly! Latearly! Latearly!

— That was latterlig certainly. And was there frostwork about and airsighs and hellstohns and flammballs and vodashouts and thick weather, soon calid, soon frozen, and hice and a boatshaped blanket of bruma and everything to please everybody?

— Hail many fell of greats! Horey morey smother of fog! There was, so plays your Ahrtides. Absolutely boiled. Obsoletely cowled. Cold on warm but moistly dry. All in humours out of turn, jusse as they rose and sprungen. Julie and Lulie at their parkiest.

— The amenities, the amenities of the amenities with all their amenities. And the firmness of the formous of the famous of the fumous of the first fog in Maidanvale?

— Catche catche and couchamed.

— From Miss Somer's nice dream back to Mad Winthrop's delugium stramens. One expects that kind of rimy feeling in the sire season?

— One certainly does. Desire, for hire, would tire a shire, phone, phunkel or wire. And mares.

— Of whitecaps any?

— Foamflakes flockfuyant from Foxrock to Finglas.

— ^|12'A lambskip for ^|athe^a| marines!^12'| Paronama! The entire horizon
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cloth! All effects in their joints caused ways. Raindrum, windmachine, snowbox. But thundersheet?

— No here. Under the blunkets.

— This common or garden is now in stiller realithy the starey ^|12shpere sphere^12| of an oleotorium for broken pottery and ancient vegetables?

— Simply awful the dirt. An evernasty ashtray.

— I see. Now do you know the wellknown kikkenmidden where the illassorted first couple first met with each other? The place where Ealdarmann Fanagan? The time when Junkermenn Funagin?
{f10, 391}

— Deed then I do. W.K.

— In Fingal too they met at Littlepeace aneath the bidetree, Yellowhouse of Snugsborough, Westreeve-Astagob and Slutsend with Stockens of Winning's Folly merryfalls, all of a two, skidoo and skephumble?

— Godamedy, you're a delville of a tolkar!

— Is it a place fairly exspoused to the four last winds?

— Well, I faithly sincerely believe so indeed, if all what I hope to charity is half true.

— This stow on the wolds, is it Woful Dane Bottom?

— It is woful in need whatever about anything or allselse under the grianblachk sun of gan greyne Eireann.

— A tricolour ribbon that spells a caution. The old flag, the cold flag.

— The flagstone. By tombs, deep and heavy. To the unaveiling memory of. Peacer the grave.

— And what sigheth Woodin Warneung thereof?

— Trickspissers vill be pairsecluded.

— There used to be a tree there stuck up? An overlisting eshtree?

— There used, sure enough. Beside the Annar. At the ford of Slivenamond. Oakley Ashe's elm. With a snoodrift from one beerchen bough. And the grawndest crowndest consecrated maypole in all the reignladen history of Wilds. Browne's Thesaurus Plantarum, from Nolan's, The Prittlewell Press, has nothing alike it. For we are fed of its forest, clad in its wood, barqued by its
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bark and our lecture is its leave. The crann, the crann, the king of all cranns. Squiremade and damesman of plantagenets, high and holy!

— Now, no hiding your wren under a bushle. What was it doing there, for instance?

— Standing foreninst us.

— In Summerian sunshine?

— And in Cimmerian shudders.

— 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 tuk my takenplace lying down, I thunk I told you. Solve it!

— Remounting aliftle towards the ouragan of spaces, just how grand in cardinal rounders is this preeminent giant, Sir Arber? Your bard's highview, avis on valley! I would like to hear you burble to us in strict conclave, purpurando, and without too much italiote interfairance what you know in petto about our sovereign beingstalk, Tonans Tomazeus. O dite!
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— Corcor Andy, udite, udite! Your Ominence, Your Imminence and delicted fraternitree! There's Tuodore queensmaids and Idahore shopgirls and they woody babies growing upon her and bird flamingans sweenyswinging fuglewards on the tipmast and Orania epples playing hopptociel bommptaterre and Tyburn fenians snoring in his quicken bole and crossbones strewing its holy floor and culprinse of Erasmus Smith's burstall boys with their underhand leadpencils climbing to her crotch for the origin of spices and charlotte darlings with silkblue askmes chattering in dissent to them, gibbonses and gobbenses, guelfing and ghiberring, proferring praydews to their anatolies and blighting fiendblasts on their catastripes and the Killmaimthem pensioners chucking overthrown milestones up to her to fall her cranberries and her pommes annettes for their unnatural refection and handpainted hoydens plucking husbands off him and cock robins muchmore hatching most out of his missado eggdrazzles for him, the sun and moon pegging honeysuckle and white
{f39, 505}
heather down and ^|12tomtits timtits^12| tapping resin there and tomahawks watching tar elsewhere, creatures of the wold approaching him, hollow mid ivy, 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, plantitude outsends of plenty to thousands, after the truants of the utmostfear and her downslyder in that snakedst-tu-naughsy whimmering woman't seeleib such a fashionaping sathinous dress out of that exquisitive creation and her leaves, my darling dearest, sinsinsinning since the night of time and each and all of their branches meeting and shaking twisty hands all over again in their new world through the germination of its gemination from Ond's outset till Odd's end. And encircle him circuly. Evovae!

— Is it so exaltated, eximious, extraoldandairy and excelssiorising?

— Amengst menlike trees walking or trees like angels weeping nobirdy aviar soar anywing to eagle it! But rocked of agues, cliffed for aye!

— Telleth that eke the treeth?

— Mushe mushe of a mixness.

— A shrub of libertine, indeed! But that steyne of law indead what stiles its neming?

— Tod, tod, too hard parted!

— I've got that now, Dr Melomedicus. Finight mens midinfinite true. The form masculine. The gender feminine. I see. Now, are you derevatov of it yourself in any way? The true tree, I mean. Let's hear what science has to say, pundit-the-next-best-king. Splanck!

— Upfellbowm.

— It reminds of the weeping of the daughters?
{f10, 393}

— And remounts to the sense arrest.

— The wittold, the frausch and the dibble! How this looseaffair brimsts of fussforus! And was this treemanangel on his soredbohmend because Knockout, the knickknamer, knacked him in the knecktshaft?

— Well, he was ever himself for the presention of crudities to
{f39, 506}
animals for he had put his own nickelname on every toad, duck and herring before the climber clomb aloft, doing the midhill of the park, flattering his bitter hoolft with his conconundrums. He would let us have the three barrels. Such was a bitte too thikke for the Master of the hoose so as he called down on the Grand Precurser who coiled him a crawler of the dupest dye and thundered at him to flatsch down off off that erection and be aslimed of himself for the bellance of hissch leif.

— Oh Finlay's coldpalled!

— Ahday's begatem!

— Were you there, eh Jerh? Were you there when they lagged um through the Coombe?

— Wo wo! Who who! Psalmtimes it grauws on me to ramble, ramble, ramble.

— Woe! Woe! So that was how he became the foerst of our treefellers?

— Yesche, and, in the absence of any soberiquiets, the fairst of our truephalluses, Bapobapo Bomslinger!

— How near do you feel to this capocapo of promontoryism?

— There do be days of dry coldness between us when he does be like a lodging house far far astray and there do be nights of wetwindwhistling when he does be making me onions woup all kinds of ways.

— Now you are mehrer the murk, Lansdowne Road. She's threwed her pippin's thereabouts and they've cropped up tooth on eydge ^|12'with hates to leaven this socried isle^12'|. Now, ^|12'thornyborn,^12'| follow the spotlight, please! Concerning a boy. Are you acquainted with a pagany vicariously known as Toucher “Thom” who is? I suggest Finolan as his habitat. Consider yourself on the stand now and watch your words, take my advice. Let your motto be: Inter nubila numbum.

— Never you mind about my mother or her hopitout. I consider, if I did, I would feel frightfully ashamed of admired vice.

— He is a man of around fifty, struck on Anna Lynsha's Pekoe with milk and whisky, who does messages and has more dirt on him than an old dog has fleas, kicking stones and knocking
{f39, 507}
snow off walls. Have you ever heard of this old boy “Thom” or ^|12“Tim” “Thim”^12| of the fishy stare who belongs to Kimmage, a crofting district, and is not all there, and is all the more to himself since he is not so, being most of his time down at the Green Man where he steals, pawns,
{f10, 394}
belches and is a curse, drinking gaily two hours after closing time, with the coat on him skinside out against rapparitions, with his socks outsewed his springsides, clapping his hands in a feeble sort of way and systematically mixing with the public going for groceries, slapping greats and littlegets soundly with his cattegut belts, flapping baresides and waltzywembling about in his accoutrements always in font of the tubbernuckles, like a longarmed lugh, 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. With the lawyers sticking to his trewsershins and the swatmenotting on the basque of his beret. He has kissed me more than once, I am sorry to say, and if I did commit gladrolleries may the loone forgive it. O wait till I tell you!

— We are not going yet.

— And look here! Here's what he done, as snooks as I am saying so, my dear!

— Get out, you dirt! You're not! Unhindered and odd times? Mere thumbshow? Lately?

— How do I know? Search my billet. Buy a barrack pass. Ask the horneys. Tell the robbers.

— You are alluding to the picking pockets in Lower O'Connell Street?

— I am illuding to the Pekin packet but I am eluding from Laura Connor's treat.

— A strangely striking pert of speech for the hottest worked word of ur sprogue. Now, just wash and brush up your memoirias a little bit. So I find, referring to the pater of the present man, an erely demented brickthrower, I am wondering to myself in my mind, qua our ^|12'arch arc^12'| of the covenant, was Toucher, a methodist, whose name, as others say, is not really “Thom”, was this ^|12'old saltº^12'| son of a century from ^|12'Batterstown Boaterstown^12'|, Shivering William, ^|12'the sealiest old forker ever hawked crannock,^12'| after his teeth were shaken out of their suckets by the wrang dog, who is always with him at the Big Elm
{f39, 508}
and the Arch, ^|12'for having 5 pints 73º of none Eryen blood in him,º above his abaft the seam level, the unread scatterling,^12'| was he wearing his cowbeamer and false clothes of a brewer's grains pattern with back buckons with his motto on, Yule Remember, ostensibly for that occasion only of the Twelfth Day Pax and Quantum wedding, I'm wondering.

— I bet you are. Well, he was wandering, give him his due, in his mind too, you bet, whatever was his matter, for I am sorry to have to tell you, hullo and evoe, they were coming down from off him.

— How culious an epiphany! Hodie casus esobhrakonton?

— It looked very like it.

— Needer knows necess and neither garments. Man is minded of Meagher, what? Woolly Walty?
{f10, 395}

— Ay, another good button gone wrong.

— Blondman's blaff! Like a skib leaked lintel the arbour leidend with...?

— Pamelas, peggylees, pollywollies, questuants, quaintaquilties, quickamerries.

— And, concaving now convexly to the semidemihemispheres, from the female angle, music minnestirring, were the subligate sisters, P and ꟼ, Clopatrick's cherierapest, mutatis mutandis, in pretty much the same pickle, the peach of all piedom, the quest of all quicks?

— Peequeen ourselves, the prettiest pickling of unmatchemable mute antes I ever bopeeped at, seesaw shallshee, since the town went gonning on Pranksome Quaine.

— Silks apeel and sulks alusty?

— Boy and giddle, gape and bore.

— I hear these two goddesses are liable to sue him?

— Well, I hope the two Collinses don't leg a bail to shoot him.

— Both were white in black arpists at cloever spillin, knickt?

— Gels bach, I languished liszted. Etoudies for the right hand.

— Were they now? And were they watching you as watcher as well?
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— Where do you get that wash? This representation does not accord with my experience. They were watching the watched watching. Vechers all.

— Good. Hold that watching brief and keep this witching longuer. Now, retouching friend Tomsky, the enemy, did you gather much from what he let drop? We are sitting here for that.

— I was rooshian mad, no lie. About his shapeless hat.

— I suspect you must have been.

— You are making your thunderous mistake. But I was dung sorry for him too.

— O Schaum! Not really? Were you sorry you were mad with him then?

— When I tell you I was rooshiamarodnimad with myself altogether, so I was, for being sorry for him.

— So?

— Absolutely.

— Would you blame him any at all stages?

— I believe in many an old stager. But what seemed sooth to a Greek summed nooth to a giantle. Who kills the cat in Cairo coaxes cocks in Gaul.

— I put it to you that this was solely in his sunflower state and that his haliodraping hat was why maids all sighed for him, ventured and vied for him. Hm?

— After Putawayo, Kansas, Liburnum and New Aimstirdames, it would not surprise me in the very least.
{f10, 396}

— That tare and this mole, your tear and our smile. 'Tis life that lies if woman's eyes have been our old undoing. Lid efter lid. Reform in mine size his deformation. Piffpuff up my nostril, would you, and puff the earthworm outer my ear?

— He could clouds boose his eyes to the birth of his garce, he could lump all his lot through the half of her play, but he jest couldn't laugh through the whole of her farce becorpse he warn't billed that way. So he outandouts his volimetangere and has a lightning consultation and he downadowns his pantoloogions and made a piece of first perpersonal puetry that staystale remains to be. Cleaned.
{f39, 510}

— Booms of bombs and heavy rethunders?

— This aim to you!

— The tail as you tell it, so mastrodantic, nearly takes your own mummouth's breath away. Your tropers are so unrelieved because his troopers were in difficulties. Still, let stultitiam done in veino condone ineptias made of veritues. How many were married amid that top of all strapping mornings, after the midnight turkey drive, my good dogwatcher?

— Puppaps. That'd be telling. With a hoh frohim and a heh fraher. But, as regarbs Tummy Thornycraft, I defyne the lawn mare and the laney moweress and all the prentisses of wildes to massage him.

— Now from Gunner Shothand to Guinness Scenography. Come to the ballay at the Tailors' Hall. We mean to be mellay on the ^|12Mailer's Mailers'^12| Mall. And leap, rink and make follay till the ^|12Gaeler's Gaelers'^12| Gall. Awake! Come, a wake! Every old skin in the leather world, infect the whole stock company of the old house of the Leaking Barrel, was thomistically drunk, two by two, lairking o'tootlers with tambours a'beggars, the blog and turfs and the brandywine bankrompers, trou Normend fashion, I have been told, down to the bank lean clorks? Some nasty blunt clubs were being operated after the tradition of a wellesleyan bottle riot act and there was a fall following a push and a few plates were being shied about and tumblers bearing traces of fresh porter rolling around, independent of that, for the ehren of Fyn's Insul, and then followed that wapping breakfast at the Heaven and Covenant, with Rodey O' echolowing how his breadcost on the voters would be a comeback for e'er a one, like the depredations of Scandalknivery, in and on usedtowobble sloops off cloasts, eh? Would that be a talltale too? This was the grandsire Orther. This was his innwhite horse. Sip?

— Well, naturally he was, louties aslo genderymen. Being Kerssfesstiydt. They came from all lands beyond the wave for songs of Inishfeel. Whiskway and mortem! No puseyporcious either, invitem kappines all round. But the
{f10, 397}
right reverend priest, Mr Hopsinbond, and the reverent bride eleft, Frizzy Fraufrau, were sober enough. I think they were sober.
{f39, 511}

— I think you're widdershins there about the right reverence. Magraw for the Northwhiggern cupteam was wedding's beastman, papers before us carry. You saw him hurriedly, or did you, if that seme's not irrelevant? With Slater's hammer, perhaps? Or he was in serge?

— I horridly did. On the stroke of the dozen. I'm sure I'm wrong but I heard the irreverend Mr Magraw, in search of a stammer, kuckkuck kicking the bedding out of the old sexton, Red Fox-Goodman, around the sacristy, till they were bullbeadle black and bufeteer blue, while I and Flood and the other men, jazzlike brollies and sesuos, was gickling his missus to ^|12'gaggles gackles^12'| in the hall, the divileen (she's a lamp in her throth), with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach.

— A loyal wifish woman cacchinic wheepingcaugh! ^|s12While shelaylylawº was all their rage.^s12| But you did establish personal contact? In epexegesis or on a point of order?

— That perkumiary pond is beyawnd my pinnigay pretonsions. I am resting on a pigs of cheesus but I've a big suggestion it was about the pint of porter.

— You are a suckersome! But this all, as avis said to oska, was only that childbearer might blogas well sidesplit? Where letties hereditate a dark mien swart hairy?

— Only. ^|s12'Twas womans' too woman with mans' throw man.^s12|

— Bully burley yet hardly hurley. The saloon bulkhead, did you say, or the tweendecks?

— Between drinks, I deeply painfully repeat it.

— Was she wearing shubladey's tiroirs in humour of her hubbishobbis, Massa's star stellar?

— Mrs Tarr-Taylour? Just a floating panel, secretairslidingdraws, a budge of klees on her schalther, a siderbrass sehdass on her anular fingring and forty croeclips in her curlingthongues.

— So this was the dope that woollied the cad that kinked the ruck that noised the rape that tried the sap that hugged the mort?

— That legged in the hoax that Joke bilked.

— The jest of junk the jungular?

— Jacked up in a jock the wrapper.
{f39, 512}

— Lollgoll! You don't soye so! All upsydown her whole creation? So there was nothing serical between you? And Drysalter, father of Izod, how was he now?

— To the pink, man, like an allmanox, in his shirt and stickup, brustall
{f10, 398}
to the bear, the Megalomagellan of our winevatswaterway, squeezing the life out of the liffey.

— Crestofer Carambas! Such is zodisfaction. You pink me! He came, he kished, he conquered. Vulturuvarnar! The must of his glanzfull coaxing the beam in her eye? That musked bell of this masked ball! Annabella, Lovabella, Pullabella, yep?

— Yup! Titentung Tollertone in S. Sabina's. Aye aye, she was lithe and pleasable. Wilt thou the lee? Wilt thou the hee? Wilt thou the hussif?

— The quicker the deef the softer the sapstuff, but the main the mightier the stricter the strait. To the vast go the game! It is the circumconversioning of antelithual paganelles by a huggerknut cramwell energuman, or the caecodedition of an absquelitteris puttagonnianne to the herreroism of a cabotinesque exploser?

— I believe you. Taiptope. Reelly, O reelly!

— Nautaey, nautaey, we're nowhere without ye! In steam of kavos now arbatos above our hearths doth hum. And Malkos crackles logs of fun while Anglys cheers our ingles. So lent she him ear to burrow his manhood (or so it appierce) and borrow his namas? Suilful eyes and sallowfoul hairweed and the sickly sigh from her gingerine mouth like a Dublin bar in the moarning.

— Primus auriforasti me.

— The park is gracer than the hole, says she, but shekelton's my fortune?

— Eversought of being artained? You've soft a say with ye, Flatter O'Ford, that, honey, I hurdley chew you.

— Is that answers?

— It am, queery!

— The house was Toot and Come-Inn by the bridge called after Tiltass, but are you solarly and salemly sure, beyond the shatter of the canicular year? Nascitur ordo seculi nonfit.
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— Siriusly and ⁽¹²selenly selenely¹²⁾ sure behind the shutter. ⁽¹²Sicurius Securius¹²⁾ indicat umbris tellurem.

— Date as? Your time of immersion? We are still in drought of …?

— Amnis Dominae, Marcus of Corrig. A laughin hunter and Purty Sue.

— And crazyheaded Jorn, the bulweh born?

— Fluteful as his orkan. Ex ugola lenonem.

— And Jambs, of Delphin's Bourne or (as olders lay) of Tophat?

— Dawncing the kniejinksky choreopiscopally like an easter sun round the colander, the Vice! Taranta boontoday! You should pree him prance the polcat, you should whiff him wops around, you should hear his piedigrotts schraying as his ⁽¹²sketies skirm skimpies skirp¹²⁾ a …

— Crashedafar Corumbas! A Czardanser indeed! Dervilish glad ⁽¹²too? too.¹²⁾ Ortovito
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semi ricordo. The pantaglionic affection through his blood like a bad influenza in a leap at bounding point?

— Out of Prisky Poppagenua, the palsied old priamite, home from Edwin Hamilton's Christmas pantaloonade, Oropos Roxy and Pantharhea, at the Gaiety, trippudiating round the aria, with his fiftytwo heirs of age! They may reel at his likes but it's Noeh Bonum's shin do.

— And whit what was Lillabil Issabil, maideve, maid, at?

— Trists and thranes and trinies and traines.

— A takeback to the virgin page, darm it!

— Ay, graunt ye.

— The quobus quartet were there too, if I mistake not, as a sideline but, pace the contempt of senate, well to the fore, in an amnessy meeting, metandmorefussed to decide whereagainwhen to meet themselves, flopsome and jerksome, lubber and deliric, drinking unsteadily through the Kerry quadrilles and Listowel lancers and mastersinging always with that consecutive fifth of theirs, eh? Like four wise elephants inandouting under a twelvepodestalled table?
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— You've said it! They were simple scandalmongers, that familiar, and all! Normand, Desmond, Osmund and Kenneth. Making mejical history all over the show!

— In sum, some hum? And other marrage feats?

— All our statues they were astumbling round the rauky roars assumbling when Big Arthur flugged the field at Annie's courting.

— Suddenly some wellfired clay was cast out through the schaapsteckers of hoy's house?

— Schottenly there was a hellfire club kicked out through the wasistas of Thereswhere.

— Like Heavystost's envil catacalamitumbling. Three days three times into the Vulcuum?

⁽¹²—¹²⁾ Punch!

— Or Noe et Ecclesiastes, nonne?

— Ninny, there is no hay in Eccles's hostel.

— Yet an I saw a sign of him, if you could scrape out his acquinntence. Name or redress him and we'll call it a night!

— .i..'. .o..l.

— You are sure it was not a shuler's shakeup or a plighter's palming or a winker's wake etcaetera etcaeterorum you were at?

— Precisely.

— Mayhap. Hora pro Nubis, Thundersday, at A Little Bit Of Heaven, Howth, the wife of Deimetuus (D'amn), Earl Adam Fitzadam, of a Tartar
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(Birtha) or Sackville-Lawry and Morland-West, at the Auspice for the Living Bonnybrook, by the river, and A. Briggs Carlisle, guardian of the birdsmaids and ⁽¹²deputilliser deputiliser¹²⁾ for groom. Pontifical mess. Or (soddenly) Schott, furtivfired by the riots. No flies. Agreest?

— Mayhem. Also loans through the post. With or without security. Everywhere. Any amount. Mofsovitz, swampstakers, purely providential.

— Flood's. The pinkman, the squeeze, the pint with the kick. Gaa. And then the punch to Gaelicise it. Fox. The lady with the lamp. The boy in the barleybag. The old man on his ars. Great Scrapp! 'Tis we and you and ye and me and hymns and hurts and heels and shields. The eirest race, the ourest nation, the airest place
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that erestationed. He was culping for penance while you were ringing his belle. Did the kickee, Goodman Rued Fox, say anything important? Clam or cram, spick or spat?

— No more than Richman's periwhelker.

— Nnn ttt wrd?

— Dmn ttt thg.

— A gael galled by scheme of scorn? Nock?

— Sangnifying nothing. Mock!

— Fortitudo eius rhodammum tenuit?

— Five maim! Or something very similar.

— I should like to euphonise that. It sounds an isochronism, secret speech Hazelton and obviously disemvowelled. But it is good laylaw ⁽¹²too¹²⁾. We may take those wellmeant kicks for free granted, though ultra vires, void and, in fact, unnecessarily so. Happily you were not quite so successful in the process verbal whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical suppressions, it seems?

— What was that? First I heard about it.

— Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the answer. I'm not giving you a short question.

— Quite so.

— Now, not to mix up, cast your eyes around Capel Court. I want you, witness of this epic struggle, as yours so mine, to reconstruct for us as briefly as you can, inexactly the same as a mind's eye view, how these funeral games, which have been poring over us through homer's kerryer pidgeons, massacreedoed as the holiname rally round, took place.

— Which? Sure I told you that afoul. I was drunk all lost life.

— Well, tell it to me befair, the whole plan of campaign, in that bamboozelem mincethrill voice of yours. Let's have it, christie! The Dublin own, the thrice familiar.

— Ah, sure, I eyewitless foggus. 'Tis all round me bebattersbid hat.
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— Ah, go on now, Masta Bones, a gig for a gag, with your impendiments and your perroqtriques! Blank memory of hatless darky in blued suit. You were ever the gentle poet, dove from Haywarden. Pitcher cup, patcher cap, pratey man! Be nice about it, Bones Minor! Look chairful! Come, delicacy! Go to the end,
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thou slackard! Once upon a grass and a hopping high grass it was.

— Faith, then, Meesta Cheeryman, first he come up, a gag as a gig, Badgeler's rake to the town's major from the wesz, MacSmashall Swingy of the Cattelaxes, got up regardless, with a cock on the Kildare side of his Tattersall, in his riddlesneek's ragamufflers and the horrid contrivance as seen above, whisklyng into a bone ⁽¹²tolrably tolerably¹²⁾ delicately the Wearing of the Blue and dragging his feet in the usual course and was ever so terribly naas, really, taking off his plushkwadded bugsby in his perusual flea and loisy manner, saying good mrowkas to weevilybolly and telling him clean his nagles, Miles, and fox himself up, Cogan, and so on and so fort and to take the coocoomb to his grizzlies and who done that foxy freak on his bear's hairs like fire bursting out of the Ump pyre and half hang me, sirr, if he wasn't wanting his calicub body back before he'd to take his life or so save his life. Then, begor, counting as many as eleven to thirtytwo seconds with his pocket browning, like I said, wann swanns wann, this is my awethorrorty, he kept forecursing Hasculph, foul Fanden, and ravin for the coacoackey of John Dunn's field fore it war for sent and the way Montague was robbed and wolfling to know all what went off and who burned the hay, perchance thou'llt say, before he'd kill all the Kanes, and the price of Patsch Purcell's faketotem, which the man, his plantagonist up from the bog of the depths, who was raging with the thirst of the sacred sponge and who, as a mashter of pasht, so far as him was concerned, was only standing there nonplush to the corner of Turbot Street, perplexing about a paumpshop and pupparing to spit, wanting to know whelp the henconvention's compuss memphis he wanted with him, knew nothing about.

— A sarsencruxer, moor and burgess medley like the Nap O'Farrell Patter Tandy offensive-defensive? In other words, was that how in the annusual curse of things, as complement to compliment, though after a manner of men which I must and will say seems extraordinary, their celicolar subtler angelic warfare or photoplay finisterr started?
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— Truly. That I may never!

— Did one scum in the auradrama, the deff, after some clever play in the mud, then mention sleeply to the other undesirable, a dumm, during diverse intertidal instants upon the resume after the angerus, that for his deal he was a pigheaded Swede and to wend himself to a medicins?
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— To be sore he did, the huggornut! Only it was ⁽¹²turniphodded turniphudded¹²⁾ dunce, I beg your pardon, and he would jokes bowlderblow the beltholder with his black masket off the bawling Green.

— Sublime was the warning!

— The aurthor, in fact, was mordred.

— Did he, the first spikesman, do anything to him, the last spokesman, when, after heaving some more smutt and chaff between them, they rolled togutter into the ditch together? Black Pig's Dyke?

— No, he had his teeth in the back of his head.

— Did Box then try to shine his puss?

— No, but Cox did to shin the punman.

— The worsted crying that if never he looked on Lord Leverhulme's again and the bester huing that he might ever save sunlife?

— Truly. Asbestos he ever. And sowasso I never.

— That forte Carlysle touch breaking the Campden's pianoback.

⁽¹²— Pansh!¹²⁾

— Are you of my meaning that would be going on to about half noon click o'clock, pip emma, Grinwicker time, by your querqcut quadrant?

— You will be asking me and I wish to Higgins you wouldn't. Would it?

— Let it be twelve thirty after a somerswatch of the tardest?

— And it was eleven thirsty too befour in a sowandsuch, reloy on it!

— Tick up on time. How day you doom? That rising day sinks rosing in a night of nine weeks' wonder.

— Amities, mercy buckup! The uneventh day of the unleventh month of the unevented year. ⁽¹²At mart in mass.¹²⁾

— ⁽¹²A triduum before Our Larry's own day.¹²⁾ By which of your chronos, my man of four watches? Larboard, starboard, dog, or death?
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— Dunsink, rugby, ballast, and ball. You can imagine!

— Language this allsfare for the loathe of Mauses ambiviolent about it. Will you swear all the same you saw their shadows a hundred foot later, struggling diabolically over this, that and the other, their virtues pro and his principality con, near The Ruins, Drogheda Street, and kicking up the devil's own dust for the Milesian wind?

— I will. I did. They were. I swear. Like the heavenly militia. ⁽¹²So wreek me Ghyllygully.¹²⁾ With my tongue through my toecap on the headlong stone of kismet if so 'tis the will of Whose B. Dunn.

— Weeping Lorcans! They must have put in some wonderful work⁽¹², ecad,¹²⁾ on the quiet like, during this arms' parley, meatierites forces vegatearians. Dost thou not think so?

— Ay.
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— The illegal-looking range or fender, alias turfing iron, a product of Hostages and Co, Engineers, changed feet several times ⁽¹²as briars revalvered¹²⁾ during the weaponswap? ⁽¹²Piff?¹²⁾

— ⁽¹²Puff!¹²⁾ Excuse yourself. It was an ersatz lottheringcan.

— They did not know the war was over and were only berebelling or bereppelling one another by chance or necessity with sham bottles, mere and woiney, like their caractacurs in an ⁽¹²irish Irish¹²⁾ Ruman, as betwinst Picturshirts and Scutticules, to sorrowbrate the expeltsion of the Danos? What sayest thou, scusascmerul?

— That's all. For he was heavily upright man. Limba romena in ⁽¹²bucclis Bucclis¹²⁾ tucsada. Farcing gutterish.

— I mean the Morgans and the Dorans, in finnish.

— I know you don't. In Feeney's.

— The mujic of the footure on the barbarihams of the bashed? Co Canniley?

— Da Donnuley.

— In voina viritas, neat wahr?

— O bella! O pia! O pura! Amem.

— Yet this war has meed peace? Ab chaos lex?

— Handwalled amokst us. Thanksbeer to Balbus!

— All the same you sound it 'twould clang howlish like Hull hopen for Christmians?
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— But 'twill cling hellish like engels opened to neuropeans, if you've sensed whole the sum. ⁽¹²So be vigil!¹²⁾

— And this ⁽¹²pattern¹²⁾ pootsch ⁽¹²punnermine¹²⁾ of concoon and proprey went on, hog and minne, ⁽¹²a whole whake, your¹²⁾ night after larry's night, spittinspite on Dora O'Huggins, ormonde caught butler, the artillery of the O'Hefferns answering the cavalry of the MacClouds, fortey and more fortey, a thousand and one times, according to your cock and a biddy story? Lludi llongi, for years and years perhaps?

— That's ri. This is his largos life, this is me timtomtum, and this is her two peekweeny ones. From the last finger on the second foot of the fourth man to the first one on the last one of the first. That's right.

— Finny. Vary vary finny!

— It may look funny but fere it is.

— Stadyon there! This is not guid enough, Mr Brasslattin. Finging and tonging and winging and ponging! And all your rally and ramp and rant! Didget think I was asleep at the wheel? D'yu mean to tall grand jurors of Thathens of Tharctic on yur oath, me lad, and ask us to believe you for all you're enduring long terms, with yur last foot foremouthst, that yur moon was shining on the tors and on the cresties and winblowing night after night, for years and years perhaps, after yu swearing to it a while back before yur Corth examiner, Markwalther, that there was reen in planty all the teem?

— Perhaps so, as you grand duly affirm, Robman Calvinic. I never thought over it, faith. I most certainly think so about it. I hope. Unless it is actionable. It would be a charity for me to think about something which I must on no caste accounts omit, if you ask to me. It was told me as an inspired statement by a friend of myself, Tarpey, in reply to salute after three o'clock mass, with forty ducks indulgent, that some rain was promised to Mrs Lyons, the invalid, of Aunt Tarty Villa, with lots gulp and sousers, and likewise he told me, the recusant, after telling mass, with two hundred genuflexions, at the split hour of blight when bars are keeping so sly, as what's follows. He
{f39, 520}
is doing a walk, says she, in the feelmick's park, says he, like a tarrable Turk, says she, letting loose on his nursery and, begalla, he meet himself with Mr Michael Clery of a Tuesday who said Father MacGregor was desperate to the bad place about thassbawls and ejaculating about all the stairrods and the catspew swashing his earwanker and thinconvenience being locked up for months, owing to being putrenised by stragglers abusing the apparatus, and for Tarpey to pull himself into his soup and fish and to push on his borrowsaloaner and to go to the tumple like greased lining and see Father MacGregor and, be Cad, sir, he was to pipe up ⁽¹²and¹²⁾ saluate that clergyman and to tell his holiness the whole goat's throat about the three shillings in the confusional and to say how Mrs Lyons, the cuptosser, was the infidel who prophessised to post three shielings Peter's pelf off her tocher from Paraguais to Mr Martin Clery for Father Mathew to put up a midnight mask on Saints Withins of a Thrushday and albs by the yard for African man and to let Brown child do and to leave he Anlone and for all the nuisances committed by soldats and nonbehavers and missbelovers and for N. D. de l'Ecluse to send more heehaw hell's flutes, my prodder again! And I never brought my cads in togs blanket! Foueh!

— Angly as arrows, but you have right, my celtslinger! ⁽¹²Nils, Mugn and Cannut.¹²⁾ Should brothers be for awe, then?

— So let use off be octo while oil bike the bil and wheel whang till wabblin befoul you but mere and mire trullopes will knaver mate agame on the bibby bobby burns of.

— Quatsch! What hill are yu fluking about, ye lamelookond fyats? I'll discipline ye! Will yu swear or affirm the day to yur second sight noo and recant that all yu affirmed and swore to and profetised at first sight for his southerly accent was all paddyflaherty? Will ye, ay or nay?
{f10, 405}

— Ay say aye. I affirmly swear to it that it roolly and coolly boolyhooly was with my holyhagionous lips continuously poised upon the rubricated Annuals of Saint Ulstar!

— That's very guid of ye, R.C! Maybe yu wouldn't mind talling us, my labbrose lad, how very much bright cabbage or
{f39, 521}
papermint comfirts d'yu draw for all yur swearin? The spanglers, kiddy?

— Rootha prootha. There you have me! Vurry nothing, O potators, I call it, for I might as well tell Yous Essexelcy, and I am not swallowing my air, the Golden Bridge's truth. It amounts to nada in pounds or pence. Not a glass of Lucan nor as much as the costprice of a highlandman's trousertree or the three crowns round your draphole (isn't it dram disgusting?) for the whole dumb plodding thing!

— Come on now, johnny! We weren't born yesterday. Pro tanto quid retribuamus? I ask you to say on your scotty pictail you were promised fines times with some staggerjuice or deadhorse on strip or in larges at the Raven and Sugarloaf, either Jones's lame or Jamesy's gait, anyhow?

— Bushmillah! Do you think for a moment? Yes, by the way. How very necessarily true! Give me fair play. When?

— At the Dove and Raven tavern, no, ah? To wit your wizzend?

— Water, water, darty water! Up Jubilee sod! Beet peat wheat treat!

— What harm wants but demands it! How would yu like to hear yur right name now, Ghazi Power, my tristy minstrel, if yur not freckened of frank comment?

— Not afrightened of Frank Annybody's gaspower or illconditioned ulcers neither.

— Your uncles?

— Your gullet!

— Will you repeat that to me outside, leinconnmuns?

— After you've shouted a few? I will when it suits me, hulstler.

— Guid! We make fight! ⁽¹²Three to one!¹²⁾ Raddy?

— But no, from exemple, Emania! Raffaroo! What do you have? What mean you, august one? Fairplay for Finnians! I will have my humours. Sure, you would not do the cowardly thing and moll me roon? Tell Queen's Road I am seilling. Farewell, but whenever! Buy!
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— Ef I chuse to put a bullet like yu through the grill for heckling, what business is that of yours, yu bullock?

— I don't know, sir. Don't ask me, your honour!

— Gently, gently, Northern Ire! Glove that red hand! Let me once more. There are sordidly tales within tales, you clearly understand that? Now my other point. Did you know, whether by melanodactylism or purely libationally,
{f10, 406}
that one of these two Crimeans with the fender, the taller man, was accused of a certain offence or of a choice of two serious charges, as skirts were divided on the subject, if you like it better that way? You did, you rogue, you?

— You hear things. Besides (and serially now) bushes have eyes, don't forget. Hah!

— Which moral turpitude would you select of the two, for choice, if you had your way? Playing bull before shebears or the hindlegs off a clotheshorse? Did any 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 a nass-and-pair. Hah!

— What do you mean, sir, behind your hah? You don't hah to do thah, you know, snapograph.

— Nothing, sir. Only a bone moving into place. Blotogaff. Hahah!

— Whahat?

— Are you to have all the pleasure quizzing on me? I didn't say it aloud, sir. It was something inside of me talking to myself.

— You're a nice third-degree witness, faith! But this is no laughing matter. Do you think we are tonedeafs in our noses to boot? Can you not distinguish the sense, prain, from the sound, bray? You have homosexual cathexis of empathy between narcissism of the exvert and steatopygic invertedness. Get yourself psychoanalysed!

— O⁽¹²,¹²⁾ begor, I want no expert nurse's symaphy from yours ⁽¹²broons¹²⁾ quadroons and I can psoako-onaloose myself any time I want (the fog follow you all!) without your interferences or any other pigeonstealer.
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— 'Sample! 'Sample!

— Have you evew weflected, wepowtew, that the evil, what though it was willed, might nevewtheless lead somehow on to good towawd the genewality?

— A pwopwo of haster meets waster and talking of plebiscites by a show of hands, whether declaratory or effective, in all seriousness, has it become to dawn in you yet that the deponent, the man from Saint Yves, may have been (one is reluctant to use the passive voiced), may be been as much sinned against as sinning, for if we look at it verbally perhaps there is no true noun in active nature where every bally being (please read this mufto) is becoming in its owntown eyeballs? Now, the long form and the strong form and reform alltogether!

— Hotchkiss Culthur's Everready, own brother to Neverreached, well over countless hands, sieur of many winners and losers, groomed by S. Samson and Son, bred by Dilalahs, will stand at Bay (Dublin) from nún till dán and vites inversion and at Miss or Mrs ⁽¹²McMannigan's MacMannigan's¹²⁾ Yard.
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— Perhaps you can explain, sagobean? The Mod needs a rebus.

— Pro general continuation and in particular explication to your singular interrogation our asseveralation. Ladiesgent, pals will smile but me and Frisky Shorty, my inmate friend, as is uncommon struck on poplar poetry, and a few fleabesides round at West Pauper Bosquet was having a wee chatty with our hosty in his comfy estably, glad to be back again with the chaps and just arguing friendlylike at the Doddercan Easehouse over the old party and his moral turps, meaning flu, pock, pox and mizzles, grip, gripe, gleet and sprue, caries, rabies, mumps and dumps. What me and Frisky in our concensus and the whole double gigscrew of subscribers, not to say the burman, having successfully concluded our tour of bibel, wants to know is thisahere. Supposing, for an ethical fict, him, which the findings showed, to have taken his epscene licence before the Norsect's divisional respectively as regards them male Middlesex privates and or concomitantly with all common or neuter respects to them
{f39, 524}
public Exsess females, whereas allbeit really sweet fillies, as was very properly held by the metropolitan in connection with this regrettable nuisance, touching arbitrary conduct, being in strict contravention of schedule in board of forests and works bylaws regulationing sparkers' and succers' amusements section of our beloved naturpark in pursuance of which police agence me and Shorty have approached a reverend gentleman of the name of Mr Coppinger with reference to a piece of fire fittings as was most obliging, 'pon my sam, in this matter of his explanations, affirmative, negative and limitative, given to me and Shorty, touching what the good book says of toooldaisymen, concerning the merits of early bisectualism, besides him citing from approved lectionary example given by a valued friend of the name of Mr J. P. Cockshott, reticent of England, as owns a pretty maisonette, Quis ut Deus, fronting on to the Soussex Bluffs as was telling us categoric how Mr Cockshott, as he had his assignation with, present holder by deedpoll and indenture of the swearing belt, he tells him hypothetic, the reverend Mr Coppinger, as how he reckons himself disjunctively with his windward eye up to a dozen miles of a cunifarm school of herring passing themselves supernatantly by the Bloater Naze from twelve and them mayriding him by the silent hour. Butting, charging, bracing, backing, springing, shrinking, swaying, darting, shooting, bucking and sprinkling their dossies sodouscheock with the twinx of their taylz. And, reverend, he says, summat problematical, by yon socialist sun, gut me, but them errings was as gladful as Wissixy 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, more assertitoff, zwelf me Zeus,
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says he, lettin olfac be the extench of the supperfishies, lamme the curves of their scaligerance and pesk the everurge flossity of their pectoralium, them little salty populators, says he, most apodictic, as sure as my briam eggs is on cockshot under noose, all them little upanddowndippies they was all of a libidous pickpuckperty and raid on a wriggolo finsky doodah in testimonials to their early bisectualism. Such, he says,
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is how the reverend Coppinger visualises the hidebound homelies of creed crux ethics. Watsch yourself tillicately every morkning in your bracksullied twilette. The use of cold water, testificates Dr Rutty, may be warmly recommended for the sugjugation of cungunitals loosed. Tolloll, schools!

— Tallhell and Barbados wi' ye and yer Errian coprulation! Pelagiarist! Remonstrant Montgomeryite! Short lives to your relatives! Y'are obsexed, so y'are, with macroglosia and mickroocyphyllicks!

— Lalia Lelia Lilia Lulia and lively lovely Lola Montez.

— Wait now, Leixlip! I scent eggoarchicism. I will take you to task. I don't follow you that far in your otherwise accurate account. Was it esox lucius now or salmo ferax? You are taxing us into the driven future, are you not, with this ruttymaid fishery.

— Gubbernathor! That they say is a fenian on the secret. Named Parasol Irelly. Spawning ova and fry like a marrye monach all amanygoround his seven parish churches! And peopling the ribald baronies with dans, oges and conals!

— Lift it now, Hosty! Hump's your mark! For a runnymede landing! A dondhering vesh vish, Magnam Carpam, es hit neat zoo?

— There's an old psalmsobbing lax salmoner ⁽¹²Fogeyboren fogeyboren¹²⁾ Herrin Plundehowse

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 fishnoo! Up wi' yer whippy! Hold that lad! Play him, Markandeya! Bullhead!

— Pull you, sir! Olive quill does it. Longeel of Malin, he'll cry before he's flayed. And his tear make newisland. Did a rise? Way, lungfush! The great fin may cumule! ⁽¹²Three threeth o'er the wild!¹²⁾ Manu ware!

— He missed her mouth and stood into Dee, Romunculus Remus, plying the rape, so as now any bompriss's bound to get up her if he pool her leg and bunk on her butt?

— No, he skid like a skate and berthed on her byrnie and never a fear but they'll
{f39, 526}
land him yet, Slitheryscales on liffeybank, times and times and a half a time with a pillow of sand to polster him.
{f10, 409}

⁽¹²—¹²⁾ Do you say they will?

⁽¹²—¹²⁾ I bet you they will.

⁽¹²—¹²⁾ Among the shivering sedges so? Weedywaving.

⁽¹²—¹²⁾ Or tulipbeds of Rush below.

— Where you take your mugs to wash after dark?

— To my lead, Toomey lout, Tommy lad.

— Beside the bubblye waters of, babblyebubblye waters of?

— Right.

— 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 em,

Wisdom's son, folly's brother.

— God bless your ginger, wigglewaggle! That's three slots and no burners. You're forgetting the jinnyjos for the fayboys. What, Walker Johnny Referent? ⁽¹²Play us your patmost! And unpackyoulloups!¹²⁾

— Naif Cruachan! Woe on woe, says Warden Daly. Woman will water the wild world over.

— And the maid of the folley will go where glory. ^|12|s+Trothed today, trenned tomorrow.º^s+|12| Sure I thought it was larking in the trefoll of the furry glans with two stripping baremaids, Stilla Underwood and Moth ⁽¹²McGarry MacGarry¹²⁾, he was, hand to dagger, that time. And their mother a rawknees pudsfrowse, I was given to understand, with superflowvius heirs, begum. There was that one that was always mad gone on him, her first king of cloves and the most broadcussed man⁽¹²,¹²⁾ in ⁽¹²Carrick-on-Shannon, county Leitrim Corrack-on-Sharon, County Rosecarmon¹²⁾. Sure she was near drowned in pondest coldstreams of admiration for herself, as bad as my Tarpeyan cousin, Vesta Tully, making faces at her bachspilled lakest likeness in the brook and cooling herself in the element after, she pleasing it, she praising it, with salices and weidowywehls, all tossed as she was, the playactrix, Lough Shieling's love!

— ⁽¹²O, add shielsome bridelittle! All of her own!¹²⁾ Nircississies are as the doaters of inversion. Secilas through their laughing classes becombing poolermates in laker life.
{f39, 527}

— It seems to same with Iscappellas. Ys? Gotellus! A tickey for tie taughts!

— Listenest, meme mearest! ⁽¹²They were harrowd, those finweeds!¹²⁾ Come, rest in this bosom! Am so sorry you lost him, poor lamb! Of course I know you are a viry ⁽¹²wickid vikid¹²⁾ girl to go in the dreemplace and at that time of the draym. And it was a very wrong thing to do, even under the dark blush of night, dare all grandpassia! He's gone on his bombashaw. Through geesing and so pleasing at Strip Teasy up the stairs. The boys on the corner were
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talking too. And your soreful miseries first come on you. Still, to forgive it's divine, my lickle wiffey, and everyboy knows you do look lovely in your invinsibles, Eulogia, a perfect apposition with the coldcream, Assoluta from Boileau's, I always use in the wards after I am burned a rich egg and derive the greatest benefit, sign of the cause! My, you do! Simply adorable! Could I but pass my hands some, my hands through, thine hair! So vickyvicky veritiny! O Fronces, say howdyedo, Dotty! Chic hands. The way they curve there! Winning in a way, only my arms are whiter, dear, under new charmeen cuffs. I am more divine like that when I've two of everything up to boyproof knicks. Blanchemain, idler. Fairhair, frail one. Listen, meme sweety! O be joyfold! Mirror do justice, taper of ivory, heart of the conavent, hoops of gold! My veil will save it undyeing from his ethernal fire! It's meemly us two, meme, idoll. Of course it was downright verry vicked of him, reelly, meeting me disguised, Bortolo mio, in his storm collar, with my dovebirds, my colombinas. Even Netta and Linda, our seeyu tities, said their sinsitives shrinked, and they've sin sumtim, tankus! My rillies were liebeneaus, my aftscents embre. Peerfectly appealling, D.V. How me adores eatsother simply (Mon Ishebeau! Ma Reinebelle!) as I leaned yestreen from his muskished blesbless ⁽¹²lips labs¹²⁾. Even my little pom got excited when I turned his head on his same manly bust and kissed him more. Only he might speak to a person, lord, so picious, taking up my worths ill wrong! May I introduce? This is my futuous loveliast. Lips and looks lovely. Still, me with you, you poor chilled, will make it up in the moontime with Mother Concepcion and a glorious lie between us,
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sweetness, so as not a novene in all the loretos, not my littlest one of all, for mercy's sake, need ever know what's past our lips. Yes, sir, we'll will! Clothe a wind! Fee O Fie! Covey us niced! Bansh the dread! Alitten's looking. Low him lovly. Make me feel good! It will all take bloss as oranged by my historiennes at Saint Audien's rosan chocolate chapelry with my diamants blickfeast after at minne owned hos for all the cat club to go cryzy and Father Blesius Mindelsinn will give us his beminding haaand. Kyrielle elation! Crystal elation! Kyrielle elation! Elation immanse! Sing to us! Sing to us! Sing to us! Amam! So, meme mearest, languished hister, be free to me! (I'm fading!) And, listen, youyou beauty, esster, I'll be clue to who knows you, pray Magda, Marthe with Luz and Joan, while I lie with warm lisp on the Tolka. (I'm fay!)

— Eusapia! Fais-le-tout-tait! Languishing hysteria? The clou historique? How is this at all? Is dads the thing in such or are tits the that? Hear we here her first poseproem of suora unto suora? Twinstreams twinestrains, Alicious through alluring glass or alas in jumboland? Ding dong! Where's your pal in silks alustre? Think of a maiden. Presentacion. Double her.
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Annupciacion. Take your first thoughts away from her. Immacolacion. Knock and it shall appall unto you. Who shone yet shimmers will be e'er scheining. Cluse her, voil her, hild her hindly. After liryc and themodius soft aglo iris of the vals. This young barlady, what euphemiasly is she doing? Is she having an ambidual act herself in apparition with herself as Consuelas to Sonias may?

— Dang! And tether, a loguy O!

— Dis and dat and dese and dose! Yer crackling out of yer turn, my Moonster firefly⁽¹², like always¹²⁾. 2 R.N. and Longhorns Connach, stay off my air! You've grabbed the capital and you've had the lion's shire since 1542 but there's all the difference in Ireland between your borderation, my chatty cove, and me. The leinstrel boy to the wall is gone and there's moreen astoreen for Monn and Conn. ⁽¹²With the tyke's named moke. Doggymens' nimmer win!¹²⁾ You last led the first when we last but we'll first trump your last with a lasting. Jump the railchairs or take them, just as you please, but answer my queskins first, foxyjack! Ye've as much skullabogue cheek on you now as would boil a cauldron of
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kalebrose. Did the market missioners, ⁽¹²Hyde and Hayden¹²⁾ Wombwell, when given the raspberry, fine more than sandsteen per cent of chalk in the purity, promptitude and perfection flour of this raw materialist and less than a seventh pro mile in his meal? We bright young chaps of the brandnew braintrust are briefed here and with maternal sanction compellably empanelled at quarter sessions under the six disqualifications for the uniformication of young persons (Nodding Neutrals) removal act by Committalman Number Underfifteen to know had the peeress of generals, who have been getting nosemoney cheap and stirring up the public opinion about private balls with their legs, Misses Mirtha and Merry, the two dreeper's assistents, 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, in the name of the three tailors on Tooley Street, did O'Bejorumsen or Mockmacmahonitch, ex of Butt and Hocksett's, violating the bushel standard, come into awful position of the barrel of bellywash? And why, is it any harm to ask, was this hackney man in the coombe, a papersalor with a whiteluke to him, Fauxfitzhuorson, collected from Manofisle, carrying his ark, of eggshaped fuselage and made in Fredborg into the bullgine, across his back when he might have been settin on his jonass inside of her made up like a Glassthure cabman? Where were the doughboys, or Marchester Marchers, three by nombres, won in ziel, cavehill exers or hearts of steel, Hansen, Morfydd and O'Dyar, V.D., with their glenagearries, directing their steps according to the R.U.C.'s liaison officer, with their trench ulcers open and their hands in their pockets contrary
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to military rules, when confronted with his lifesize obstruction? When did he live off rooking the pooro and how did he start pfuffpfaffing at his Paterson and Hellicott's? Is it a factual fact, proved up to sealsteethshilt, that this fancydress nordic in shaved lamb breeches, child's kilts, bibby buntings and wellingtons, with club, torc and headdress, preholder of the Bar Ptolomei, is co-owner of a hengster's circus near North Great Denmark Street (incidentally, it's the most unjoyable show going the province and I'm taking the youngsters
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there Saturday first when it's halfprice naturals night to see the fallen sickners aping the buckleybackers and the blind to two worlds taking off the deffydowndummies) and that the shamshemshowman has been complaining to the police barracks and applying for an order of certiorari and crying out something vile about him being molested, after him having triplets, by offers of vacancies from females in this city neighing after the man and his outstanding attraction ever since they seen his X-ray picture turned out in wealthy red in the sabbath sheets? Was it him that suborned that surdumutual son of his, a litterydistributer in Saint Patrick's Lavatory, to turn a Roman and leave the chayr and gout in his bare balbriggans, 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 halmet on her, bidding her mine the hoose, the strumpet, while him and his lagenloves were rampaging the roads in all their paroply under the noses of the Heliopolitan constabulary? Can you beat it? Prepare the way! Where's that gendarm auxiliar, arianautic sappertillery, that reported on the whole hoodlum, relying on his morse-erse wordybook and the truncheon up his tail? Roof Seckesign van der Deckel! Recall Sickerson, the lizzyboy, and get ⁽¹²his her¹²⁾ story from him! Seckersen, ⁽¹²man magnon¹²⁾ of Errick! Sackerson! Hookup!

— Day shirker 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! With her shoes upon his shoulders, 'twas most trying to beholders when he upped their frullatullepleats with our warning. A disgrace to the homely protestant religion! Bloody old preadamite with his twohandled umberella! ⁽¹²Trust me to spy on me own spew.¹²⁾

— Wallpurgies! And it's this's your deified city? Monganson? And it's we's to pray for Bigmesser's conversions? Call Kitty the Beads⁽¹², the Mandame¹²⁾ of Tipknock Castle! Let succuba succumb, the improvable his wealth made possible! He's cookinghagar that ⁽¹²braised rost¹²⁾ her prayer to him upan the top of the stairs. She's deep, that one.

— A farternoiser for his tuckish armenities. Ouhr Former,
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who erred in having, gibbous disdag our darling breed. And then the confisieur for the
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boob's indulligence. As sunctioned for his salmenbog by the Councillors-om-Trent. Pave Pannem at his gaiter's bronze. Nummer half dreads Log Laughty. Master's gunne he warrs the bedst. I messaged his dilltoyds sausepander mussels on the kisschen table. With my ironing duck through his rollpins of gansyfett, do dodo doughdy dough, till he was braising red in the toastface with lovensoft eyebulbs and his kiddledrum steeming and rattling like the roasties in my mockamill. I awed to have scourched his Abarm's brack for him. For the loaf of Obadiah, take your pastryart's noas out of me flouer bouckuet. Of the strainger scene you given squeezers to me skillet! As cream of the hearth thou reinethst alhome. His lapper and libbers was glue goulewed as he sizzled there watching me lautterick's pitcher by Wexford-Atelier as Katty and Lanner, the refined souprette, with my bust alla brooche and the padbun under my matelote, showing my jigotty sleeves and all my new toulong touloosies. Whisk! There's me shims and here's me hams and this is me juppettes, gause be the meter. Whisk! What's this? Whisk! And that? He never cotched finer, balay me, at Romiolo Frullini's flea pantamine out of Griddle-the-Sink or Shusies-with-her-Soles-Up or La Sauzerelly, the Pucieboots, when I started so hobmop ladlelike, highty tighty, to kick the time off the cluckclock lucklock quamquam camcam potapot panapan kickakickkack. Hairhorehounds, shake up pfortner. Fuddling fun for Fullacan's sake.

— All halt! Sponsor programme and close down. That's enough, genral, of finicking about Finnegan and fiddling with his faddles. A final ballot, guvnor, to remove all doubt. By sylph and salamander and all the trolls and tritons, I mean to top her drive and to tip the tap of this, at last. His thoughts that wouldbe words, his livings that havebeen deeds. And will too, by the holy ^(12|shSaint Finnighin^sh| child of Coole¹²⁾, primapatriock of the archsee, if I have at first to down every mask in Trancenania from Terreterry's Hole to Stutterers' Corner to find that Yokeoff his letter, this Yokan his da. Let pass the jousters of the king, the Kovnor-Journal and
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eirenarch's custos himself no less, the meg of megs, with the Carrison old gang! Off with your persians! Search ye the Finn! The sinder's under shriving sheet. Fa Fe Fi Fo Fum! Ho, croak, evildoer! Arise, sir ghostus! As long as you've lived there'll be no other. Doff!