FINNEGANS WAKE

James Joyce

 

Book II

chapter 4

383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391

392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399  

 

 

       — Three quarks for Muster Mark!
    Sure he hasn't got much of a bark
    And sure any he has it's all beside the mark.
    But O, Wreneagle Almighty, wouldn't un be a sky of a lark
    To see that old buzzard whooping about for uns shirt in the dark
    And he hunting round for uns speckled trousers around by Palmer-
        stown Park?
    Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
    You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah's ark
    And you think you're cock of the wark.
    Fowls, up! Tristy's the spry young spark
    That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
    Without ever winking the tail of a feather
    And that's how that chap's going to make his money and mark!

    Overhoved, shrillgleescreaming. That song sang seaswans.
The winging ones. Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel
and capercallzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold
when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde.
    And there they were too, when it was dark, whilest the wild-
caps was circling, as slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne
the fates, the wardorse moved, by courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau
Downbellow Kaempersally, listening in, as hard as they could, in
Dubbeldorp, the donker, by the tourneyold of the wattarfalls,
with their vuoxens and they kemin in so hattajocky (only a


quartebuck askull for the last acts) to the solans and the sycamores
and the wild geese and the gannets and the migratories and the
mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the rockby-
suckerassousyoceanal sea, all four of them, all sighing and sob-
bing, and listening. Moykle ahoykling!
    They were the big four, the four maaster waves of Erin, all
listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old
Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes
they used to be saying grace together, right enough, bausnabeatha,
in Miracle Squeer: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gre-
gory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and
sure, thank God, there are no more of us: and, sure now, you
wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow and old
Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more of us and so
now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be
saying their grace before fish, repeating itself, after the interims
of Augusburgh for auld lang syne. And so there they were, with
their palms in their hands, like the pulchrum's proculs, spraining
their ears, luistening and listening to the oceans of kissening, with
their eyes glistening, all the four, when he was kiddling and
cuddling and bunnyhugging scrumptious his colleen bawn and
dinkum belle, an oscar sister, on the fifteen inch loveseat, behind
the chieftaness stewardesses cubin, the hero, of Gaelic champion,
the onliest one of her choice, her bleaueyedeal of a girl's friend,
neither bigugly nor smallnice, meaning pretty much everything
to her then, with his sinister dexterity, light and rufthandling,
vicemversem her ragbags et assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and
offsides, the brueburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was
palpably wrong and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and
kissing her, tootyfay charmaunt, in her ensemble of maidenna
blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies, Isolamisola,
and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was
whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three, and
dissimulating themself, with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue,
the dear dear annual, they all four remembored who made the
world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar ear


cuddling and kiddling her, after an oyster supper in Cullen's barn,
from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening, in the good
old bygone days of Dion Boucicault, the elder, in Arrah-na-
pogue, in the otherworld of the passing of the key of Two-
tongue Common, with Nush, the carrier of the word, and with
Mesh, the cutter of the reed, in one of the farback, pitchblack
centuries when who made the world, when they knew O'Clery,
the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the
nod, neer the Nodderlands Nurskery, whiteboys and oakboys,
peep of tim boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the sin
was shining, with their slates and satchels, playing Florian's fables
and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum mem-
bers, in the Queen's Ultonian colleges, along with another fellow,
a prime number, Totius Quotius, and paying a pot of tribluts
to Boris O'Brien, the buttler of Clumpthump, two looves, two
turnovers plus (one) crown, to see the mad dane ating his
vitals. Wulf! Wulf! And throwing his tongue in the snakepit. Ah
ho! The ladies have mercias! It brought the dear prehistoric
scenes all back again, as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, natu-
ral born lovers of nature, in all her moves and senses, and after
that now there he was, that mouth of mandibles, vowed to pure
beauty, and his Arrah-na-poghue, when she murmurously, after
she let a cough, gave her firm order, if he wouldn't please mind,
for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best favourite lyrical
national blooms in Luvillicit, though not too much, reflecting on
the situation, drinking in draughts of purest air serene and re-
velling in the great outdoors, before the four of them, in the fair
fine night, whilst the stars shine bright, by she light of he moon,
we longed to be spoon, before her honeyoldloom, the plaint effect
being in point of fact there being in the whole, a seatuition so
shocking and scandalous and now, thank God, there were no more
of them and he poghuing and poghuing like the Moreigner
bowed his crusted hoed and Tilly the Tailor's Tugged a Tar in the
Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number and there they were, like a
foremasters in the rolls, listening, to Rolando's deepen darblun
Ossian roll, (Lady, it was just too gorgeous, that expense of a


lovely tint, embellished by the charms of art and very well con-
ducted and nicely mannered and all the horrid rudy noisies locked
up in nasty cubbyhole!) as tired as they were, the three jolly
topers, with their mouths watering, all the four, the old connu-
bial men of the sea, yambing around with their old pantometer,
in duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall and all wishen-
ing for anything at all of the bygone times, the wald times and
the fald times and the hempty times and the dempty times, for a
cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman
squash, with them, all four, listening and spraining their ears for
the millennium and all their mouths making water.
    Johnny. Ah well, sure, that's the way (up) and it so happened
there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their pater familias, and (up)
the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear
old heladies and really they looked awfully pretty and so nice and
bespectable and after that they had their fathomglasses to find
out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat, just now like the old
Merquus of Pawerschoof, the old determined despot, (quiescents
in brage!
) only for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer
there dormont, in front of the place near O'Clery's, at the darku-
mound numbur wan, beside that ancient Dame street, where the
statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell, prostituent behind the Trinity
College, that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges,
Bootersbay Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters, the pru-
misceous creaters, that sells all the emancipated statues and
flowersports, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green,
after he made the centuries, going to the tailturn horseshow, be-
fore the angler nomads flood, along with another fellow, active
impalsive, and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians
and the barrancos and the cappunchers childerun, Jules, every-
one, Gotopoxy, with the houghers on them, highstepping the
fissure and fracture lines, seven five threes up, three five
sevens down, to get out of his way, onasmuck as their withers
conditions could not possibly have been improved upon,
(praisers be to deeseesee!) like hopolopocattls, erumping oround
their Judgity Yaman, and all the tercentenary horses and priest


hunters, from the Curragh, and confusionaries and the authori-
ties, Noord Amrikaans and Suid Aferican cattleraiders (so they
say) all over like a tiara dullfuoco, in his grey half a tall hat and
his amber necklace and his crimson harness and his leathern jib
and his cheapshein hairshirt and his scotobrit sash and his para-
pilagian gallowglasses (how do you do, jaypee, Elevato!) to find
out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame
James? Get out of my way!), forkbearded and bluetoothed and
bellied and boneless, from Strathlyffe and Aylesburg and North-
umberland Anglesey, the whole yaghoodurt sweepstakings and
all the horsepowers. But now, talking of hayastdanars and
wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance,
(the explutor, his three andesiters and the two pantellarias) that
reminds me about the manausteriums of the poor Marcus of Lyons
and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four
of us and there they were now, listening right enough, the four
saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore, long long ago
in the olden times Momonian, throw darker hour sorrows, the
princest day, when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem, and Lally
in the rain, with the blank prints, now extincts, after the wreak
of Wormans' Noe, the barmaisigheds, when my heart knew no
care, and after that then there was the official landing of Lady
Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S., and the
christening of Queen Baltersby, the Fourth Buzzersbee, accord-
ing to Her Grace the bishop Senior, off the whate shape, and
then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians
and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea,
and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the
castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin
Isles, at that time, suir knows, in the red sea and a lovely
mourning paper and thank God, as Saman said, there were no
more of him. And that now was how it was. The arzurian deeps
o'er his humbodumbones sweeps. And his widdy the giddy is
wreathing her murmoirs as her gracest triput to the Grocery
Trader's Manthly. Mind mand gunfree by Gladeys Rayburn!
Runtable's Reincorporated. The new world presses. Where the


old conk cruised now croons the yunk. Exeunc throw a darras
Kram of Llawnroc, ye gink guy, kirked into yord. Enterest at-
tawonder Wehpen, luftcat revol, fairescapading in his natsirt.
Tuesy tumbles. And mild aunt Liza is as loose as her neese. Ful-
fest withim inbrace behent. As gent would deem oncontinent.
So mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin.
Like the newcasters in their old plyable of A Royenne Devours.
Jazzaphoney and Mirillovis and Nippy she nets best. Fing. Ay,
ay! Sobbos. And so he was. Sabbus.
    Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish
armada, all scattered, and all officially drowned, there and then, on
a lovely morning, after the universal flood, at about aleven thirty-
two was it? off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the
anabaptist, and Saint Kevin, the lacustrian, with toomuch of tolls
and lottance of beggars, after converting Porterscout and Dona,
our first marents, and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite
hourse of Hunover, rising Clunkthurf over Cabinhogan and all
they remembored and then there was the Frankish floot of Noahs-
dobahs, from Hedalgoland, round about the freebutter year of
Notre Dame 1132 P.P.O. or so, disumbunking from under
Motham General Bonaboche, (noo poopery!) in his half a grey
traditional hat, alevoila come alevilla, and after that there he was,
so terrestrial, like a Nailscissor, poghuing her scandalous and very
wrong, the maid, in single combat, under the sycamores, amid
the bludderings from the boom and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-
na-Poghue, so silvestrious, neer the Queen's Colleges, in 1132
Brian or Bride street, behind the century man on the door. And
then again they used to give the grandest gloriaspanquost univer-
sal howldmoutherhibbert lectures on anarxaquy out of doxarch-
ology (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) accord-
ing to the pictures postcard, with sexon grimmacticals, in the
Latimer Roman history, of Latimer repeating himself, from the
vicerine of Lord Hugh, the Lacytynant, till Bockleyshuts the rah-
jahn gerachknell and regnumrockery roundup, (Marcus Lyons
speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes
and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and


sages and the Plymouth brethren, droning along, peanzanzangan,
and nodding and sleeping away there, like forgetmenots, in her
abijance service, round their twelve tables, per pioja at pulga
bollas, in the four trinity colleges, for earnasyoulearning Erin-
growback, of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the
four grandest colleges supper the matther of Erryn, of Killorcure
and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure,
where their role was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo
rolled round. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories
(Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Janesdanes Lady Anders-
daughter Universary, for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian
lady, breathtaking beauty, Bambam's bonniest, lived to a great
age at or in or about the late No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary
Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teach-
ing the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias, repeating her-
self, on which purposeth of the spirit of nature as difinely deve-
loped in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny
MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and
absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano.
Ah, dearo, dear! O weep for the hower when eve aleaves bower!
How it did but all come eddaying back to them, if they did but
get gaze, gagagniagnian, to hear him there, kiddling and cuddling
her, after the gouty old galahat, with his peer of quinnyfears and
his troad of thirstuns, so nefarious, from his elevation of one
yard one handard and thartytwo lines, before the four of us, in
his Roman Catholic arms, while his deepseepeepers gazed and
sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloon rodolling olo-
sheen eyenbowls by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos. Anumque,
umque. Napoo.
    Queh? Quos?
    Ah, dearo dearo dear! Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses
gandered gamen. Mahazar ag Dod! It was so scalding sorry for all
the whole twice two four of us, with their familiar, making the toten,
and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and all belongings to
him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and
repeating himself and telling him now, for the seek of Senders


Newslaters and the mossacre of Saint Brices, to forget the past,
when the burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil, and con-
tradicting all about Lally, the ballest master of Gosterstown, and
his old fellow, the Lagener, in the Locklane Lighthouse, earing his
wick with a pierce of railing, and liggen hig with his ladder up, and
that oldtime turner and his sadderday erely cloudsing, the old
croniony, Skelly, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts,
full of lightweight beltts and all the bald drakes or ever he had up
in the bohereen, off Artsichekes Road, with Moels and Mahmullagh
Mullarty, the man in the Oran mosque, and the old folks at home
and Duignan and Lapole and the grand confarreation, as per the
cabbangers richestore, of the filest archives, and he couldn't stop
laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four
middleaged widowers, all nangles, sangles, angles and wangles.
And now, that reminds me, not to forget the four of the Welsh
waves, leaping laughing, in their Lumbag Walk, over old Battle-
shore and Deaddleconchs, in their half a Roman hat, with an an-
cient Greek gloss on it, in Chichester College auction and, thank
God, they were all summarily divorced, four years before, or so
they say, by their dear poor shehusbands, in dear byword days,
and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the
floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, per Nupiter
Privius, only terpary, on the best of terms and be forgot, whilk was
plainly foretolk by their old pilgrim cocklesong or they were sing-
ing through the wettest indies As I was going to Burrymecarott we
fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles
as also in another place by
their orthodox proverb so there was said thus That old fellow
knows milk though he's not used to it latterly.
And so they parted.
In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked
is left over. As evil flows so Ivel flows. Ay, ay. Ah, well sure,
that's the way. As the holymaid of Kunut said to the haryman
of Koombe. For his humple pesition in odvices. Woman. Squash.
Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.
    Lucas. And, O so well they could remembore at that time, when
Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland, Mrs
Dowager Justice Squalchman, foorsitter, in her fullbottom wig


and beard, (Erminia Reginia!) in or aring or around about the
year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1768 Y.W.C.A., at the
Married Male Familyman's Auctioneer's court in Arrahnacuddle.
Poor Johnny of the clan of the Dougals, the poor Scuitsman,
(Hohannes!) nothing if not amorous, dinna forget, so frightened
(Zweep! Zweep!) on account of her full bottom, (undullable
attraxity!) that put the yearl of mercies on him, and the four
maasters, in chors, with a hing behangd them, because he was
so slow to borstel her schoon for her, when he was grooming her
ladyship, instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper, like
any old methodist, and all divorced and innasense interdict, in
the middle of the temple, according to their dear faithful. Ah, now,
it was too bad, too bad and stout entirely, all the missoccurs; and
poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, from the brownesberrow in
nolandsland, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted with ally
croaker by everybody, by decree absolute, through Herrinsilde,
because he forgot himself, making wind and water, and made
a Neptune's mess of all of himself, sculling over the giamond's
courseway, and because he forgot to remember to sign an old
morning proxy paper, a writing in request to hersute herself, on
stamped bronnanoleum, from Roneo to Giliette, before saying
his grace before fish and then and there and too there was
poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned too, before the
world and her husband, because it was most improper and most
wrong, when he attempted to (well, he was shocking poor in
his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him), because
he (ah, well now, peaces pea to Wedmore and let not the song go
dumb upon your Ire, as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and we
won't be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian) and after
that, as red as a Rosse is, he made his last will and went to con-
fession, like the general of the Berkeleyites, at the rim of the rom,
on his two bare marrowbones, to Her Worship his Mother and
Sister Evangelist Sweainey, on Cailcainnin widnight and he was
so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootybutton in the
handsome cab and now, tell the truth, unfriends never, (she was
his first messes dogess and it was a very pretty peltry and there


were faults on both sides) well, he attempted (or so they say)
ah, now, forget and forgive (don't we all?) and, sure, he was only
funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over
him, well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to
attempt some hunnish familiarities, after eten a bad carmp in the
rude ocean and, hevantonoze sure, he was dead seasickabed (it was
really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the housepays for
the daying at the Martyr Mrs MacCawley's, where at the time
he was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah,
the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and
frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they
were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo
dear!
    And where do you leave Matt Emeritus? The laychief of Ab-
botabishop? And exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch!
They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat,
with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of
or Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in folds — sure he
hadn't the heart in her to pull them up — poor Matt, the old peri-
grime matriarch, and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon
them!) sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground,
for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause, (who shall say?)
in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family all to
himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tomb-
stone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea
time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and
taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren, under all the auspices, amid
the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening, with her
ivyclad hood, and gripping an old pair of curling tongs, belong-
ing to Mrs Duna O'Cannell, to blow his brains with, till the
heights of Newhigherland heard the Bristolhut, with his can of
tea and a purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of
Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come.
Gordon Heighland, when you think of it! The merthe dirther!
Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlour-
men, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the


smell of Shakeletin and scratchman and his mouth watering, acid
and alkolic; signs on the salt, and so now pass the loaf for Christ
sake. Amen. And so. And all.
    Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped.
Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham!
Take breath! Ay! Ay!
    And still and all at that time of the dynast days of old konning
Soteric Sulkinbored and Bargomuster Bart, when they struck coil
and shock haunts, in old Hungerford-on-Mudway, where first I
met thee oldpoetryck flied from may and the Finnan haddies and
the Noal Sharks and the muckstails turtles like an acoustic pot-
tish and the griesouper bullyum and how he poled him up his
boccat of vuotar and got big buzz for his name in the airweek's
honours from home, colonies and empire, they were always with
assisting grace, thinking (up) and not forgetting about shims and
shawls week, in auld land syne (up) their four hosenbands, that
were four (up) beautiful sister misters, now happily married, unto
old Gallstonebelly, and there they were always counting and con-
tradicting every night 'tis early the lovely mother of periwinkle
buttons, according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up
one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was,
in the end, the deary, soldpowder and all, the beautfour sisters,
and that was her mudhen republican name, right enough, from
alum and oves, and they used to be getting up from under, in
their tape and straw garlands, with all the worries awake in their
hair, at the kookaburra bell ringring all wrong inside of them
(come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shan-
don bellbox (come out to hell, you lousy louts!) so frightened,
for the dthclangavore, like knockneeghs bumpsed by the fister-
man's straights, (ys! ys!), at all hours every night, on their mistle-
toes, the four old oldsters, to see was the Transton Postscript
come, with their oerkussens under their armsaxters, all puddled
and mythified, the way the wind wheeled the schooler round,
when nobody wouldn't even let them rusten, from playing
their gastspiels, crossing their sleep by the shocking silence,
when they were in dreams of yore, standing behind the


door, or leaning out of the chair, or kneeling under the sofa-
cover and setting on the souptureen, getting into their way
something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown convi-
brational bed or they used to slumper under, when hope was there
no more, and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synop-
ticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, like svvollovv-
ing, like the time they were dadging the talkeycook that chased
them, look look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool,
to break fyre to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown,
the rathure's evelopment in spirits of time in all fathom of space
and slooping around in a bawneen and bath slippers and go away
to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad
they had their night tentacles and there they used to be, flapping
and cycling, and a dooing a doonloop, panementically, around
the waists of the ships, in the wake of their good old Foehn
again, as tyred as they were, at their windswidths in the
waveslength, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and
Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts and Roe of the fair cheats, ex-
changing fleas from host to host, with arthroposophia, and he
selling him before he forgot, issle issle, after having prealably
dephlegmatised his gutterful of throatyfrogs, with a lungible fong
in his suckmouth ear, while the dear invoked to the coolun dare
by a palpabrows lift left no doubt in his minder, till he was in-
stant and he was trustin, sister soul in brother hand, the subjects
being their passion grand, that one fresh from the cow about
Aithne Meithne married a mailde and that one too from Engr-
vakon saga abooth a gooth a gev a gotheny egg and the park-
side pranks of quality queens, katte efter kinne, for Earl Hooved-
soon's choosing and Huber and Harman orhowwhen theeupon-
thus (chchch!) eysolt of binnoculises memostinmust egotum
sabcunsciously senses upers the deprofundity of multimathema-
tical immaterialities wherebejubers in the pancosmic urge the
allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone (hear, O hear,
Caller Errin!) exteriorises on this ourherenow plane in disunited
solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) peril-
whitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited


selfdom (murky whey, abstrew adim!) in the higherdimissional
selfless Allself, theemeeng Narsty meetheeng Idoless, and telling
Jolly MacGolly, dear mester John, the belated dishevelled, hack-
ing away at a parchment pied, and all the other analist, the
steamships ant the ladies'foursome, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety,
duk, downalupping, (how long tandem!) like a foreretyred schoon-
masters, and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, like
the narcolepts on the lakes of Coma, through the steamy win-
dows, into the honeymoon cabins, on board the big steamadories,
made by Fumadory, and the saloon ladies' madorn toilet chambers
lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows
and, hee hee, listening, qua committe, the poor old quakers, oben
the dure, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies,
serious me, a lass spring as you fancy, and sheets far from the lad,
courting in blankets, enfamillias, and, shee shee, all improper, in a
lovely mourning toilet, for the rosecrumpler, the thrilldriver, the
sighinspirer, with that olive throb in his nude neck, and, swayin
and thayin, thanks ever so much for the tiny quote, which sought
of maid everythingling again so very much more delightafellay,
and the perfidly suite of her, bootyfilly yours, under all their
familiarities, by preventing grace, forgetting to say their grace be-
fore chambadory, before going to boat with the verges of the
chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema Knatut, so pass the
poghue for grace sake. Amen. And all, hee hee hee, quaking, so
fright, and, shee shee, shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
    For it was then a pretty thing happened of pure diversion
mayhap, when his flattering hend, at the justright moment, like
perchance some cook of corage might clip the lad on a poot of
porage handshut his duckhouse, the vivid girl, deaf with love,
(ah sure, you know her, our angel being, one of romance's fade-
less wonderwomen, and, sure now, we all know you dote on
her even unto date!) with a queeleetlecree of joysis crisis she
renulited their disunited, with ripy lepes to ropy lopes (the dear
o'dears!) and the golden importunity of aloofer's leavetime,
when, as quick, is greased pigskin, Amoricas Champius, with one
aragan throust, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the


both lines of forwards (Eburnea's down, boys!) rightjingbangshot
into the goal of her gullet.
    Alris!
    And now, upright and add them! And plays be honest! And
pullit into yourself, as on manowoman do another! Candidately,
everybody! A mot for amot. Comong, meng, and douh! There
was this, wellyoumaycallher, a strapping modern old ancient
Irish prisscess, so and so hands high, such and such paddock
weight, in her madapolam smock, nothing under her hat but
red hair and solid ivory (now you know it's true in your
hardup hearts!) and a firstclass pair of bedroom eyes, of most
unhomy blue, (how weak we are, one and all!) the charm
of favour's fond consent! Could you blame her, we're saying,
for one psocoldlogical moment? What would Ewe do? With
that so tiresome old milkless a ram, with his tiresome duty
peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old hairyg orangogran
beaver, in his tiresome old twennysixandsixpenny sheopards
plods drowsers and his thirtybobandninepenny tails plus toop!
Hagakhroustioun! It were too exceeding really if one woulds
to offer at sulk an oldivirdual a pinge of hinge hit. The
mainest thing ever! Since Edem was in the boags noavy. No, no,
the dear heaven knows, and the farther the from it, if the whole
stole stale mis betold, whoever the gulpable, and whatever the
pulpous was, the twooned togethered, and giving the mhost
phassionable wheathers, they were doing a lally a lolly a dither
a duther one lelly two dather three lilly four dother. And it was
a fiveful moment for the poor old timetetters, ticktacking, in tenk
the count. Till the spark that plugged spared the chokee he
gripped and (volatile volupty, how brieved are thy lunguings!)
they could and they could hear like of a lisp lapsing, that
was her knight of the truths thong plipping out of her chapell-
ledeosy, after where he had gone and polped the questioned.
Plop.
    Ah now, it was tootwoly torrific, the mummurrlubejubes! And
then after that they used to be so forgetful, counting mother-
peributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu mouldern


maiden name, for overflauwing, by the dream of woman the
owneirist, in forty lands. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg
and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four!
And there she was right enough, that lovely sight enough, the
girleen bawn asthore, as for days galore, of planxty Gregory.
Egory. O bunket not Orwin! Ay, ay.
    But, sure, that reminds me now, like another tellmastory re-
peating yourself, how they used to be in lethargy's love, at the
end of it all, at that time (up) always, tired and all, after doing the
mousework and making it up, over their community singing
(up) the top loft of the voicebox, of Mamalujo like the senior
follies at murther magrees, squatting round, two by two, the four
confederates, with Caxons the Coswarn, up the wet air register
in Old Man's House, Millenium Road, crowning themselves in
lauraly branches, with their cold knees and their poor (up) quad
rupeds, ovasleep, and all dolled up, for their blankets and materny
mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown shackle and
milky and boterham clots, a potion a peace, a piece aportion, a
lepel alip, alup a lap, for a cup of kindest yet, with hold take hand
and nurse and only touch of ate, a lovely munkybown and for
xmell and wait the pinch and prompt poor Marcus Lyons to be not
beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses but to pass the teeth
for choke sake, Amensch, when it so happen they were all syca-
more and by the world forgot, since the phlegmish hoopicough,
for all a possabled, after ete a bad cramp and johnny magories, and
backscrat the poor bedsores and the farthing dip, their caschal
pandle of magnegnousioum, and read a letter or two every night,
before going to dodo sleep atrance, with their catkins coifs, in
the twilight, a capitaletter, for further auspices, on their old one
page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their
Senchus Mor, by his fellow girl, the Mrs Shemans, in her summer
seal houseonsample, with the caracul broadtail, her totam in
tutu, final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta covers, uptenable
from the orther, for to regul their reves by incubation, and Lally,
through their gangrene spentacles, and all the good or they
did in their time, the rigorists, for Roe and O'Mulcnory a


Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty Mac
Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old baga-
broth, beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept
and severalty and one by one and sing a mamalujo. To the
heroest champion of Eren and his braceoelanders and Gowan,
Gawin and Gonne.
    And after that now in the future, please God, after nonpenal
start, all repeating ourselves, in medios loquos, from where he got
a useful arm busy on the touchline, due south of her western
shoulder down to death and the love embrace, with an interesting
tallow complexion and all now united, sansfamillias, let us ran on
to say oremus prayer and homeysweet homely, after fully realis-
ing the gratifying experiences of highly continental evenements,
for meter and peter to temple an eslaap, for auld acquaintance, to
Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine, for navigants
et peregrinantibus, in all the old imperial and Fionnachan sea and
for vogue awallow to a Miss Yiss, you fascinator, you, sing a
lovasteamadorion to Ladyseyes, here's Tricks and Doelsy, de-
lightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop
and how she ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and aw-
fully bucked, right glad we never shall forget, thoh the dayses
gone still they loves young dreams and old Luke with his
kingly leer, so wellworth watching, and Senchus Mor, possessed
of evident notoriety, and another more of the bigtimers, to name
no others, of whom great things were expected in the fulmfilming
department, for the lives of Lazarus and auld luke syne and she
haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohole
shanghai.
    Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear! The Lambeg
drum, the Lombog reed, the Lumbag fiferer, the Limibig brazenaze.

Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound sterling in the blueblack
    bowels of the bank of Ulster.
Braw bawbees and good gold pounds, galore, my girleen, a Sunday'll
    prank thee finely.


And no damn loutll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy
    Ghost there'll be murder!

O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride
    queen from Sybil surfriding
In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymonnblue
    mantle round her.
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and
    jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bide with Sig Sloomysides or the grogram grey
    barnacle gander?

You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his
    glut of cold meat and hot soldiering

Nor wake in winter, window machree, but snore sung in my old
    Balbriggan surtout.
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of
    next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing (what?)
    as your own nursetender?
A power of highsteppers died game right enough — but who, acushla,
    'll beg coppers for you?

I tossed that one long before anyone.
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm given
    now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed
    picnic to follow.
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight
    from under me, Mick, Nick the Maggot or whatever your name
    is, you're the mose likable lad that's come my ways yet from the
    barony of Bohermore.

Mattheehew, Markeehew, Lukeehew, Johnheehewheehew!
Haw!
And still a light moves long the river. And stiller the mermen
    ply their keg.
Its pith is full. The way is free. Their lot is cast.
So, to john for a john, johnajeams, led it be!