riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay,
brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and
Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passencore
rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe
Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer's rocks by the
stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County's gorgios while they
went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed
mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick not yet, though venissoon after, had
a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in
vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa's
malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was
to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunnt-
rovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is
retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian
minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the
pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself
prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his
tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the
park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since devlinsfirst
loved livvy.
What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishygods!
Br‚kkek K‚kkek K‚kkek K‚kkek! K¢ax K¢ax K¢ax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh!
Where the Baddelaries partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus
Micgranes and the Verdons catapelting the camibalistics out of the
Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod's brood, be
me fear! Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling.
Killykillkilly: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and
ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetabsolvers! What true
feeling for their's hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here
here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O
my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the
skysign of soft advertisement! But was iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks
of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if you but
will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce
come to a setdown secular phoenish.
Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen's maurer, lived in
the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofarback for messuages before
joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one
yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of
his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the
very water was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that
ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd
years this man of hod, cement and edifices in Toper's Thorp piled buildung
supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle
phifie Annie ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your
part inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp
and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun
Childeric Eggeberth he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and
malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin 'twas born,
his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded
(joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly,
erigenating from next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all,
hierarchitectitiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop
and with larrons o'toolers clittering up and tombles a'buckets clottering
down.
Of the first was he to bare arms and a name: Wassaily Booslaeugh of
Riesengeborg. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant,
argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutschum fessed, with
archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his
hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you're going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday
morm and, O, you're vine! Sendday's eve and, ah, you're vinegar! Hahahaha,
Mister Funn, you're going to be fined again!
What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thundersday this
municipal sin business? Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the
thunder of his arafatas but we hear also through successive ages that shebby
choruysh of unkalified muzzlenimiissilehims that would blackguardise the
whitestone ever hurtleturtled out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search
for tighteousness, O Sustainer, what time we rise and when we take up to
toothmick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and
at the fading of the stars ! For a nod to the nabir is better than wink to
the wabsanti. Otherways wesways like that provost scoffing bedoueen the
jebel and the jpysian sea. Cropherb the crunchbracken shall decide. Then
we'll know if the feast is a flyday. She has a gift of seek on site and she
allcasually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed ! It may half been a
missfired brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of
his back promises, as others looked at it. (There extand by now one thousand
and one stories, all told, of the same). But so sore did abe ite ivvy's
holired abbles, (what with the wallhall's horrors of rollsrights, carhacks,
stonengens, kisstvanes, tramtrees, fargobawlers, autokinotons,
hippohobbilies, streetfleets, tournintaxes, megaphoggs, circuses and
wardsmoats and basilikerks and aeropagods and the hoyse and the jollybrool
and the peeler in the coat and the mecklenburk bitch bite at his ear and the
merlinburrow burrocks and his fore old porecourts, the bore the more, and
his blightblack workingstacks at twelvepins a dozen and the noobibusses
sleighding along Safetyfirst Street and the derryjellybies snooping around
Tell-No-Tailors' Corner and the fumes and the hopes and the strupithump of
his ville's indigenous romekeepers, homesweepers, domecreepers, thurum and
thurum in fancymud murumd and all the uproor from all the aufroofs, a roof
for may and a reef for hugh butt under his bridge suits tony) wan warning
Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake.
(There was a wall of course in erection) Dimb! He stottered from the latter.
Damb! he was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his
lute is all long. For whole the world to see.
Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie? of a
trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain's chrissormiss wake,
all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their
duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes
and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And the all gianed
in with the shoutmost shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them
agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhunigan's
extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more, kankan keening. Belling him up
and filling him down. He's stiff but he's steady is Priam Olim ! 'Twas he
was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier!
E'erawhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow
fundigs and the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a
bockalips of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his
head. Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O !
Hurrah, there is but young gleve for the owl globe wheels in view which
is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being so on the flounder of
his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee peep, see, at Hom, well, see
peegee ought he ought, platterplate. Hum ! From Shopalist to Bailywick or
from ashtun to baronoath or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the
foot of the bill to ireglint's eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a
horn!) from fiord to fjell his baywinds' oboboes shall wail him rockbound
(hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvylong night, the delldale
dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky
trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan essavans and her
patterjackmartins about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum,
telling a toll of a teary turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we
are, gifs a gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the
kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny
sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Finfoefom the Fush. Whase be
his baken head? A loaf of Singpantry's Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to
the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U'Dunnell's foamous olde Dobbelin
ayle. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through
that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is
noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund
Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Agapemonides, he is smolten in
our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal's dead off for summan,
schlook, schlice and goodridhirring.
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined aslumbered,
even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream that Bronto
loved and Brunto has a lean on. Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam.
Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint
of mines or beggar a
pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean to
say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle,
she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores.
Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of
his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in
verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the
magazine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl. While over
against this belles' alliance beyind Ill Sixty, ollollowed ill! bagsides of
the fort, bom, tarabom, tarabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the
lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hockums. Hence when the clouds roll by,
jamey, a proudseye view is enjoyable of our mounding's mass, now Wallinstone
national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful waterloose
country and the two quitewhite villagettes who hear show of themselves so
gigglesomes minxt the follyages, the prettilees! Penetrators are permitted
into the museomound free. Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk!
Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseypram to sate the
sort of their butt. For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the mistress
Kathe. Tip.
This the way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in! Now yiz are in
the Willingdone Museyroom. This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch.
Tip. This is the flag of the Prooshious, the Cap and Soracer. This is the
bullet that byng the flag of the Prooshious. This is the ffrinch that fire
on the Bull that bang the flag of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up
with your pike and fork! Tip. (Bullsfoot! Fine!) This is the triplewon hat
of Lipoleum. Tip. Lipoleumhat. This is the Willingdone on his same white
harse, the Cokenhape. This is the big Sraughter Willingdone, grand and
magentic in his goldtin spurs and his ironed dux and his quarterbrass
woodyshoes and his magnate's gharters and his bangkok's best and goliar's
goloshes and his pulluponeasyan wartrews. This is his big wide harse. Tip.
This is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch. This is
an inimyskilling inglis, this is a scotcher grey, this is a davy, stooping.
This is the bog lipoleum mordering the lipoleum beg. A Gallawghurs
argaumunt. This is the petty lipoleum boy that was nayther bag nor bug.
Assaye, assaye! Touchole Fitz Tuomush. Dirty MacDyke. And Hairy O'Hurry. All
of them arminus-varminus. This is Delian alps. This is Mont Tivel, this is
Mont Tipsey, this is the Grand Mons Injun. This is the crimealine of the
alps hooping to sheltershock the three lipoleums. This is the jinnies with
their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade's book of stralegy while
making their war undisides the Willingdone. The jinnies is a cooin her hand
and the jinnies is a ravin her hair and the Willingdone git the band up.
This is big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker obscides on the
flanks of the jinnies. Sexcaliber hrosspower. Tip. This is me Belchum
sneaking his phillippy out of his most Awful Grimmest Sunshat Cromwelly.
Looted. This is the jinnies' hastings dispatch for to irrigate the
Willingdone. Dispatch in thin red lines cross the shortfront of me Belchum.
Yaw, yaw, yaw! Leaper Orthor. Fear siecken! Fieldgaze thy tiny frow.
Hugacting. Nap. That was the tictacs of the jinnies for to fontannoy the
Willingdone. Shee, shee, shee! The jinnies is jillous agincourting all the
lipoleums. And the lipoleums is gonn boycottoncrezy onto the one
Willingdone. And the Willingdone git the band up. This is bode Belchum,
bonnet to busby, breaking his secred word with a ball up his ear to the
Willingdone. This is the Willingdone's hurold dispitchback. Dispitch
desployed on the regions rare of me Belchum. Salamangra! Ayi, ayi, ayi!
Cherry jinnies. Figtreeyou! Damn fairy ann, Voutre. Willingdone. That was
the first joke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee! This is me
Belchum in his twelvemile cowchooks, weet, tweet and stampforth foremost,
footing the camp for the jinnies. Drink a sip, drankasup, for he's as sooner
buy a guinness than he'd stale store stout. This is Rooshious balls. This is
a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Canon Futter with the popynose.
After his hundred days' indulgence. This is the blessed. Tarra's widdars!
This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy
howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire.
Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the
solphereens in action, this is their mobbily, this is panickburns.
Almeidagad! Arthiz too loose! This is Willingdone cry. Brum! Brum! Cumbrum!
This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Goat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies
rinning away to their ousterlists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip
and a trip trippy trip so airy. For their heart's right there. Tip. This is
me Belchum's tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the
cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon
merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish
his same marmorial tallowscoop SophyKey-Po for his royal divorsion on the
rinnaway jinnies. Gambariste della porca! Dalaveras fimmieras! This is the
pettiest of the lipoleums, Toffeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his
big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy
montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy
laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk
from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooley boy
and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half
of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth. This is
the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking
the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big
white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This
is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his
tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo
seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy,
madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka
Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch
to the cursigan Shimar Shin. Basucker youstead! This is the dooforhim seeboy
blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the
tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip (Bullseye! Game!) How Copenhagen
ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out.
Phew!
What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts!
We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of
Jig-a-Lanthern! It's a candlelittle houthse of a month and one windies.
Downadown, High Downadown. And nummered quaintlymine. And such reasonable
weather too ! The wagrant wind's awalt'zaround the piltdowns and on every
blasted knollyrock (if you can spot fifty I spy four more) there's that
gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle,
wipealittle, kicksalittle,severalittle,eatalittle,whinealittle,kenalittle,
helfalittle,pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardfields!
Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside him. Skud
ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs. The three of crows
have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky
whence triboos answer; Wail, 'tis well! She niver comes out when Thon's on
shower or when Thon's flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon's blowing
toomcracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would
be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindmerollingeyes and all the deed in
the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it
goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri
potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows in
beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging its
pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy
plunderpussy. But it's the armitides toonigh, militopucos, and toomourn we
wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers and there's to be a
gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing
the day we sallybright. She's burrowed the coacher's headlight the better to
pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go
into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and flasks
of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of
haypennies and moonled brooches with bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston
nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal
and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets,
ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of bells and the last sigh
that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sunsaw (that's
cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives 'end.
Slain.
How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly forebidden, to
steal our historic presents from the past postpropheticals so as to will
make us all lordy heirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit.
She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all plores for us
(her birth is uncontrollable), with a naperon for her mask and her sabboes
kickin arias (so sair! so solly!) if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou!
Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a
picture) for in the byways of high improvidence that's what makes lifework
leaving and the world's a cell for citters to cit in. Let young wimman run
away with the story and let young min talk smooth behind the butteler's
back. She knows her knight's duty while Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin?
says he. Did I what? with a grin says she. And we all like a marriedann
because she is mercenary. Though the length of the land lies under
liquidation (floote!) and there's nare a hairbrow nor an eyebush on this
glaubrous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she'll loan a vesta and hire some
peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she'll do all a turfwoman
can to piff the business on. Paff. To puff the blaziness on. Poffpoff. And
even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again in the
beardsboosoloom of all our grand remonstrancers there'll be iggs for the
brekkers come to mournhim, sunny side up with care. So true is it that
therewhere's a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch
sight of a hind make sure but you're cocked by a hin.
Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy, fruting for
firstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review of the two mounds to
see nothing of the himples here as at elsewhere, by sixes and sevens, like
so many heegills and collines, sitton aroont, scentbreeched ant somepotreek,
in their swishawish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton's
Folly, at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stand up, mickos! Make
strake for minnas ! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if
we choose of the shortlegged bergins off Corkhill or the bergamoors of
Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of
Miseryhill or the countrybossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every
crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and
each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf's on the rise and Ivor's on the
lift and Sitric's place's between them. But all they are all there scraping
along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life's robulous
rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays
dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre.
Behove this sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen.
Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks
the scene. Fake!
So This Is Dyoublong?
Hush! Caution ! Echoland !
How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you of the outwashed engravure
that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall of his innkempt house. Used
they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshoveller with the mujikal chocolat box,
Miry Mitchel, is listening) I say, the remains of the outworn gravemure
where used to be blurried the Ptollmens of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only
pretendant to be stugging at the jubalee harp from a second existed
lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well known. Lokk for himself and see the
old butte new. Dbln. W. K. O. O. Hear? By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim.
With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum. 'Tis optophone which ontophanes.
List! Wheatstone's magic lyer. They will be tuggling foriver. They will be
lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord
shall be theirs for ollaves.
Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand
old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile's annals, f t. in
Dyffinarsky ne'er sall fail til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire's ile sall
pall. And here now they are,the fear of um. T. Totities! Unum. (Adar.) A
bulbenboss surmounted upon an alderman. Ay, ay! Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a
puir old wobban. Ah, ho! Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o'brine a'bride,
to be desarted. Adear, adear! Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.) A penn no weightier
nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.)
So, how idlers' wind turning pages on pages, as innocens with anaclete
play popeye antipop, the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds,
annals of themselves timing the cycles of events grand and national, bring
fassilwise to pass how.
II32 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets wondern upon a groot hwide
Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat Ublanium.
566 A.D. On Baalfire's night of this year after deluge a crone that
hadde a wickered Kish for to hale dead tunes from the bog lookit under the
blay of her Kish as she ran for to sothisfeige her cowrieosity and be me
sawl but she found hersell sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon ant small
illigant brogues, so rich in sweat. Blurry works at Hurdlesford.
(Silent.)
566 A.D. At this time it fell out that a brazenlockt damsel grieved
(sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her minion was ravisht-of her by the
ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeaghbally.
II32. A.D. Two sons at an hour were born until a goodman and his hag.
These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas. Primas was a santryman and
drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse and wrote o peace a
farce. Blotty words for Dublin.
Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgo gap between antediluvious and
annadominant the copyist must have fled with his scroll. The billy flood
rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup worldwright from the
excelsissimost empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake or the Dannamen gallous
banged pan the bliddy duran. A scribicide then and there is led off under
old's code with some fine covered by six marks or ninepins in metalmen for
the sake of his labour's dross while it will be only now and again in our
rear of o'er era, as an upshoot of military and civil engagements, that a
gynecure was let on to the scuffold for taking that same fine sum covertly
by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour's safe.
Now after all that farfatch'd and peragrine or dingnant or clere lift
we our ears, eyes of the darkness, from the tome of Liber Lividus and,
(toh!), how paisibly eirenical, all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades,
selfstretches afore us our fredeland's plain! Lean neath stone pine the
pastor lies with his crook; young pricket by pricket's sister nibbleth on
returned viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams
lowliness; skyup is of evergrey. Thus, too, for donkey's years. Since the
bouts of Hebear and Hairyman the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun,
the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown's hedges, twolips have pressed
togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the
redthorn have fairygeyed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon, and, though for
rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have
brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the
Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and
Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And
laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the
centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as, on
the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!)
they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and
comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees. Menn have thawed, clerks have
surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean
Kerry piggy?: and the duncledames have countered with the hellish fellows:
Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly? And they fell upong one
another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights
of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only:
Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I
blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that
saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow
(isn't it the truath I'm tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy
and shake. Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam. Fleppety! Flippety!
Fleapow!
Hop!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a
lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his
plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that's pectoral,
his mammamuscles most mousterious. It is slaking nuncheon out of some
thing's brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon man. He is almonthst on the kiep fief
by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or
alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose. What a quhare soort
of a mahan. It is evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire
defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrogbones. (Cave!) He can
prapsposterus the pillory way to Hirculos pillar. Come on, fool porterfull,
hosiered women blown monk sewer? Scuse us, chorley guy! You tollerday donsk?
N. You tolkatiff scowegian? Nn. You spigotty anglease? Nnn. You phonio saxo?
Nnnn. Clear all so! 'Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong
verbs weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.
Jute.-- Yutah!
Mutt.-- Mukk's pleasurad.
Jute.-- Are you jeff?
Mutt.-- Somehards.
Jute.-- But you are not jeffmute?
Mutt.-- Noho. Only an utterer.
Jute.-- Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you?
Mutt.-- I became a stun a stummer.
Jute.-- What a hauhauhauhaudibble thing, to be cause! How,
Mutt?
Mutt.-- Aput the buttle, surd.
Jute.-- Whose poddle? Wherein?
Mutt.-- The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he.
Jute.-- You that side your voise are almost inedible to me.
Become a bitskin more wiseable, as if I were
you.
Mutt.-- Has? Has at? Hasatency? Urp, Boohooru! Booru
Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I
rimimirim !
Jute.-- One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me fore all
your hasitancy cross your qualm with trink gilt. Here
have sylvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good
for you.
Mutt.-- Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intel
lible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy
faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy!
He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here
where the liveries, Monomark. There where the mis
sers moony, Minnikin passe.
Jute.-- Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstory
shortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubba
ges on to soil here.
Mutt.-- Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a
riverpool.
Jute.-- Load Allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like?
Mutt.-- Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum
rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn,
with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton
on, did Brian d' of Linn.
Jute.-- Boildoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly
forsstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a pat
what as your rutterdamrotter. Onheard of and um
scene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed.
Mutt.-- Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dun blink
roundward this albutisle and you skull see how olde
ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone
to wail whimbrel to peewee o'er the saltings, where
wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of
signory, icefloe was from his Inn the Byggning to
whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr.
Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering
rue. Hither, craching eastuards, they are in surgence:
hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of
livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as
flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of
whirlworlds. Now are all tombed to the mound, isges
to isges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize!
Jute.-- 'Stench!
Mutt.-- Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an'
everynight life olso th'estrange, babylone the great
grandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig,
drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound
seemetery which iz leebez luv.
Jute.-- 'Zmorde!
Mutt.-- Meldundleize! By the fearse wave behoughted. Des
pond's sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup
them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust
and being humus the same roturns. He who runes
may rede it on all fours. O'c'stle, n'wc'stle, tr'c'stle,
crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Hum
blady Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in
your whisht!
Jute.-- Whysht?
Mutt.-- The gyant Forficules with Amni the fay.
Jute.-- Howe?
Mutt.-- Here is viceking's graab.
Jute.-- Hwaad !
Mutt.-- Ore you astoneaged, jute you?
Jute.-- Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud.
(Stoop) if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs
(please stoop), in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it
out already) its world? It is the same told of all. Many. Miscegenations on
miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed ant loved end left. Forsin.
Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons. The meandertale, aloss and
again, of our old Heidenburgh in the days when Head-in-Clouds walked the
earth. In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that
finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten
sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that
bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality. But with a rush
out of his navel reaching the reredos of Ramasbatham. A terricolous
vivelyonview this; queer and it continues to be quaky. A hatch, a celt, an
earshare the pourquose of which was to cassay the earthcrust at all of
hours, furrowards, bagawards, like yoxen at the turnpaht. Here say figurines
billycoose arming and mounting. Mounting and arming bellicose figurines see
here. Futhorc, this liffle effingee is for a firefing called a flintforfall.
Face at the eased! O I fay! Face at the waist! Ho, you fie! Upwap and dump
em, Face to Face! When a part so ptee does duty for the holos we soon grow
to use of an allforabit. Here (please to stoop) are selveran cued peteet
peas of quite a pecuniar interest inaslittle as they are the pellets that
make the tomtummy's pay roll. Right rank ragnar rocks and with these rox
orangotangos rangled rough and rightgorong. Wisha, wisha, whydidtha? Thik is
for thorn that's thuck in its thoil like thumfool's thraitor thrust for
vengeance. What a mnice old mness it all mnakes! A middenhide hoard of
objects! Olives, beets, kimmells, dollies, alfrids, beatties, cormacks and
daltons. Owlets' eegs (O stoop to please!) are here, creakish from age and
all now quite epsilene, and oldwolldy wobblewers, haudworth a wipe o grass.
Sss! See the snake wurrums everyside! Our durlbin is sworming in sneaks.
They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie
rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs but along
landed Paddy Wippingham and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them
pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whatsthats.
Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson.
Racketeers and bottloggers.
Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one be three
dittoh and one before. Two nursus one make a plausible free and idim behind.
Starting off with a big boaboa and threelegged calvers and ivargraine
jadesses with a message in their mouths. And a hundreadfilled unleavenweight
of liberorumqueue to con an we can till allhorrors eve. What a
meanderthalltale to unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and
anntisquattor and postproneauntisquattor! To say too us to be every tim,
nick and larry of us, sons of the sod, sons, littlesons, yea and
lealittlesons, when usses not to be, every sue, siss and sally of us,
dugters of Nan! Accusative ahnsire! Damadam to infinities
True there was in nillohs dieybos as yet no lumpend papeer in the
waste,and mightmountain Penn still groaned for the micies to let flee. All
was of ancientry. You gave me a boot (signs on it!) and I ate the wind. I
quizzed you a quid (with for what?) and you went to the quod. But the world,
mind, is, was and will be writing its own wrunes for ever, man, on all
matters that fall under the ban of our infrarational senses fore the last
milchcamel, the heartvein throbbing between his eyebrowns, has still to moor
before the tomb of his cousin charmian where his date is tethered by the
palm that's hers. But the horn, the drinking, the day of dread are not now.
A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways;
leave them to terracook in the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his
cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step
rubrickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in alcohoran.
For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and
hints and misses in prints. Till ye finally (though not yet endlike) meet
with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little
typtopies. Fillstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be
bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the
book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would
sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it closeth thereof the. Dor.
Cry not yet! There's many a smile to Nondum, with sytty maids per man,
sir, and the park's so dark by kindlelight. But look what you have in your
handself! The movibles are scrawling in motions, marching, all of them ago,
in pitpat and zingzang for every busy eerie whig's a bit of a torytale to
tell. One's upon a thyme and two's behind their lettice leap and three's
among the strubbely beds. And the chicks picked their teeths and the dombkey
he begay began. You can ask your ass if he believes it. And so cuddy me only
wallops have heels. That one of a wife with folty barnets. For then was the
age when hoops ran high. Of a noarch and a chopwife; of a pomme full grave
and a fammy of levity; or of golden youths that wanted gelding; or of what
the mischievmiss made a man do. Malmarriedad he was reversogassed by the
frisque of her frasques and her prytty pyrrhique. Maye faye, she's la gaye
this snaky woman! From that trippiery toe expectungpelick! Veil, volantine,
valentine eyes. She's the very besch Winnie blows Nay on good. Flou inn,
flow ann. Hohore! So it's sure it was her not we! But lay it easy, gentle
mien, we are in rearing of a norewhig. So weenybeenyveenyteeny. Comsy see!
Het wis if ee newt. Lissom! lissom! I am doing it. Hark, the corne entreats!
And the larpnotes prittle.
It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when
Adam was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mountynotty
man was everybully and the first leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway
everybuddy to his lovesaking eyes and everybilly lived alove with everybiddy
else, and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse,
laying cold hands on himself. And his two little jiminies, cousins of ourn,
Tristopher and Hilary, were kickaheeling their dummy on the oil cloth flure
of his homerigh, castle and earthenhouse. And, be dermot, who come to the
keep of his inn only the nieceof-his-in-law, the prankquean. And the
prankquean pulled a rosy one and made her wit foreninst the dour. And she
lit up and fireland was ablaze. And spoke she to the dour in her petty
perusienne: Mark the Wans, why do I am alook alike a poss of porterpease?
And that was how the skirtmisshes began. But the dour handworded her grace
in dootch nossow: Shut! So her grace o'malice kidsnapped up the jiminy
Tristopher and into the shandy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van
Hoother warlessed after her with soft dovesgall: Stop deef stop come back to
my earin stop. But she swaradid to him: Unlikelihud. And there was a
brannewail that same sabboath night of falling angles somewhere in Erio. And
the prankquean went for her forty years' walk in Tourlemonde and she washed
the blessings of the lovespots off the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and
she had her four owlers masters for to tauch him his tickles and she
convorted him to the onesure allgood and he became a luderman. So then she
started to rain and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl van
Hoother's in a brace of samers and the jiminy with her in her pinafrond,
lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his
bristolry. And Jarl von Hoother had his baretholobruised heels drowned in
his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with himself and the jimminy Hilary and
the dummy in their first infancy were below on the tearsheet, wringing and
coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prankquean nipped a paly one and
lit up again and redcocks flew flackering from the hillcombs. And she made
her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am alook alike
two poss of porterpease? And: Shut! says the wicked, handwording her
madesty. So her madesty 'a forethought' set down a jiminy and took up a
jiminy and all the lilipath ways to Woeman's Land she rain, rain, rain. And
Jarl von Hoother bleethered atter her with a loud finegale: Stop domb stop
come back with my earring stop. But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it.
And there was a wild old grannewwail that laurency night of starshootings
somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years' walk in
Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of a top
into the jiminy and she had her four larksical monitrix to touch him his
tears and she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a
tristian. So then she started raining, raining, and in a pair of changers,
be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl von Hoother's and the Larryhill with
her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of
his mansionhome of another nice lace for the third charm? And Jarl von
Hoother had his hurricane hips up to his pantrybox, ruminating in his
holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), ant the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy
were belove on the watercloth, kissing and spitting, and roguing and
poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and in their second infancy. And
the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling. And
she made her wittest in front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark the
Tris, why do I am alook alike three poss of porter pease? But that was how
the skirtmishes endupped. For like the campbells acoming with a fork lance
of-lightning, Jarl von Hoother Boanerges himself, the old terror of the
dames, came hip hop handihap out through the pikeopened arkway of his three
shuttoned castles, in his broadginger hat and his civic chollar and his
allabuff hemmed and his bullbraggin soxangloves and his ladbroke breeks and
his cattegut bandolair and his furframed panuncular cumbottes like a rudd
yellan gruebleen orangeman in his violet indigonation, to the whole longth
of the strongth of his bowman's bill. And he clopped his rude hand to his
eacy hitch and he ordurd and his thick spch spck for her to shut up shop,
dappy. And the duppy shot the shutter clup
(Perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!)
And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always
for any girls under shurts. And that was the first peace of illiterative
porthery in all the flamend floody flatuous world. How kirssy the tiler made
a sweet unclose to the Narwhealian captol. Saw fore shalt thou sea. Betoun
ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jimminies was to
keep the peacewave and van Hoother was to git the wind up. Thus the
hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis.
O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes mickelmassed bonum. Hill,
rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride!
Only for that these will not breathe upon Norronesen or Irenean the secrest
of their soorcelossness. Quarry silex, Homfrie Noanswa! Undy gentian
festyknees, Livia Noanswa? Wolkencap is on him, frowned; audiurient, he
would evesdrip, were it mous at hand, were it dinn of bottles in the far
ear. Murk, his vales are darkling. With lipth she lithpeth to him all to
time of thuch on thuch and thow on thow. She he she ho she ha to la.
Hairfluke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves
are his buffeteers; they trompe him with their trompes; the wave of roary
and the wave of hooshed and the wave of hawhawhawrd and the wave of
neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlisteltomine. Landloughed by his
neaghboormistress and perpetrified in his offsprung, sabes and suckers, the
moaning pipers could tell him to his faceback, the louthly one whose loab we
are devorers of, how butt for his hold halibutt, or her to her pudor puff,
the lipalip one whose libe we drink at, how biff for her tiddywink of a
windfall, our breed and washer givers, there would not be a holey spier on
the town nor a vestal flouting in the dock, nay to make plein avowels, nor a
yew nor an eye to play cash cash in Novo Nilbud by swamplight nor a' toole
o' tall o' toll and noddy hint to the convaynience.
He dug in and dug out by the skill of his tilth for himself and all
belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath his auspice for the living
and he urned his dread, that dragon volant, and he made louse for us and
delivered us to boll weevils amain, that mighty liberator,
Unfru-Chikda-Uru-Wukru and begad he did, our ancestor most worshipful, till
he thought of a better one in his windower's house with that blushmantle
upon him from earsend to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies
wake him and may again when the fiery bird disembers. And will again if so
be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said. Have you whines for my
wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is
a? Wake? Usgueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul ! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god
on pension and don't be walking abroad. Sure you'd only lose yourself in
Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there
after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid
and the Bower Moore and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew's abroad.
Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks' donkey with his shoe
hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a
bench. 'Twould turn you against life,