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quomodo, quoties, quibus auxiliis? You were bred, fed, fostered and fattened
from holy childhood up in this two easter island on the piejaw of hilarious
heaven and roaring the other place (plunders to night of you, blunders
what's left of you, flash as flash can!) and now, forsooth, a nogger among
the blankards of this dastard century, you have become of twosome twiminds
forenenst gods, hidden and discovered, nay, condemned fool, anarch, egoarch,
hiresiarch, you have reared your disunited kingdom on the vacuum of your own
most intensely doubtful soul. Do you hold yourself then for some god in the
manger, Shehohem, that you will neither serve not let serve, pray nor let
pray? And here, pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to pray for the loss
of selfrespect to equip me for the horrible necessity of scandalisang (my
dear sisters, are you ready?) by sloughing off my hope and tremors while we
all swin together in the pool of Sodom? I shall shiver for my purity while
they will weepbig for your sins. Away with covered words, new Solemonities
for old Badsheetbaths! That inharmonious detail, did you name it? Cold
caldor! Gee! Victory! Now, opprobro of underslung pipes, johnjacobs, while
yet an adolescent (what do I say?), while still puerile in your tubsuit with
buttonlegs,you got a handsome present of a selfraising syringe and twin
feeders (you know, Monsieur Abgott, in your art of arts, to your cost as
well as I do (and don't try to hide it) the penals lots I am now poking at)
and the wheeze sort of was you should (if you were as bould a stroke now as
the curate that christened you, sonny douth-the-candle!) repopulate the land
of your birth and count up your progeny by the hungered head and the angered
thousand but you thwarted the wious pish of your cogodparents, soph, among
countless occasions of failing (for, said you, I will elenchate), adding to
the malice of your transgression, yes, and changing its nature, (you see I
have read your theology for you) alternating the morosity of my delectations
-- a philtred love, trysting by tantrums, small peace in ppenmark -- with
sensibility, sponsibility, passibility and prostability, your lubbock's
other fear pleasures of a butler's life, even extruding your strabismal
apologia, when legibly depressed, upon defenceless paper and thereby adding
to the already unhappiness of this our popeyed world, scribblative! -- all
that too with cantreds of countless catchaleens, the mannish as many as the
minneful, congested around and about you for acres and roods and poles or
perches, thick as the fluctuant sands of Chalwador, accomplished women,
indeed fully educanded, far from being old and rich behind their dream of
arrivisme, if they have only their honour left, and not deterred by bad
weather when consumed by amorous passion, struggling to possess themselves
of your boosh, one son of Sorge for all daughters of Anguish, solus cum sola
sive cuncties cum omnibobs (I'd have been the best man for you, myself),
mutely aying for hat natural knot, debituary vases or vessels preposterous,
for what would not have cost you ten bolivars of collarwork or the price of
one ping pang, just a lilt, let us trillt, of the oldest song in the wooed
woodworld, (two-we! to-one!), accompanied by a plain gold band! Hail! Hail!
Highbosomheaving Missmisstress Morna of the allsweetheartening
bridemuredemeanour! Her eye's so gladsome we'll all take shares in the ----
groom!
Sniffer of carrion, premature gravedigger, seeker of the nest of evil
in the bosom of a good word, you, who sleep at our vigil and fast for our
feast, you with your dislocated reason, have cutely foretold, a jophet in
your own absence, by blind poring upon your many scalds and burns and
blisters, impetiginous sore and pustules, by the auspices of that raven
cloud, your shade, and by the auguries of rooks in parlament, death with
every disaster, the dynamitisation of colleagues, the reducing of records to
ashes, the levelling of all customs by blazes, the return of a lot of
sweetempered gunpowdered didst unto dudst but it never stphruck your
mudhead's obtundity (O hell, here comes our funeral! O pest, I'll miss the
post!) that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you slit, the more
murphies you peel, the more onions you cry over, the more bullbeef you
butch, the more mutton you crackerhack, the more potherbs you pound, the
fiercer the fire and the longer your spoon and the harder you gruel with
more grease to your elbow the merrier fumes your new Irish stew.
O, by the way, yes,another thing occurs to me. You let me tell you,
with the utmost politeness, were very ordinarily designed, your birthwrong
was, to fall in with Plan, as our nationals should, as all nationists must,
and do a certain office (what, I will not tell you) in a certain holy office
(nor will I say where) during certain agonising office hours (a clerical
party all to yourself) from such a year to such an hour on such and such a
date at so and so much a week pro anno (Guinness's, may I remind, were just
agulp for you, failing in which you might have taken the scales off boilers
like any boskop of Yorek) and do your little thruppenny bit and thus earn
from the nation true thanks, right here in our place of burden, your bourne
of travail and ville of tares, where after a divine's prodigence you drew
the first watergasp in your life, from the crib where you once was bit to
the crypt you'll be twice as shy of, same as we, long of us, alone with the
colt in the curner, where you were as popular as an armenial with the
faithful, and you set fire to my tailcoat when I hold the paraffin smoker
under yours (I hope that chimney's clear) but, slackly shirking both your
bullet and your billet, you beat it backwards like Boulanger from Galway
(but he combed the grass against his stride) to sing us a song of alibi,
(the cuthone call over the greybounding slowrolling amplyheaving
metamorphoseous that oozy rocks parapangle their preposters with) nomad,
mooner by lamplight, antinos, shemming amid everyone's repressed laughter to
conceal your scatchophily by mating, like a thoroughpaste prosodite,
masculine monosyllables of the same numerical mus, an Irish emigrant the
wrong way out, sitting on your crooked sixpenny stile, an unfrillfrocked
quackfriar, you (will you for the laugh of Scheekspair just help mine with
the epithet?) semisemitic serendipitist, you (thanks, I think that describes
you) Europasianised Afferyank!
Shall we follow each others a steplonger, drowner of daggers, whiles
our liege, tilyet a stranger in the frontyard of his happiness, is taking,
(heal helper! one gob, one gap, one gulp and gorger of all!) his
refreshment?
There grew up beside you,amid our orisons of the speediest. in Novena
Lodge, Novara Avenue, in Patripodium-am-Bummel, oaf, outofwork, one remove
from an unwashed savage, on his keeping and in yours, (I pose you know why
possum hides is cause he haint the nogumtreeumption) that other,
Immaculatus, from head to foot, sir, that pure one, Altrues of other times,
he who was well known to celestine circles before he sped aloft, our
handsome young spiritual physician that was to be, seducing every sense to
selfwilling celebesty, the most winning counterfeuille on our incomeshare
lotetree, a chum of the angelets, a youth those reporters so pettitily
wanted as gamefellow that they asked his mother for ittle earps brupper to
let him tome to Tindertarten? pease, and bing his scooter 'long and 'tend
they were all real brothers in the big justright home where Dodd lives, just
to teddyfy the life out of him and pat and pass him one with other like musk
from hand to hand, that mothersmothered model, that goodlooker with not a
flaw whose spiritual toilettes were the talk of half the town, for sunset
wear and nightfallen use and daybroken donning and nooncheon showing and the
very thing for teasetime, but him you laid low with one hand one fine May
morning in the Meddle of your Might, your bosom foe, because he mussed your
speller on you or because he cut a pretty figure in the focus of your
frontispecs (not one did you slay, no, but a continent!) to find out how his
innards worked !
Ever read of that greatgrand landfather of our visionbuilders, Baaboo,
the bourgeoismeister, who thought to touch both himmels at the punt of his
risen stiffstaff and how wishywashy sank the waters of his thought? Ever
thought of that hereticalist Marcon and the two scissymaidies and how
bulkily he shat the Ructions gunorrhal? Ever hear of that foxy, that lupo
and that monkax and the virgin heir of the Morrisons, eh, blethering ape?
Malingerer in luxury, collector general, what has Your Lowness done in
the mealtime with all the hamilkcars of cooked vegetables, the hatfuls of
stewed fruit, the suitcases of coddled ales, the Parish funds, me schamer,
man, that you kittycoaxed so flexibly out of charitable butteries by yowling
heavy with a hollow voice drop of your horrible awful poverty of mind so as
you couldn't even pledge a crown of Thorne's to pawn a coat off Trevi's and
as how you was bad no end, so you was, so whelp you Sinner Pitre and Sinner
Poule, with the chicken's gape and pas mal de si cle, which, by the by,
Reynaldo, is the ordinary emetic French for grenadier's drip. To let you
have your plank and your bonewash (O the hastroubles you lost!), to give you
your pound of platinum and a thousand thongs a year (O, you were
excruciated, in honour bound to the cross of your own cruelfiction !) to let
you have your Sarday spree and holinight sleep (fame would come to you twixt
a sleep and a wake) and leave to lie till Paraskivee and the cockcock crows
for Danmark. (O Jonathan, your estomach!) The simian has no sentiment
secretions but weep cataracts for all me, Pain the Shamman! Oft in the
smelly night will they wallow for a clutch of the famished hand, I say, them
bearded jezabelles you hired to rob you, while on your sodden straw
impolitely you encored (Airish and nawboggaleesh!) those hornmade ivory
dreams you reved of the Ruth you called your companionate, a beauty from the
bible, of the flushpots of Euston and the hanging garments of Marylebone.
But the dormer moonshee smiled selene and the lightthrowers knickered: who's
whinging we? Comport yourself, you inconsistency! Where is that little
alimony nestegg against our predictable rainy day? Is it not the fact
(gainsay me, cakeeater!) that, while whistlewhirling your crazy elegies
around Templetombmount joyntstone, (let him pass, pleasegoodjesusalem, in a
bundle of straw, he was balbettised after haymaking) you squandered among
underlings the overload of your extravagance and made a hottentot of
dulpeners crawsick with your crumbs? Am I not right? Yes? Yes? Yes? Holy wax
and holifer! Don't tell me, Leon of the fold, that you are not a loanshark!
Look up, old sooty, be advised by mux and take your medicine. The Good
Doctor mulled it. Mix it twice before repastures and powder three times a
day. It does marvels for your gripins and it's fine for the solitary worm.
Let me finish! Just a little judas tonic, my ghem of all jokes, to make
you go green in the gazer. Do you hear what I'm seeing, hammet? And remember
that golden silence gives consent, Mr Anklegazer! Cease to be civil, learn
to say nay! Whisht! Come here, Herr Studiosus, till I tell you a wig in your
ear. We'll do a whisper drive, for if the barishnyas got a twitter of it
they'd tell the housetops and then all Cadbury would go crackers. Look! Do
you see your dial in the rockingglass? Look well ! Bend down a stigmy till
I! It's secret! Iggri, I say, the booseleers! I had it from Lamppost Shawe.
And he had it from the Mullah. And Mull took it from a Bluecoat schooler.
And Gay Socks jot it from Potapheu's wife. And Rantipoll tipped the wink
from old Mrs Tinbullet. And as for she was confussed by pro-Brother
Thacolicus. And the good brother feels he would need to defecate you. And
the Flimsy Follettes are simply beside each other. And Kelly, Kenny and
Keogh are up up and in arms. That a cross may crush me if I refuse to
believe in it. That I may rock anchor through the ages if I hope it's not
true. That the host may choke me if I beneighbour you without my charity!
Sh! Shem, you are. Sh! You are mad!
He points the deathbone and the quick are still. Insomnia, somnia
somniorum. Awmawm.
MERCIUS (of hisself): Domine vopiscus! My fault, his fault, a kingship
through a fault! Pariah, cannibal Cain, I who oathily forswore the womb that
bore you and the paps I sometimes sucked, you who ever since have been one
black mass of jigs and jimjams, haunted by a convulsionary sense of not
having been or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming,
bewailing like a man that innocence which I could not defend like a woman,
lo,you there, Cathmon-Carbery, and thank Movies from the innermost depths of
my still attrite heart,Wherein the days of youyouth are evermixed mimine,
now ere the compline hour of being alone athands itself and a puff or so
before we yield our spiritus to the wind, for (though that royal one has not
yet drunk a gouttelette from his consummation and the flowerpot on the pole,
the spaniel pack and their quarry, retainers and the public house proprietor
have not budged a millimetre and all that has been done has yet to be done
and done again, when's day's woe, and lo, you're doomed, joyday dawns and,
la, you dominate) it is to you, firstborn and firstfruit of woe, to me,
branded sheep, pick of the wasterpaperbaskel, by the tremours of Thundery
and Ulerin's dogstar, you alone, windblasted tree of the knowledge of
beautiful andevil, ay, clothed upon with the metuor and shimmering like the
horescens, astroglodynamonologos, the child of Nilfit's father, blzb, to me
unseen blusher in an obscene coalhole, the cubilibum of your secret sigh,
dweller in the downandoutermost where voice only of the dead may come,
because ye left from me, because ye laughed on me, because, O me lonly son,
ye are forgetting me!, that our turfbrown mummy is acoming, alpilla,
beltilla, ciltilla, deltilla, running with her tidings, old the news of the
great big world, sonnies had a scrap, woewoewoe! bab's baby walks at seven
months, waywayway ! bride leaves her raid at Punchestime, stud stoned before
a racecourseful, two belles that make the one appeal, dry yanks will visit
old sod, and fourtiered skirts are up, mesdames, while Parimiknie wears
popular short legs, and twelve hows to mix a tipsy wake, did ye hear, colt
Cooney? did ye ever, filly Fortescue? with a beck, with a spring, all her
rillringlets shaking, rocks drops in her tachie, tramtokens in her hair, all
waived to a point and then all inuendation, little oldfashioned mummy,
little wonderful mummy, ducking under bridges, bellhopping the weirs,
dodging by a bit of bog, rapidshooting round the bends, by Tallaght's green
hills and the pools of the phooka and a place they call it Blessington and
slipping sly by Sallynoggin, as happy as the day is wet, babbling, bubbling,
chattering to herself, deloothering the fields on their elbows leaning with
the sloothering slide of her, giddygaddy, grannyma, gossipaceous Anna Livia.
He lifts the lifewand and the dumb speak.
-- Quoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiq!
O tell me all about
Anna Livia! I want to hear all about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna
Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me all. Tell me now.
You'll die when you hear. Well, you know, when the old cheb went futt and
did what you know. Yes, I know, go on. Wash quit and don't be dabbling. Tuck
up your sleeves and loosen your talktapes. And don't butt me -- hike! --
when you bend. Or whatever it was they threed to make out he thried to two
in the Fiendish park. He's an awful old reppe. Look at the shirt of him !
Look at the dirt of it! He has all my water black on me. And it steeping and
stuping since this time last wik. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it?
I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my
hand and starving my famine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well
with your battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw
stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it! What was it he
did a tail at all on Animal Sendai? And how long was he under loch and
neagh? It was put in the newses what he did, nicies and priers, the King
fierceas Humphrey, with illysus distilling, exploits and all. But toms will
till. I know he well. Temp untamed will hist for no man. As you spring so
shall you neap. O, the roughty old rappe! Minxing marrage and making loof.
Reeve Gootch was right and Reeve Drughad was sinistrous! And the cut of him!
And the strut of him! How he used to hold his head as high as a howeth, the
famous eld duke alien, with a hump of grandeur on him like a walking wiesel
rat. And his derry's own drawl and his corksown blather and his doubling
stutter and his gullaway swank. Ask Lictor Hackett or Lector Reade of Garda
Growley or the Boy with the Billyclub. How elster is he a called at all?
Qu'appelle? Huges Caput Earlyfouler. Or where was he born or how was he
found? Urgothland, Tvistown on the Kattekat? New Hunshire, Concord on the
Merrimake? Who blocksmitt her saft anvil or yelled lep to her pail? Was her
banns never loosened in Adam and Eve's or were him and her but captain
spliced? For mine ether duck I thee drake. And by my wildgaze I thee gander.
Flowey and Mount on the brink of time makes wishes and fears for a happy
isthmass. She can show all her lines, with love, license to play. And if
they don't remarry that hook and eye may ! O, passmore that and oxus
another! Don Dom Dombdomb and his wee follyo! Was his help inshored in the
Stork and Pelican against bungelars, flu and third risk parties? I heard he
dug good tin with his doll, delvan first and duvlin after, when he raped her
home, Sabrine asthore, in a parakeet's cage, by dredgerous lands and devious
delts, playing catched and mythed with the gleam of her shadda, (if a flic
had been there to pop up and pepper him!) past auld min's manse and Maisons
Allfou and the rest of incurables and the last of immurables, the quaggy
waag for stumbling. Who sold you that jackalantern's tale? Pemmican's pasty
pie! Not a grasshoop to ring her, not an antsgrain of ore. In a gabbard he
barqued it, the boat of life, from the harbourless Ivernikan Okean, till he
spied the loom of his landfall and he loosed two croakers from under his
tilt, the gran Phenician rover. By the smell of her kelp they made the
pigeonhouse. Like fun they did! But where was Himself, the timoneer? That
marchantman he suivied their scutties right over the wash, his cameleer's
burnous breezing up on him, till with his runagate bowmpriss he roade and
borst her bar. Pilcomayo! Suchcaughtawan! And the whale's away with the
grayling! Tune your pipes and fall ahumming, you born ijypt, and you're
nothing short of one! Well, ptellomey soon and curb your escumo. When they
saw him shoot swift up her sheba sheath, like any gay lord salomon, her
bulls they were ruhring, surfed with spree. Boyarka buah! Boyana bueh~He
erned his lille Bunbath hard, our staly bred, the trader. He did. Look at
here. In this wet of his prow. Don't you know he was kaldt a bairn of the
brine, Wasserbourne the waterbaby? Havemmarea, so he was! H.C.E. has a
codfisck ee. Shyr she's nearly as badher as him herself. Who? Anna Livia?
Ay, Anna Livia. Do you know she was calling bakvandets sals from all around,
nyumba noo, chamba choo, to go in till him, her erring cheef, and tickle the
pontiff aisy-oisy? She was? Gota pot! Yssel that the limmat? As El Negro
winced when he wonced in La Plate. O, tell me all I want to hear, how loft
she was lift a laddery dextro ! A coneywink after the bunting fell. Letting
on she didn't care, sina feza, me absantee, him man in passession, the
proxenete! Proxenete and phwhat is phthat? Emme for your reussischer Honddu
jarkon! Tell us in franca langua. And call a spate a spate. Did they never
sharee you ebro at skol, you antiabecedarian? It's just the same as if I was
to go par examplum now in conservancy's cause out of telekinesis and
proxenete you. For coxyt sake and is that what she is? Botlettle I thought
she'd act that loa. Didn't you spot her in her windaug, wubbling up on an
osiery chair, with a meusic before her all cunniform letters, pretending to
ribble a reedy derg on a fiddle she bogans without a band on? Sure she can't
fiddan a dee, with bow or abandon! Sure, she can't! Tista suck. Well, I
never now heard the like of that! Tell me moher. Tell me moatst. Well, old
Humber was as glommen as grampus, with the tares at his thor and the buboes
for ages and neither bowman nor shot abroad and bales allbrant on the crests
of rockies and nera lamp in kitchen or church and giant's holes in Grafton's
causeway and deathcap mushrooms round Funglus grave and the great tribune's
barrow all darnels occumule, sittang sambre on his sett, drammen and
drommen, usking queasy quizzers of his ruful continence, his childlinen
scarf to encourage his obsequies where he'd check their debths in that
mormon's thames, be questing and handsetl, hop, step and a deepend, with his
berths in their toiling moil, his swallower open from swolf to fore and the
snipes of the gutter pecking his crocs, hungerstriking all alone and holding
doomsdag over hunselv, dreeing his weird, with his dander up, and his fringe
combed over his eygs and droming on loft till the sight of the sternes,
after zwarthy kowse and weedy broeks and the tits of buddy and the loits of
pest and to peer was Parish worth thette mess. You'd think all was dodo
belonging to him how he durmed adranse in durance vaal. He had been belching
for severn years. And there she was, Anna Livia, she darent catch a winkle
of sleep, purling around like a chit of a child, Wendawanda, a fingerthick,
in a Lapsummer skirt and damazon cheeks, for to ishim bonzour to her dear
dubber Dan. With neuphraties and sault from his maggias. And an odd time
she'd cook him up blooms of fisk and lay to his heartsfoot her meddery eygs,
yayis, and staynish beacons on toasc and a cupenhave so weeshywashy of
Greenland's tay or a dzoupgan of Kaffue mokau an sable or Sikiang sukry or
his ale of ferns in trueart pewter and a shinkobread (hamjambo, bana?) for
to plaise that man hog stay his stomicker till her pyrraknees shrunk to
nutmeg graters while her togglejoints shuck with goyt and as rash as she'd
russ with her peakload of vivers up on her sieve (metauwero rage it swales
and rieses) my hardey Hek he'd kast them frome him, with a stour of scorn,
as much as to say you sow and you sozh, and if he didn't peg the platteau on
her tawe, believe you me, she was safe enough. And then she'd esk to vistule
a hymn, The Heart Bowed Down or The Rakes of Mallow or Chelli Michele's La
Calumnia un Vermicelli or a balfy bit ov old Jo Robidson. Sucho fuffing a
fifeing 'twould cut you in two! She'd bate the hen that crowed on the
turrace of Babbel. What harm if she knew how to cockle her mouth ! And not a
mag out of Hum no more than out of the mangle weight. Is that a faith?
That's the fact. Then riding the ricka and roya romanche, Annona, gebroren
aroostokrat Nivia, dochter of Sense and Art, with Sparks' pirryphlickathims
funkling her fan, anner frostivying tresses dasht with virevlies,-- while
the prom beauties sreeked nith their bearers' skins!--in a period gown of
changeable jade that would robe the wood of two cardinals' chairs and crush
poor Cullen and smother MacCabe. O blazerskate! Theirs porpor patches! And
brahming to him down the feedchute, with her femtyfyx kinds of fondling
endings, the poother rambling off her nose: Vuggybarney, Wickerymandy!
Hello, ducky, please don't die! Do you know what she started cheeping after,
with a choicey voicey like waterglucks or Madame Delba to Romeoreszk? You'll
never guess. Tell me. Tell me. Phoebe, dearest, tell, O tell me and I loved
you better nor you knew. And letting on hoon var daft about the warbly sangs
from over holmen: High hellskirt saw ladies hensmoker lilyhung pigger: and
soay and soan and so firth and so forth in a tone sonora and Oom Bothar
below like Bheri-Bheri in his sandy cloak, so umvolosy, as deaf as a yawn,
the stult! Go away! Poor deef old deary! Yare only teasing! Anna Liv? As
chalk is my judge! And didn't she up in sorgues and go and trot doon and
stand in her douro, puffing her old dudheen, and every shirvant siligirl or
wensum farmerette walking the pilend roads, Sawy, Fundally, Daery or Maery,
Milucre, Awny or Graw, usedn't she make her a simp or sign to slip inside by
the sullyport? You don't say, the sillypost? Bedouix but I do! Calling them
in, one by one (To Blockbeddum here! Here the Shoebenacaddie!) and legging a
jig or so on the sihl to show them how to shake their benders and the dainty
how to bring to mind the gladdest garments out of sight and all the way of a
maid with a man and making a sort of a cackling noise like two and a penny
or half a crown and holding up a silliver shiner. Lordy, lordy, did she so?
Well, of all the ones ever I heard! Throwing all the neiss little whores in
the world at him! To inny captured wench you wish of no matter what sex of
pleissful ways two adda tammar a lizzy a lossie to hug and hab haven in
Humpy's apron!
And what was the wyerye rima she made! Odet! Odet! Tell me the trent of
it while I'm lathering hail out of Denis Florence MacCarthy's combies. Rise
it, flut ye, pian piena! I'm dying down off my iodine feet until I lerryn
Anna Livia's cushingloo, that was writ by one and rede by two and trouved by
a poule in the parco! I can see that, I see you are. How does it tummel?
Listen now. Are you listening? Yes, yes ! Idneed I am ! Tarn your ore ouse !
Essonne inne !
By earth end the cloudy but I badly went e brandnew bankside, bedamp
and I do, and a plumper at that!
For the putty affair I have is wore out, so it is, sitting,yaping and
waiting for my old Dane hodder dodderer, my life in death companion, my
frugal key of our larder, my much-altered camel's hump, my jointspoiler, my
maymoon's honey, my fool to the last Decemberer, to wake himself out of his
winter's doze and bore me down like he used to.
Is there irwell a lord of the manor or a knight of the shire at strike,
I wonder, that'd dip me a dace or two in cash for washing and darning his
worshipful socks for him now we're run out of horsebrose and milk?
Only for my short Brittas bed made's as snug as it smells it's out I'd
lep and off with me to the slobs deua Tolka or the plage au Clontarf to
feale the gay aire of my salt troublin bay and the race of the saywint up me
ambushure.
Onon! Onon! tell me more. Tell me every tiny teign. I want to know
every single ingul. Down to what made the potters fly into jagsthole. And
why were the vesles vet. That homa fever's winning me wome. If a mahun of
the horse but hard me! We'd be bundukiboi meet askarigal. Well, now comes
the hazelhatchery part. After Clondalkin the Kings's Inns. We'll soon be
there with the freshet. How many aleveens had she in tool? I can't rightly
rede you that. Close only knows. Some say she had three figures to fill and
confined herself to a hundred eleven, wan bywan bywan, making
meanacuminamoyas. Olaph lamm et, all that pack? We won't have room in the
kirkeyaard. She can't remember half of the cradlenames she smacked on them
by the grace of her boxing bishop's infallible slipper, the cane for Kund
and abbles for Eyolf and ayther nayther for Yakov Yea. A hundred and how?
They did well to rechristien her Pluhurabelle. O loreley! What a loddon
lodes! Heigh ho! But it's quite on the cards she'll shed more and merrier,
twills and trills, sparefours and spoilfives, nordsihkes and sudsevers and
ayes and neins to a litter. Grandfarthring nap and Messamisery and the knave
of all knaves and the joker. Heehaw! She must have been a gadabount in her
day, so she must, more than most. Shoal she was, gidgad. She had a flewmen
of her owen. Then a toss nare scared that lass, so aimai moe, that's agapo!
Tell me, tell me, how cam she camlin through all her fellows, the neckar she
was, the diveline? Casting her perils before our swains from Fonte-in-Monte
to Tidingtown and from Tidingtown tilhavet. Linking one and knocking the
next, tapting a flank and tipting a jutty and palling in and pietaring out
and clyding by on her eastway. Waiwhou was the first thurever burst? Someone
he was, whuebra they were, in a tactic attack or in single combat. Tinker,
tilar, souldrer, salor, Pieman Peace or Polistaman. That's the thing I'm
elwys on edge to esk. Push up and push vardar and come to uphill
headquarters! Was it waterlows year, after Grattan or Flood, or when maids
were in Arc or when three stood hosting? Fidaris will find where the Doubt
arises like Nieman from Nirgends found the Nihil. Worry you sighin foh,
Albern, O Anser? Untie the gemman's fistiknots, Qvic and Nuancee! She can't
put her hand on him for the moment. Tez thelon langlo, walking weary! Such a
loon waybashwards to row! She sid herself she hardly knows whuon the annals
her graveller was, a dynast of Leinster, a wolf of the sea, or what he did
or how blyth she played or how, when, why, where and who offon he jumpnad
her and how it was gave her away. She was just a young thin pale soft shy
slim slip of a thing then, sauntering, by silvamoonlake and he was a heavy
trudging lurching lieabroad of a Curraghman, making his hay for whose sun to
shine on, as tough as the oaktrees (peats be with them!) used to rustle that
time down by the dykes of killing Kildare, for forstfellfoss with a plash
across her. She thought she's sankh neathe the ground with nymphant shame
when he gave her the tigris eye ! O happy fault ! Me wish it was he ! You're
wrong there, corribly wrong! Tisn't only tonight you're anacheronistic! It
was ages behind that when nullahs were nowhere, in county Wickenlow, garden
of Erin, before she ever dreamt she'd lave Kilbride and go foaming under
Horsepass bridge, with the great southerwestern windstorming her traces and
the midland's grainwaster asarch for her track, to wend her ways byandby,
robecca or worse, to spin and to grind, to swab and to thrash, for all her
golden lifey in the barleyfields and pennylotts of Humphrey's
fordofhurdlestown and lie with a landleaper, wellingtonorseher. Alesse, the
lagos of girly days! For the dove of the dunas! Wasut? Izod? Are you sarthin
suir? Not where the Finn fits into the Mourne, not where the Nore takes
lieve of Blчm, not where the Braye divarts the Farer, not where the Moy
changez her minds twixt Cullin and Conn tween Cunn and Collin? Or where
Neptune sculled and Tritonville rowed and leandros three bumped heroines
two? Neya, narev, nen, nonni, nos ! Then whereabouts in Ow and Ovoca? Was it
yst with wyst or Lucan Yokan or where the hand of man has never set foot?
Dell me where, the fairy ferse time! I will if you listen. You know the
dinkel dale of Luggelaw? Well, there once dwelt a local heremite, Michael
Arklow was his riverend name, (with many a sigh I aspersed his lavabibs!)
and one venersderg in junojuly, oso sweet and so cool and so limber she
looked, Nance the Nixie, Nanon L'Escaut, in the silence, of the sycomores,
all listening, the kindling curves you simply can't stop feeling, he plunged
both of his newly anointed hands, the core of his cushlas, in her singimari
saffron strumans of hair, parting them and soothing her and mingling it,
that was deepdark and ample like this red bog at sundown. By that Vale
Vowclose's lucydlac, the reignbeau's heavenarches arronged orranged her.
Afrothdizzying galbs, her enamelled eyes indergoading him on to the vierge
violetian. Wish a wish! Why a why? Mavro ! Letty Lerck's lafing light throw
those laurals now on her daphdaph teasesong petrock. Maass! But the majik
wavus has elfun anon meshes. And Simba the Slayer of his Oga is slewd. He
cuddle not help himself, thurso that hot on him, he had to forget the monk
in the man so, rubbing her up and smoothing her down, he baised his lippes
in smiling mood, kiss akiss after kisokushk (as he warned her niver to,
niver to, nevar) on Anna-na-Poghue's of the freckled forehead. While you'd
parse secheressa she hielt her souff'. But she ruz two feet hire in her
aisne aestumation. And steppes on stilts ever since. That was kissuahealing
with bantur for balm! O, wasn't he the bold priest? And wasn't she the
naughty Livvy? Nautic Naama's now her navn. Two lads in scoutsch breeches
went through her before that, Barefoot Burn and Wallowme Wade,
Lugnaquillia's noblesse pickts, before she had a hint of a hair at her fanny
to hide or a bossom to tempt a birch canoedler not to mention a bulgic
porterhouse barge. And ere that again, leada, laida, all unraidy, too faint
to buoy the fairiest rider, too frail to flirt with a cygnet's plume, she
was licked by a hound, Chirripa-Chirruta, while poing her pee, pure and
simple, on the spur of the hill in old Kippure, in birdsong and
shearingtime, but first of all, worst of all, the wiggly livvly, she
sideslipped out by a gap in the Devil's glen while Sally her nurse was sound
asleep in a sloot and, feefee fiefie, fell over a spillway before she found
her stride and lay and wriggled in all the stagnant black pools of rainy
under a fallow coo and she laughed innocefree with her limbs aloft and a
whole drove of maiden hawthorns blushing and looking askance upon her.
Drop me the sound of the findhorn's name, Mtu or Mti, sombogger was
wisness. And drip me why in the flenders was she frickled. And trickle me
through was she marcellewaved or was it weirdly a wig she wore. And whitside
did they droop their glows in their florry, aback to wist or affront to sea?
In fear to hear the dear so near or longing loth and loathing longing? Are
you in the swim or are you out? O go in, go on, go an! I mean about what you
know. I know right well what you mean. Rother! You'd like the coifs and
guimpes, snouty, and me to do the greasy jub on old Veronica's wipers. What
am I rancing now and I'll thank you? Is it a pinny or is it a surplice?
Arran, where's your nose? And where's the starch? That's not the vesdre
benediction smell. I can tell from here by their eau de Colo and the scent
of her oder they're Mrs Magrath's. And you ought to have aird them. They've
moist come off her. Creases in silk they are, not crampton lawn. Baptiste
me, father, for she has sinned! Through her catchment ring she freed them
easy, with her hips' hurrahs for her knees'dontelleries. The only parr with
frills in old the plain. So they are, I declare! Welland well! If tomorrow
keeps fine who'll come tripping to sightsee? How'll? Ask me next what I
haven't got! The Belvedarean exhibitioners. In their cruisery caps and
oarsclub colours. What hoo, they band! And what hoa, they buck! And here is
her nubilee letters too. Ellis on quay in scarlet thread. Linked for the
world on a flushcaloured field. Annan exe after to show they're not Laura
Keown's. O, may the diabolo twisk your seifety pin! You child of Mammon,
Kinsella's Lilith! Now who has been tearing the leg of her drawars on her?
Which leg is it? The one with the bells on it. Rinse them out and aston
along with you! Where did I stop? Never stop! Continuarration! You're not
there yet. I amstel waiting. Garonne, garonne!
Well, after it was put in the Mericy Cordial Mendicants'
Sitterdag-Zindeh-Munaday Wakeschrift (for once they sullied their white
kidloves, chewing cuds after their dinners of cheeckin and beggin, with
their show us it here and their mind out of that and their when you're quite
finished with the reading matarial), even the snee that snowdon his hoaring
hair had a skunner against him. Thaw, thaw, sava, savuto! Score Her Chuff
Exsquire! Everywhere erriff you went and every bung you arver dropped into,
in cit or suburb or in addled areas, the Rose and Bottle or Phoenix Tavern
or Power's Inn or Jude's Hotel or wherever you scoured the countryside from
Nannywater to Vartryville or from Porta Lateen to the lootin quarter you
found his ikom etsched tipside down or the cornerboys cammocking his guy and
Morris the Man, with the role of a royss in his turgos the turrible,
(Evropeahahn cheic house, unskimmed sooit and yahoort, hamman now cheekmee,
Ahdahm this way make, Fatima, half tum!) reeling and railing round the local
as the peihos piped und ubanjees twanged, with oddfellow's triple tiara
busby rotundarinking round his scalp. Like Pate-by-the-Neva or
Pete-over-Meer. This is the Hausman all paven and stoned, that cribbed the
Cabin that never was owned that cocked his leg and hennad his Egg. And the
mauldrin rabble around him in areopage, fracassing a great bingkan cagnan
with their timpan crowders. Mind your Grimmfather! Think of your Ma! Hing
the Hong is his jove's hangnomen ! Lilt a bolero, bulling a law ! She swore
on croststyx nyne wyndabouts she's be level with all the snags of them yet.
Par the Vulnerable Virgin's Mary del Dame! So she said to herself she'd
frame a plan to fake a shine, the mischiefmaker, the like of it you niever
heard. What plan? Tell me quick and dongu so crould! What the meurther did
she mague? Well, she bergened a zakbag, a shammy mailsack, with the lend of
a loan of the light of his lampion, off one of her swapsons, Shaun the Post,
and then she went and consulted her chapboucqs, old Mot Moore, Casey's
Euclid and the Fashion Display and made herself tidal to join in the
mascarete. O gig goggle of gigguels. I can't tell you how! It's too
screaming to rizo, rabbit it all! Minneha, minnehi minaaehe, minneho! O but
you must, you must really! Make my hear it gurgle gurgle, like the farest
gargle gargle in the dusky dirgle dargle! By the holy well of Mulhuddart I
swear I'd pledge my chanza getting to heaven through Tirry and Killy's mount
of impiety to hear it all, aviary word! O, leave me my faculties, woman, a
while! If you don't like my story get out of the punt. Well, have it your
own way, so. Here, sit down and do as you're bid. Take my stroke and bend to
your bow. Forward in and pull your overthepoise! Lisp it slaney and crisp it
quiet. Deel me longsome. Tongue your time now. Breathe thet deep. Thouat's
the fairway. Hurry slow and scheldt you go. Lynd us your blessed ashes here
till I scrub the canon's underpants. Flow now. Ower more. And pooleypooley.
First she let her hair fal and down it flussed to her feet its teviots
winding coils. Then, mothernaked, she sampood herself with galawater and
fraguant pistania mud, wupper and lauar, from crown to sole. Next she
greesed the groove of her keel, warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with
antifouling butterscatch and turfentide and serpenthyme and with leafmould
she ushered round prunella isles and eslats dun, quincecunct, allover her
little mary. Peeld gold of waxwork her jellybelly and her grains of incense
anguille bronze. And after that she wove a garland for her hair. She pleated
it. She plaited it. Of meadowgrass and riverflags, the bulrush and
waterweed, and of fallen griefs of weeping willow. Then she made her
bracelets and her anklets and her armlets and a jetty amulet for necklace of
clicking cobbles and pattering pebbles and rumbledown rubble, richmond and
rehr, of Irish rhunerhinerstones and shellmarble bangles. That done, a dawk
of smut to her airy ey, Annushka Lutetiavitch Pufflovah, and the lellipos
cream to her lippeleens and the pick of the paintbox for her pommettes, from
strawbirry reds to extra violates, and she sendred her boudeloire maids to
His Affluence, Ciliegia Grande and Kirschie Real, the two chirsines, with
respecks from his missus, seepy and sewery, and a request might she passe of
him for a minnikin. A call to pay and light a taper, in Brie-on-Arrosa, back
in a sprizzling. The cock striking mine, the stalls bridely sign, there's
Zambosy waiting for Me! She said she wouldn't be half her length away. Then,
then, as soon as the lump his back was turned, with her mealiebag slang over
her shulder, Anna Livia, oysterface, forth of her bassein came.
Describe her! Hustle along, why can't you? Spitz on the iern while it's
hot. I wouldn't miss her for irthing on nerthe. Not for the lucre of lomba
strait. Oceans of Gaud, I mosel hear that! Ogowe presta! Leste, before Julia
sees her! Ishekarry and washemeskad, the carishy caratimaney? Whole lady
fair? Duodecimoroon? Bon a ventura? Malagassy? What had she on, the liddel
oud oddity? How much did she scallop, harness and weights? Here she is,
Amnisty Ann! Call her calamity electrifies man.
No electress at all but old Moppa Necessity, angin mother of injons.
I'll tell you a test. But you must sit still. Will you hold your peace and
listen well to what I am going to say now? It might have been ten or twenty
to one of the night of Allclose or the nexth of April when the flip of her
hoogly igloo flappered and out toetippit a bushman woman, the dearest little
moma ever you saw, nodding around her, all smiles, with ems of embarras and
aues to awe, between two ages, a judyqueen, not up to your elb. Quick, look
at her cute and saise her quirk for the bicker she lives the slicker she
grows. Save us and tagus ! No more? Werra where in ourthe did you ever pick
a Lambay chop as big as a battering ram? Ay, you're right. I'm epte to
forgetting, Like Liviam Liddle did Loveme Long. The linth of my hough, I say
! She wore a ploughboy's nailstudded clogs, a pair of ploughfields in
themselves: a sugarloaf hat with a gaudyquiviry peak and a band of gorse for
an arnoment and a hundred streamers dancing off it and a guildered pin to
pierce it: owlglassy bicycles boggled her eyes: and a fishnetzeveil for the
sun not to spoil the wrinklings of her hydeaspects: potatorings boucled the
loose laubes of her laudsnarers: her nude cuba stockings were
salmospotspeckled: she sported a galligo shimmy of hazevaipar tinto that
never was fast till it ran in the washing: stout stays, the rivals, lined
her length: her bloodorange bockknickers, a two in one garment, showed
natural nigger boggers, fancyfastened, free to undo: her blackstripe tan
joseph was sequansewn and teddybearlined, with wavy rushgreen epaulettes and
a leadown here and there of royal swansruff: a brace of gaspers stuck in her
hayrope garters: her civvy codroy coat with alpheubett buttons was
boundaried round with a twobar tunnel belt: a fourpenny bit in each
pocketside weighed her safe from the blowaway windrush; she had a clothespeg
tight astride on her joki's nose and she kep on grinding a sommething quaint
in her fiumy mouth and the rrreke of the fluve of the tail of the gawan of
her snuffdrab siouler's skirt trailed ffiffty odd Irish miles behind her
lungarhodes.
Hellsbells, I'm sorry I missed her! Sweet gumptyum and nobody fainted !
But in whelk of her mouths? Was her naze alight? Everyone that saw her said
the dowce little delia looked a bit queer. Lotsy trotsy, mind the poddle!
Missus, be good and don't fol in the say! Fenny poor hex she must have
charred. Kickhams a frumpier ever you saw! Making mush mullet's eyes at her
boys dobelon. And they crowned her their chariton queen, all the maids. Of
the may? You don't say! Well for her she couldn't see herself. I recknitz
wharfore the darling murrayed her mirror. She did? Mersey me! There was a
koros of drouthdropping surfacemen, boomslanging and plugchewing,
fruiteyeing and flowerfeeding, in contemplation of the fluctuation and the
undification of her filimentation, lolling and leasing on North Lazers' Waal
all eelfare week by the Jukar Yoick's and as soon as they saw her meander by
that marritime way in her grasswinter's weeds and twigged who was under her
archdeaconess bonnet, Avondale's fish and Clarence's poison, sedges an to
aneber, Wit-uponCrutches to Master Bates: Between our two southsates and the
granite they're warming, or her face has been lifted or Alp has doped!
But what was the game in her mixed baggyrhatty? Just the tembo in her
tumbo or pilipili from her pepperpot? Saas and taas and specis bizaas. And
where in thunder did she plunder? Fore the battle or efter the ball? I want
to get it frisk from the soorce. I aubette my bearb it's worth while
from holy childhood up in this two easter island on the piejaw of hilarious
heaven and roaring the other place (plunders to night of you, blunders
what's left of you, flash as flash can!) and now, forsooth, a nogger among
the blankards of this dastard century, you have become of twosome twiminds
forenenst gods, hidden and discovered, nay, condemned fool, anarch, egoarch,
hiresiarch, you have reared your disunited kingdom on the vacuum of your own
most intensely doubtful soul. Do you hold yourself then for some god in the
manger, Shehohem, that you will neither serve not let serve, pray nor let
pray? And here, pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to pray for the loss
of selfrespect to equip me for the horrible necessity of scandalisang (my
dear sisters, are you ready?) by sloughing off my hope and tremors while we
all swin together in the pool of Sodom? I shall shiver for my purity while
they will weepbig for your sins. Away with covered words, new Solemonities
for old Badsheetbaths! That inharmonious detail, did you name it? Cold
caldor! Gee! Victory! Now, opprobro of underslung pipes, johnjacobs, while
yet an adolescent (what do I say?), while still puerile in your tubsuit with
buttonlegs,you got a handsome present of a selfraising syringe and twin
feeders (you know, Monsieur Abgott, in your art of arts, to your cost as
well as I do (and don't try to hide it) the penals lots I am now poking at)
and the wheeze sort of was you should (if you were as bould a stroke now as
the curate that christened you, sonny douth-the-candle!) repopulate the land
of your birth and count up your progeny by the hungered head and the angered
thousand but you thwarted the wious pish of your cogodparents, soph, among
countless occasions of failing (for, said you, I will elenchate), adding to
the malice of your transgression, yes, and changing its nature, (you see I
have read your theology for you) alternating the morosity of my delectations
-- a philtred love, trysting by tantrums, small peace in ppenmark -- with
sensibility, sponsibility, passibility and prostability, your lubbock's
other fear pleasures of a butler's life, even extruding your strabismal
apologia, when legibly depressed, upon defenceless paper and thereby adding
to the already unhappiness of this our popeyed world, scribblative! -- all
that too with cantreds of countless catchaleens, the mannish as many as the
minneful, congested around and about you for acres and roods and poles or
perches, thick as the fluctuant sands of Chalwador, accomplished women,
indeed fully educanded, far from being old and rich behind their dream of
arrivisme, if they have only their honour left, and not deterred by bad
weather when consumed by amorous passion, struggling to possess themselves
of your boosh, one son of Sorge for all daughters of Anguish, solus cum sola
sive cuncties cum omnibobs (I'd have been the best man for you, myself),
mutely aying for hat natural knot, debituary vases or vessels preposterous,
for what would not have cost you ten bolivars of collarwork or the price of
one ping pang, just a lilt, let us trillt, of the oldest song in the wooed
woodworld, (two-we! to-one!), accompanied by a plain gold band! Hail! Hail!
Highbosomheaving Missmisstress Morna of the allsweetheartening
bridemuredemeanour! Her eye's so gladsome we'll all take shares in the ----
groom!
Sniffer of carrion, premature gravedigger, seeker of the nest of evil
in the bosom of a good word, you, who sleep at our vigil and fast for our
feast, you with your dislocated reason, have cutely foretold, a jophet in
your own absence, by blind poring upon your many scalds and burns and
blisters, impetiginous sore and pustules, by the auspices of that raven
cloud, your shade, and by the auguries of rooks in parlament, death with
every disaster, the dynamitisation of colleagues, the reducing of records to
ashes, the levelling of all customs by blazes, the return of a lot of
sweetempered gunpowdered didst unto dudst but it never stphruck your
mudhead's obtundity (O hell, here comes our funeral! O pest, I'll miss the
post!) that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you slit, the more
murphies you peel, the more onions you cry over, the more bullbeef you
butch, the more mutton you crackerhack, the more potherbs you pound, the
fiercer the fire and the longer your spoon and the harder you gruel with
more grease to your elbow the merrier fumes your new Irish stew.
O, by the way, yes,another thing occurs to me. You let me tell you,
with the utmost politeness, were very ordinarily designed, your birthwrong
was, to fall in with Plan, as our nationals should, as all nationists must,
and do a certain office (what, I will not tell you) in a certain holy office
(nor will I say where) during certain agonising office hours (a clerical
party all to yourself) from such a year to such an hour on such and such a
date at so and so much a week pro anno (Guinness's, may I remind, were just
agulp for you, failing in which you might have taken the scales off boilers
like any boskop of Yorek) and do your little thruppenny bit and thus earn
from the nation true thanks, right here in our place of burden, your bourne
of travail and ville of tares, where after a divine's prodigence you drew
the first watergasp in your life, from the crib where you once was bit to
the crypt you'll be twice as shy of, same as we, long of us, alone with the
colt in the curner, where you were as popular as an armenial with the
faithful, and you set fire to my tailcoat when I hold the paraffin smoker
under yours (I hope that chimney's clear) but, slackly shirking both your
bullet and your billet, you beat it backwards like Boulanger from Galway
(but he combed the grass against his stride) to sing us a song of alibi,
(the cuthone call over the greybounding slowrolling amplyheaving
metamorphoseous that oozy rocks parapangle their preposters with) nomad,
mooner by lamplight, antinos, shemming amid everyone's repressed laughter to
conceal your scatchophily by mating, like a thoroughpaste prosodite,
masculine monosyllables of the same numerical mus, an Irish emigrant the
wrong way out, sitting on your crooked sixpenny stile, an unfrillfrocked
quackfriar, you (will you for the laugh of Scheekspair just help mine with
the epithet?) semisemitic serendipitist, you (thanks, I think that describes
you) Europasianised Afferyank!
Shall we follow each others a steplonger, drowner of daggers, whiles
our liege, tilyet a stranger in the frontyard of his happiness, is taking,
(heal helper! one gob, one gap, one gulp and gorger of all!) his
refreshment?
There grew up beside you,amid our orisons of the speediest. in Novena
Lodge, Novara Avenue, in Patripodium-am-Bummel, oaf, outofwork, one remove
from an unwashed savage, on his keeping and in yours, (I pose you know why
possum hides is cause he haint the nogumtreeumption) that other,
Immaculatus, from head to foot, sir, that pure one, Altrues of other times,
he who was well known to celestine circles before he sped aloft, our
handsome young spiritual physician that was to be, seducing every sense to
selfwilling celebesty, the most winning counterfeuille on our incomeshare
lotetree, a chum of the angelets, a youth those reporters so pettitily
wanted as gamefellow that they asked his mother for ittle earps brupper to
let him tome to Tindertarten? pease, and bing his scooter 'long and 'tend
they were all real brothers in the big justright home where Dodd lives, just
to teddyfy the life out of him and pat and pass him one with other like musk
from hand to hand, that mothersmothered model, that goodlooker with not a
flaw whose spiritual toilettes were the talk of half the town, for sunset
wear and nightfallen use and daybroken donning and nooncheon showing and the
very thing for teasetime, but him you laid low with one hand one fine May
morning in the Meddle of your Might, your bosom foe, because he mussed your
speller on you or because he cut a pretty figure in the focus of your
frontispecs (not one did you slay, no, but a continent!) to find out how his
innards worked !
Ever read of that greatgrand landfather of our visionbuilders, Baaboo,
the bourgeoismeister, who thought to touch both himmels at the punt of his
risen stiffstaff and how wishywashy sank the waters of his thought? Ever
thought of that hereticalist Marcon and the two scissymaidies and how
bulkily he shat the Ructions gunorrhal? Ever hear of that foxy, that lupo
and that monkax and the virgin heir of the Morrisons, eh, blethering ape?
Malingerer in luxury, collector general, what has Your Lowness done in
the mealtime with all the hamilkcars of cooked vegetables, the hatfuls of
stewed fruit, the suitcases of coddled ales, the Parish funds, me schamer,
man, that you kittycoaxed so flexibly out of charitable butteries by yowling
heavy with a hollow voice drop of your horrible awful poverty of mind so as
you couldn't even pledge a crown of Thorne's to pawn a coat off Trevi's and
as how you was bad no end, so you was, so whelp you Sinner Pitre and Sinner
Poule, with the chicken's gape and pas mal de si cle, which, by the by,
Reynaldo, is the ordinary emetic French for grenadier's drip. To let you
have your plank and your bonewash (O the hastroubles you lost!), to give you
your pound of platinum and a thousand thongs a year (O, you were
excruciated, in honour bound to the cross of your own cruelfiction !) to let
you have your Sarday spree and holinight sleep (fame would come to you twixt
a sleep and a wake) and leave to lie till Paraskivee and the cockcock crows
for Danmark. (O Jonathan, your estomach!) The simian has no sentiment
secretions but weep cataracts for all me, Pain the Shamman! Oft in the
smelly night will they wallow for a clutch of the famished hand, I say, them
bearded jezabelles you hired to rob you, while on your sodden straw
impolitely you encored (Airish and nawboggaleesh!) those hornmade ivory
dreams you reved of the Ruth you called your companionate, a beauty from the
bible, of the flushpots of Euston and the hanging garments of Marylebone.
But the dormer moonshee smiled selene and the lightthrowers knickered: who's
whinging we? Comport yourself, you inconsistency! Where is that little
alimony nestegg against our predictable rainy day? Is it not the fact
(gainsay me, cakeeater!) that, while whistlewhirling your crazy elegies
around Templetombmount joyntstone, (let him pass, pleasegoodjesusalem, in a
bundle of straw, he was balbettised after haymaking) you squandered among
underlings the overload of your extravagance and made a hottentot of
dulpeners crawsick with your crumbs? Am I not right? Yes? Yes? Yes? Holy wax
and holifer! Don't tell me, Leon of the fold, that you are not a loanshark!
Look up, old sooty, be advised by mux and take your medicine. The Good
Doctor mulled it. Mix it twice before repastures and powder three times a
day. It does marvels for your gripins and it's fine for the solitary worm.
Let me finish! Just a little judas tonic, my ghem of all jokes, to make
you go green in the gazer. Do you hear what I'm seeing, hammet? And remember
that golden silence gives consent, Mr Anklegazer! Cease to be civil, learn
to say nay! Whisht! Come here, Herr Studiosus, till I tell you a wig in your
ear. We'll do a whisper drive, for if the barishnyas got a twitter of it
they'd tell the housetops and then all Cadbury would go crackers. Look! Do
you see your dial in the rockingglass? Look well ! Bend down a stigmy till
I! It's secret! Iggri, I say, the booseleers! I had it from Lamppost Shawe.
And he had it from the Mullah. And Mull took it from a Bluecoat schooler.
And Gay Socks jot it from Potapheu's wife. And Rantipoll tipped the wink
from old Mrs Tinbullet. And as for she was confussed by pro-Brother
Thacolicus. And the good brother feels he would need to defecate you. And
the Flimsy Follettes are simply beside each other. And Kelly, Kenny and
Keogh are up up and in arms. That a cross may crush me if I refuse to
believe in it. That I may rock anchor through the ages if I hope it's not
true. That the host may choke me if I beneighbour you without my charity!
Sh! Shem, you are. Sh! You are mad!
He points the deathbone and the quick are still. Insomnia, somnia
somniorum. Awmawm.
MERCIUS (of hisself): Domine vopiscus! My fault, his fault, a kingship
through a fault! Pariah, cannibal Cain, I who oathily forswore the womb that
bore you and the paps I sometimes sucked, you who ever since have been one
black mass of jigs and jimjams, haunted by a convulsionary sense of not
having been or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming,
bewailing like a man that innocence which I could not defend like a woman,
lo,you there, Cathmon-Carbery, and thank Movies from the innermost depths of
my still attrite heart,Wherein the days of youyouth are evermixed mimine,
now ere the compline hour of being alone athands itself and a puff or so
before we yield our spiritus to the wind, for (though that royal one has not
yet drunk a gouttelette from his consummation and the flowerpot on the pole,
the spaniel pack and their quarry, retainers and the public house proprietor
have not budged a millimetre and all that has been done has yet to be done
and done again, when's day's woe, and lo, you're doomed, joyday dawns and,
la, you dominate) it is to you, firstborn and firstfruit of woe, to me,
branded sheep, pick of the wasterpaperbaskel, by the tremours of Thundery
and Ulerin's dogstar, you alone, windblasted tree of the knowledge of
beautiful andevil, ay, clothed upon with the metuor and shimmering like the
horescens, astroglodynamonologos, the child of Nilfit's father, blzb, to me
unseen blusher in an obscene coalhole, the cubilibum of your secret sigh,
dweller in the downandoutermost where voice only of the dead may come,
because ye left from me, because ye laughed on me, because, O me lonly son,
ye are forgetting me!, that our turfbrown mummy is acoming, alpilla,
beltilla, ciltilla, deltilla, running with her tidings, old the news of the
great big world, sonnies had a scrap, woewoewoe! bab's baby walks at seven
months, waywayway ! bride leaves her raid at Punchestime, stud stoned before
a racecourseful, two belles that make the one appeal, dry yanks will visit
old sod, and fourtiered skirts are up, mesdames, while Parimiknie wears
popular short legs, and twelve hows to mix a tipsy wake, did ye hear, colt
Cooney? did ye ever, filly Fortescue? with a beck, with a spring, all her
rillringlets shaking, rocks drops in her tachie, tramtokens in her hair, all
waived to a point and then all inuendation, little oldfashioned mummy,
little wonderful mummy, ducking under bridges, bellhopping the weirs,
dodging by a bit of bog, rapidshooting round the bends, by Tallaght's green
hills and the pools of the phooka and a place they call it Blessington and
slipping sly by Sallynoggin, as happy as the day is wet, babbling, bubbling,
chattering to herself, deloothering the fields on their elbows leaning with
the sloothering slide of her, giddygaddy, grannyma, gossipaceous Anna Livia.
He lifts the lifewand and the dumb speak.
-- Quoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiquoiq!
O tell me all about
Anna Livia! I want to hear all about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna
Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me all. Tell me now.
You'll die when you hear. Well, you know, when the old cheb went futt and
did what you know. Yes, I know, go on. Wash quit and don't be dabbling. Tuck
up your sleeves and loosen your talktapes. And don't butt me -- hike! --
when you bend. Or whatever it was they threed to make out he thried to two
in the Fiendish park. He's an awful old reppe. Look at the shirt of him !
Look at the dirt of it! He has all my water black on me. And it steeping and
stuping since this time last wik. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it?
I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my
hand and starving my famine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well
with your battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw
stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it! What was it he
did a tail at all on Animal Sendai? And how long was he under loch and
neagh? It was put in the newses what he did, nicies and priers, the King
fierceas Humphrey, with illysus distilling, exploits and all. But toms will
till. I know he well. Temp untamed will hist for no man. As you spring so
shall you neap. O, the roughty old rappe! Minxing marrage and making loof.
Reeve Gootch was right and Reeve Drughad was sinistrous! And the cut of him!
And the strut of him! How he used to hold his head as high as a howeth, the
famous eld duke alien, with a hump of grandeur on him like a walking wiesel
rat. And his derry's own drawl and his corksown blather and his doubling
stutter and his gullaway swank. Ask Lictor Hackett or Lector Reade of Garda
Growley or the Boy with the Billyclub. How elster is he a called at all?
Qu'appelle? Huges Caput Earlyfouler. Or where was he born or how was he
found? Urgothland, Tvistown on the Kattekat? New Hunshire, Concord on the
Merrimake? Who blocksmitt her saft anvil or yelled lep to her pail? Was her
banns never loosened in Adam and Eve's or were him and her but captain
spliced? For mine ether duck I thee drake. And by my wildgaze I thee gander.
Flowey and Mount on the brink of time makes wishes and fears for a happy
isthmass. She can show all her lines, with love, license to play. And if
they don't remarry that hook and eye may ! O, passmore that and oxus
another! Don Dom Dombdomb and his wee follyo! Was his help inshored in the
Stork and Pelican against bungelars, flu and third risk parties? I heard he
dug good tin with his doll, delvan first and duvlin after, when he raped her
home, Sabrine asthore, in a parakeet's cage, by dredgerous lands and devious
delts, playing catched and mythed with the gleam of her shadda, (if a flic
had been there to pop up and pepper him!) past auld min's manse and Maisons
Allfou and the rest of incurables and the last of immurables, the quaggy
waag for stumbling. Who sold you that jackalantern's tale? Pemmican's pasty
pie! Not a grasshoop to ring her, not an antsgrain of ore. In a gabbard he
barqued it, the boat of life, from the harbourless Ivernikan Okean, till he
spied the loom of his landfall and he loosed two croakers from under his
tilt, the gran Phenician rover. By the smell of her kelp they made the
pigeonhouse. Like fun they did! But where was Himself, the timoneer? That
marchantman he suivied their scutties right over the wash, his cameleer's
burnous breezing up on him, till with his runagate bowmpriss he roade and
borst her bar. Pilcomayo! Suchcaughtawan! And the whale's away with the
grayling! Tune your pipes and fall ahumming, you born ijypt, and you're
nothing short of one! Well, ptellomey soon and curb your escumo. When they
saw him shoot swift up her sheba sheath, like any gay lord salomon, her
bulls they were ruhring, surfed with spree. Boyarka buah! Boyana bueh~He
erned his lille Bunbath hard, our staly bred, the trader. He did. Look at
here. In this wet of his prow. Don't you know he was kaldt a bairn of the
brine, Wasserbourne the waterbaby? Havemmarea, so he was! H.C.E. has a
codfisck ee. Shyr she's nearly as badher as him herself. Who? Anna Livia?
Ay, Anna Livia. Do you know she was calling bakvandets sals from all around,
nyumba noo, chamba choo, to go in till him, her erring cheef, and tickle the
pontiff aisy-oisy? She was? Gota pot! Yssel that the limmat? As El Negro
winced when he wonced in La Plate. O, tell me all I want to hear, how loft
she was lift a laddery dextro ! A coneywink after the bunting fell. Letting
on she didn't care, sina feza, me absantee, him man in passession, the
proxenete! Proxenete and phwhat is phthat? Emme for your reussischer Honddu
jarkon! Tell us in franca langua. And call a spate a spate. Did they never
sharee you ebro at skol, you antiabecedarian? It's just the same as if I was
to go par examplum now in conservancy's cause out of telekinesis and
proxenete you. For coxyt sake and is that what she is? Botlettle I thought
she'd act that loa. Didn't you spot her in her windaug, wubbling up on an
osiery chair, with a meusic before her all cunniform letters, pretending to
ribble a reedy derg on a fiddle she bogans without a band on? Sure she can't
fiddan a dee, with bow or abandon! Sure, she can't! Tista suck. Well, I
never now heard the like of that! Tell me moher. Tell me moatst. Well, old
Humber was as glommen as grampus, with the tares at his thor and the buboes
for ages and neither bowman nor shot abroad and bales allbrant on the crests
of rockies and nera lamp in kitchen or church and giant's holes in Grafton's
causeway and deathcap mushrooms round Funglus grave and the great tribune's
barrow all darnels occumule, sittang sambre on his sett, drammen and
drommen, usking queasy quizzers of his ruful continence, his childlinen
scarf to encourage his obsequies where he'd check their debths in that
mormon's thames, be questing and handsetl, hop, step and a deepend, with his
berths in their toiling moil, his swallower open from swolf to fore and the
snipes of the gutter pecking his crocs, hungerstriking all alone and holding
doomsdag over hunselv, dreeing his weird, with his dander up, and his fringe
combed over his eygs and droming on loft till the sight of the sternes,
after zwarthy kowse and weedy broeks and the tits of buddy and the loits of
pest and to peer was Parish worth thette mess. You'd think all was dodo
belonging to him how he durmed adranse in durance vaal. He had been belching
for severn years. And there she was, Anna Livia, she darent catch a winkle
of sleep, purling around like a chit of a child, Wendawanda, a fingerthick,
in a Lapsummer skirt and damazon cheeks, for to ishim bonzour to her dear
dubber Dan. With neuphraties and sault from his maggias. And an odd time
she'd cook him up blooms of fisk and lay to his heartsfoot her meddery eygs,
yayis, and staynish beacons on toasc and a cupenhave so weeshywashy of
Greenland's tay or a dzoupgan of Kaffue mokau an sable or Sikiang sukry or
his ale of ferns in trueart pewter and a shinkobread (hamjambo, bana?) for
to plaise that man hog stay his stomicker till her pyrraknees shrunk to
nutmeg graters while her togglejoints shuck with goyt and as rash as she'd
russ with her peakload of vivers up on her sieve (metauwero rage it swales
and rieses) my hardey Hek he'd kast them frome him, with a stour of scorn,
as much as to say you sow and you sozh, and if he didn't peg the platteau on
her tawe, believe you me, she was safe enough. And then she'd esk to vistule
a hymn, The Heart Bowed Down or The Rakes of Mallow or Chelli Michele's La
Calumnia un Vermicelli or a balfy bit ov old Jo Robidson. Sucho fuffing a
fifeing 'twould cut you in two! She'd bate the hen that crowed on the
turrace of Babbel. What harm if she knew how to cockle her mouth ! And not a
mag out of Hum no more than out of the mangle weight. Is that a faith?
That's the fact. Then riding the ricka and roya romanche, Annona, gebroren
aroostokrat Nivia, dochter of Sense and Art, with Sparks' pirryphlickathims
funkling her fan, anner frostivying tresses dasht with virevlies,-- while
the prom beauties sreeked nith their bearers' skins!--in a period gown of
changeable jade that would robe the wood of two cardinals' chairs and crush
poor Cullen and smother MacCabe. O blazerskate! Theirs porpor patches! And
brahming to him down the feedchute, with her femtyfyx kinds of fondling
endings, the poother rambling off her nose: Vuggybarney, Wickerymandy!
Hello, ducky, please don't die! Do you know what she started cheeping after,
with a choicey voicey like waterglucks or Madame Delba to Romeoreszk? You'll
never guess. Tell me. Tell me. Phoebe, dearest, tell, O tell me and I loved
you better nor you knew. And letting on hoon var daft about the warbly sangs
from over holmen: High hellskirt saw ladies hensmoker lilyhung pigger: and
soay and soan and so firth and so forth in a tone sonora and Oom Bothar
below like Bheri-Bheri in his sandy cloak, so umvolosy, as deaf as a yawn,
the stult! Go away! Poor deef old deary! Yare only teasing! Anna Liv? As
chalk is my judge! And didn't she up in sorgues and go and trot doon and
stand in her douro, puffing her old dudheen, and every shirvant siligirl or
wensum farmerette walking the pilend roads, Sawy, Fundally, Daery or Maery,
Milucre, Awny or Graw, usedn't she make her a simp or sign to slip inside by
the sullyport? You don't say, the sillypost? Bedouix but I do! Calling them
in, one by one (To Blockbeddum here! Here the Shoebenacaddie!) and legging a
jig or so on the sihl to show them how to shake their benders and the dainty
how to bring to mind the gladdest garments out of sight and all the way of a
maid with a man and making a sort of a cackling noise like two and a penny
or half a crown and holding up a silliver shiner. Lordy, lordy, did she so?
Well, of all the ones ever I heard! Throwing all the neiss little whores in
the world at him! To inny captured wench you wish of no matter what sex of
pleissful ways two adda tammar a lizzy a lossie to hug and hab haven in
Humpy's apron!
And what was the wyerye rima she made! Odet! Odet! Tell me the trent of
it while I'm lathering hail out of Denis Florence MacCarthy's combies. Rise
it, flut ye, pian piena! I'm dying down off my iodine feet until I lerryn
Anna Livia's cushingloo, that was writ by one and rede by two and trouved by
a poule in the parco! I can see that, I see you are. How does it tummel?
Listen now. Are you listening? Yes, yes ! Idneed I am ! Tarn your ore ouse !
Essonne inne !
By earth end the cloudy but I badly went e brandnew bankside, bedamp
and I do, and a plumper at that!
For the putty affair I have is wore out, so it is, sitting,yaping and
waiting for my old Dane hodder dodderer, my life in death companion, my
frugal key of our larder, my much-altered camel's hump, my jointspoiler, my
maymoon's honey, my fool to the last Decemberer, to wake himself out of his
winter's doze and bore me down like he used to.
Is there irwell a lord of the manor or a knight of the shire at strike,
I wonder, that'd dip me a dace or two in cash for washing and darning his
worshipful socks for him now we're run out of horsebrose and milk?
Only for my short Brittas bed made's as snug as it smells it's out I'd
lep and off with me to the slobs deua Tolka or the plage au Clontarf to
feale the gay aire of my salt troublin bay and the race of the saywint up me
ambushure.
Onon! Onon! tell me more. Tell me every tiny teign. I want to know
every single ingul. Down to what made the potters fly into jagsthole. And
why were the vesles vet. That homa fever's winning me wome. If a mahun of
the horse but hard me! We'd be bundukiboi meet askarigal. Well, now comes
the hazelhatchery part. After Clondalkin the Kings's Inns. We'll soon be
there with the freshet. How many aleveens had she in tool? I can't rightly
rede you that. Close only knows. Some say she had three figures to fill and
confined herself to a hundred eleven, wan bywan bywan, making
meanacuminamoyas. Olaph lamm et, all that pack? We won't have room in the
kirkeyaard. She can't remember half of the cradlenames she smacked on them
by the grace of her boxing bishop's infallible slipper, the cane for Kund
and abbles for Eyolf and ayther nayther for Yakov Yea. A hundred and how?
They did well to rechristien her Pluhurabelle. O loreley! What a loddon
lodes! Heigh ho! But it's quite on the cards she'll shed more and merrier,
twills and trills, sparefours and spoilfives, nordsihkes and sudsevers and
ayes and neins to a litter. Grandfarthring nap and Messamisery and the knave
of all knaves and the joker. Heehaw! She must have been a gadabount in her
day, so she must, more than most. Shoal she was, gidgad. She had a flewmen
of her owen. Then a toss nare scared that lass, so aimai moe, that's agapo!
Tell me, tell me, how cam she camlin through all her fellows, the neckar she
was, the diveline? Casting her perils before our swains from Fonte-in-Monte
to Tidingtown and from Tidingtown tilhavet. Linking one and knocking the
next, tapting a flank and tipting a jutty and palling in and pietaring out
and clyding by on her eastway. Waiwhou was the first thurever burst? Someone
he was, whuebra they were, in a tactic attack or in single combat. Tinker,
tilar, souldrer, salor, Pieman Peace or Polistaman. That's the thing I'm
elwys on edge to esk. Push up and push vardar and come to uphill
headquarters! Was it waterlows year, after Grattan or Flood, or when maids
were in Arc or when three stood hosting? Fidaris will find where the Doubt
arises like Nieman from Nirgends found the Nihil. Worry you sighin foh,
Albern, O Anser? Untie the gemman's fistiknots, Qvic and Nuancee! She can't
put her hand on him for the moment. Tez thelon langlo, walking weary! Such a
loon waybashwards to row! She sid herself she hardly knows whuon the annals
her graveller was, a dynast of Leinster, a wolf of the sea, or what he did
or how blyth she played or how, when, why, where and who offon he jumpnad
her and how it was gave her away. She was just a young thin pale soft shy
slim slip of a thing then, sauntering, by silvamoonlake and he was a heavy
trudging lurching lieabroad of a Curraghman, making his hay for whose sun to
shine on, as tough as the oaktrees (peats be with them!) used to rustle that
time down by the dykes of killing Kildare, for forstfellfoss with a plash
across her. She thought she's sankh neathe the ground with nymphant shame
when he gave her the tigris eye ! O happy fault ! Me wish it was he ! You're
wrong there, corribly wrong! Tisn't only tonight you're anacheronistic! It
was ages behind that when nullahs were nowhere, in county Wickenlow, garden
of Erin, before she ever dreamt she'd lave Kilbride and go foaming under
Horsepass bridge, with the great southerwestern windstorming her traces and
the midland's grainwaster asarch for her track, to wend her ways byandby,
robecca or worse, to spin and to grind, to swab and to thrash, for all her
golden lifey in the barleyfields and pennylotts of Humphrey's
fordofhurdlestown and lie with a landleaper, wellingtonorseher. Alesse, the
lagos of girly days! For the dove of the dunas! Wasut? Izod? Are you sarthin
suir? Not where the Finn fits into the Mourne, not where the Nore takes
lieve of Blчm, not where the Braye divarts the Farer, not where the Moy
changez her minds twixt Cullin and Conn tween Cunn and Collin? Or where
Neptune sculled and Tritonville rowed and leandros three bumped heroines
two? Neya, narev, nen, nonni, nos ! Then whereabouts in Ow and Ovoca? Was it
yst with wyst or Lucan Yokan or where the hand of man has never set foot?
Dell me where, the fairy ferse time! I will if you listen. You know the
dinkel dale of Luggelaw? Well, there once dwelt a local heremite, Michael
Arklow was his riverend name, (with many a sigh I aspersed his lavabibs!)
and one venersderg in junojuly, oso sweet and so cool and so limber she
looked, Nance the Nixie, Nanon L'Escaut, in the silence, of the sycomores,
all listening, the kindling curves you simply can't stop feeling, he plunged
both of his newly anointed hands, the core of his cushlas, in her singimari
saffron strumans of hair, parting them and soothing her and mingling it,
that was deepdark and ample like this red bog at sundown. By that Vale
Vowclose's lucydlac, the reignbeau's heavenarches arronged orranged her.
Afrothdizzying galbs, her enamelled eyes indergoading him on to the vierge
violetian. Wish a wish! Why a why? Mavro ! Letty Lerck's lafing light throw
those laurals now on her daphdaph teasesong petrock. Maass! But the majik
wavus has elfun anon meshes. And Simba the Slayer of his Oga is slewd. He
cuddle not help himself, thurso that hot on him, he had to forget the monk
in the man so, rubbing her up and smoothing her down, he baised his lippes
in smiling mood, kiss akiss after kisokushk (as he warned her niver to,
niver to, nevar) on Anna-na-Poghue's of the freckled forehead. While you'd
parse secheressa she hielt her souff'. But she ruz two feet hire in her
aisne aestumation. And steppes on stilts ever since. That was kissuahealing
with bantur for balm! O, wasn't he the bold priest? And wasn't she the
naughty Livvy? Nautic Naama's now her navn. Two lads in scoutsch breeches
went through her before that, Barefoot Burn and Wallowme Wade,
Lugnaquillia's noblesse pickts, before she had a hint of a hair at her fanny
to hide or a bossom to tempt a birch canoedler not to mention a bulgic
porterhouse barge. And ere that again, leada, laida, all unraidy, too faint
to buoy the fairiest rider, too frail to flirt with a cygnet's plume, she
was licked by a hound, Chirripa-Chirruta, while poing her pee, pure and
simple, on the spur of the hill in old Kippure, in birdsong and
shearingtime, but first of all, worst of all, the wiggly livvly, she
sideslipped out by a gap in the Devil's glen while Sally her nurse was sound
asleep in a sloot and, feefee fiefie, fell over a spillway before she found
her stride and lay and wriggled in all the stagnant black pools of rainy
under a fallow coo and she laughed innocefree with her limbs aloft and a
whole drove of maiden hawthorns blushing and looking askance upon her.
Drop me the sound of the findhorn's name, Mtu or Mti, sombogger was
wisness. And drip me why in the flenders was she frickled. And trickle me
through was she marcellewaved or was it weirdly a wig she wore. And whitside
did they droop their glows in their florry, aback to wist or affront to sea?
In fear to hear the dear so near or longing loth and loathing longing? Are
you in the swim or are you out? O go in, go on, go an! I mean about what you
know. I know right well what you mean. Rother! You'd like the coifs and
guimpes, snouty, and me to do the greasy jub on old Veronica's wipers. What
am I rancing now and I'll thank you? Is it a pinny or is it a surplice?
Arran, where's your nose? And where's the starch? That's not the vesdre
benediction smell. I can tell from here by their eau de Colo and the scent
of her oder they're Mrs Magrath's. And you ought to have aird them. They've
moist come off her. Creases in silk they are, not crampton lawn. Baptiste
me, father, for she has sinned! Through her catchment ring she freed them
easy, with her hips' hurrahs for her knees'dontelleries. The only parr with
frills in old the plain. So they are, I declare! Welland well! If tomorrow
keeps fine who'll come tripping to sightsee? How'll? Ask me next what I
haven't got! The Belvedarean exhibitioners. In their cruisery caps and
oarsclub colours. What hoo, they band! And what hoa, they buck! And here is
her nubilee letters too. Ellis on quay in scarlet thread. Linked for the
world on a flushcaloured field. Annan exe after to show they're not Laura
Keown's. O, may the diabolo twisk your seifety pin! You child of Mammon,
Kinsella's Lilith! Now who has been tearing the leg of her drawars on her?
Which leg is it? The one with the bells on it. Rinse them out and aston
along with you! Where did I stop? Never stop! Continuarration! You're not
there yet. I amstel waiting. Garonne, garonne!
Well, after it was put in the Mericy Cordial Mendicants'
Sitterdag-Zindeh-Munaday Wakeschrift (for once they sullied their white
kidloves, chewing cuds after their dinners of cheeckin and beggin, with
their show us it here and their mind out of that and their when you're quite
finished with the reading matarial), even the snee that snowdon his hoaring
hair had a skunner against him. Thaw, thaw, sava, savuto! Score Her Chuff
Exsquire! Everywhere erriff you went and every bung you arver dropped into,
in cit or suburb or in addled areas, the Rose and Bottle or Phoenix Tavern
or Power's Inn or Jude's Hotel or wherever you scoured the countryside from
Nannywater to Vartryville or from Porta Lateen to the lootin quarter you
found his ikom etsched tipside down or the cornerboys cammocking his guy and
Morris the Man, with the role of a royss in his turgos the turrible,
(Evropeahahn cheic house, unskimmed sooit and yahoort, hamman now cheekmee,
Ahdahm this way make, Fatima, half tum!) reeling and railing round the local
as the peihos piped und ubanjees twanged, with oddfellow's triple tiara
busby rotundarinking round his scalp. Like Pate-by-the-Neva or
Pete-over-Meer. This is the Hausman all paven and stoned, that cribbed the
Cabin that never was owned that cocked his leg and hennad his Egg. And the
mauldrin rabble around him in areopage, fracassing a great bingkan cagnan
with their timpan crowders. Mind your Grimmfather! Think of your Ma! Hing
the Hong is his jove's hangnomen ! Lilt a bolero, bulling a law ! She swore
on croststyx nyne wyndabouts she's be level with all the snags of them yet.
Par the Vulnerable Virgin's Mary del Dame! So she said to herself she'd
frame a plan to fake a shine, the mischiefmaker, the like of it you niever
heard. What plan? Tell me quick and dongu so crould! What the meurther did
she mague? Well, she bergened a zakbag, a shammy mailsack, with the lend of
a loan of the light of his lampion, off one of her swapsons, Shaun the Post,
and then she went and consulted her chapboucqs, old Mot Moore, Casey's
Euclid and the Fashion Display and made herself tidal to join in the
mascarete. O gig goggle of gigguels. I can't tell you how! It's too
screaming to rizo, rabbit it all! Minneha, minnehi minaaehe, minneho! O but
you must, you must really! Make my hear it gurgle gurgle, like the farest
gargle gargle in the dusky dirgle dargle! By the holy well of Mulhuddart I
swear I'd pledge my chanza getting to heaven through Tirry and Killy's mount
of impiety to hear it all, aviary word! O, leave me my faculties, woman, a
while! If you don't like my story get out of the punt. Well, have it your
own way, so. Here, sit down and do as you're bid. Take my stroke and bend to
your bow. Forward in and pull your overthepoise! Lisp it slaney and crisp it
quiet. Deel me longsome. Tongue your time now. Breathe thet deep. Thouat's
the fairway. Hurry slow and scheldt you go. Lynd us your blessed ashes here
till I scrub the canon's underpants. Flow now. Ower more. And pooleypooley.
First she let her hair fal and down it flussed to her feet its teviots
winding coils. Then, mothernaked, she sampood herself with galawater and
fraguant pistania mud, wupper and lauar, from crown to sole. Next she
greesed the groove of her keel, warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with
antifouling butterscatch and turfentide and serpenthyme and with leafmould
she ushered round prunella isles and eslats dun, quincecunct, allover her
little mary. Peeld gold of waxwork her jellybelly and her grains of incense
anguille bronze. And after that she wove a garland for her hair. She pleated
it. She plaited it. Of meadowgrass and riverflags, the bulrush and
waterweed, and of fallen griefs of weeping willow. Then she made her
bracelets and her anklets and her armlets and a jetty amulet for necklace of
clicking cobbles and pattering pebbles and rumbledown rubble, richmond and
rehr, of Irish rhunerhinerstones and shellmarble bangles. That done, a dawk
of smut to her airy ey, Annushka Lutetiavitch Pufflovah, and the lellipos
cream to her lippeleens and the pick of the paintbox for her pommettes, from
strawbirry reds to extra violates, and she sendred her boudeloire maids to
His Affluence, Ciliegia Grande and Kirschie Real, the two chirsines, with
respecks from his missus, seepy and sewery, and a request might she passe of
him for a minnikin. A call to pay and light a taper, in Brie-on-Arrosa, back
in a sprizzling. The cock striking mine, the stalls bridely sign, there's
Zambosy waiting for Me! She said she wouldn't be half her length away. Then,
then, as soon as the lump his back was turned, with her mealiebag slang over
her shulder, Anna Livia, oysterface, forth of her bassein came.
Describe her! Hustle along, why can't you? Spitz on the iern while it's
hot. I wouldn't miss her for irthing on nerthe. Not for the lucre of lomba
strait. Oceans of Gaud, I mosel hear that! Ogowe presta! Leste, before Julia
sees her! Ishekarry and washemeskad, the carishy caratimaney? Whole lady
fair? Duodecimoroon? Bon a ventura? Malagassy? What had she on, the liddel
oud oddity? How much did she scallop, harness and weights? Here she is,
Amnisty Ann! Call her calamity electrifies man.
No electress at all but old Moppa Necessity, angin mother of injons.
I'll tell you a test. But you must sit still. Will you hold your peace and
listen well to what I am going to say now? It might have been ten or twenty
to one of the night of Allclose or the nexth of April when the flip of her
hoogly igloo flappered and out toetippit a bushman woman, the dearest little
moma ever you saw, nodding around her, all smiles, with ems of embarras and
aues to awe, between two ages, a judyqueen, not up to your elb. Quick, look
at her cute and saise her quirk for the bicker she lives the slicker she
grows. Save us and tagus ! No more? Werra where in ourthe did you ever pick
a Lambay chop as big as a battering ram? Ay, you're right. I'm epte to
forgetting, Like Liviam Liddle did Loveme Long. The linth of my hough, I say
! She wore a ploughboy's nailstudded clogs, a pair of ploughfields in
themselves: a sugarloaf hat with a gaudyquiviry peak and a band of gorse for
an arnoment and a hundred streamers dancing off it and a guildered pin to
pierce it: owlglassy bicycles boggled her eyes: and a fishnetzeveil for the
sun not to spoil the wrinklings of her hydeaspects: potatorings boucled the
loose laubes of her laudsnarers: her nude cuba stockings were
salmospotspeckled: she sported a galligo shimmy of hazevaipar tinto that
never was fast till it ran in the washing: stout stays, the rivals, lined
her length: her bloodorange bockknickers, a two in one garment, showed
natural nigger boggers, fancyfastened, free to undo: her blackstripe tan
joseph was sequansewn and teddybearlined, with wavy rushgreen epaulettes and
a leadown here and there of royal swansruff: a brace of gaspers stuck in her
hayrope garters: her civvy codroy coat with alpheubett buttons was
boundaried round with a twobar tunnel belt: a fourpenny bit in each
pocketside weighed her safe from the blowaway windrush; she had a clothespeg
tight astride on her joki's nose and she kep on grinding a sommething quaint
in her fiumy mouth and the rrreke of the fluve of the tail of the gawan of
her snuffdrab siouler's skirt trailed ffiffty odd Irish miles behind her
lungarhodes.
Hellsbells, I'm sorry I missed her! Sweet gumptyum and nobody fainted !
But in whelk of her mouths? Was her naze alight? Everyone that saw her said
the dowce little delia looked a bit queer. Lotsy trotsy, mind the poddle!
Missus, be good and don't fol in the say! Fenny poor hex she must have
charred. Kickhams a frumpier ever you saw! Making mush mullet's eyes at her
boys dobelon. And they crowned her their chariton queen, all the maids. Of
the may? You don't say! Well for her she couldn't see herself. I recknitz
wharfore the darling murrayed her mirror. She did? Mersey me! There was a
koros of drouthdropping surfacemen, boomslanging and plugchewing,
fruiteyeing and flowerfeeding, in contemplation of the fluctuation and the
undification of her filimentation, lolling and leasing on North Lazers' Waal
all eelfare week by the Jukar Yoick's and as soon as they saw her meander by
that marritime way in her grasswinter's weeds and twigged who was under her
archdeaconess bonnet, Avondale's fish and Clarence's poison, sedges an to
aneber, Wit-uponCrutches to Master Bates: Between our two southsates and the
granite they're warming, or her face has been lifted or Alp has doped!
But what was the game in her mixed baggyrhatty? Just the tembo in her
tumbo or pilipili from her pepperpot? Saas and taas and specis bizaas. And
where in thunder did she plunder? Fore the battle or efter the ball? I want
to get it frisk from the soorce. I aubette my bearb it's worth while