Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 4

 AS THE LION (p75) in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his Nile 

(shall Ariuz forget Arioun 

or Boghas the baregams of the Mar-mara-zalles from Mar-meniere?) 

it may be, 

tots wear-sense full a naggin in twentyg have sigil-posted 

what in our brieving-bust, 

the besieged bedreamt him stil and solely 

of those li-liliths undeveiled 

which hat undone him, 

gone for age, 

and knew not the watchful treachers at his wake, 

and theirs to stay. 

Fooi, fooi, chamer-missies! 

Zeepy-zoepy, larcenlads! 

Zijn-zijn Zijn-zijn! 

It may be, 

we moest ons hasten selves te declareer it, 

that he reglimmed? 

presaw? 

the fields of heat and yields of wheat 

where corngold Ysit? 

shamed and shone. 

It may be, 

we habben to upseek a bitty door our good township’s courants 

want we knew’t, 

that with his deep-seeing insight 

(had not wishing ofte-been but good time wasted), 

within his patriarchal shamanah, 

broad-steyne ’bove citie 

(Twillby! Twillby!) 

he conscious of enemies, 

a king-billy white-horsed in a Finglas mill, 

prayed, as he sat on anxious seat, 

(kunt ye neat gift mey toe bout a peer saft eyballds!) 

during that three and a hell-of hours’ agony of silence, 

ex profundis malorum, 

and bred with unfeigned charity that his word-wounder 

(an engles to the teeth who, nomened Nash of Gira-hash, 

would go anyold where in the weeping world on his mottled belly 

(the rab, the kreep-ons-kneed!) 

for milk, music or married missusses) 

might, 

mercy to providential benevolence’s 

who hates prudencies’ astuteness, 

unfold into the first of a distinguished dynasty of his posteriors, (p76) 

black-faced connemaras not of the fold 

but elder children of his household, 

his most besetting of ideas 

(pace his twolve predamanant passions) 

being the formation, 

as in more favoured climes, 

where the Meadow of Honey is guest-friendly 

and the Mountain of Joy receives, 

of a truly criminal stratum, 

Ham’s crib-cracking yeggs, 

thereby at last eliminating from all classes and masses 

with directly derivative de-casualisation: 

sigarius (sic!) vindicat urbes terrorum (sicker!): 

and so, to mark a bank taal she arter, 

the obedience of the citizens elp the ealth of the ole.

————————————————————-

Now gode. 

Let us leave theories there and return to here’s here. 

Now hear. 

’Tis gode again. 

The teak coffin, 

Pugh-glass-panel-fitted, 

feets to the east, 

was to turn in later, 

and pitly patly near the porpus, 

materially effecting the cause. 

And this, liever, is the thing-howe. 

Any number of conservative public bodies, 

through a number of select and other committees 

having power to add to their number, 

before voting themselves and himself, 

town, port and garrison, 

by a fit and proper resolution, 

following a koorts order of the ground-wet, 

once for all out of plotty existence, 

as a forescut, 

so you maate-skippey might to you cuttin-runner 

on a neuw pack of klerds, 

made him, 

while his body still persisted, 

their present of a protem grave in Moyelta 

of the best Lough Neagh pattern, 

then as much in demand among miso-nesans 

as the Isle of Man today among limni-phobes. 

Wacht even! 

It was in a fairly fishy kettle-kerry, 

after the Fianna’s foreman had taken his handful, 

enriched with ancient woods and dear dutchy deeplinns 

mid which were an old knoll and a trout-beck, 

vainy-vain of her osiery and a chatty sally 

with any Wilt or Walt 

who would ongle her as Izaak did to the tickle of his rod 

and watch her waters of 

her sillying waters of 

and there now brown peater arripple 

(may their quilt gild lightly over his somno-lu-lutent form!) 

Who-for-you lies his last, 

by the wrath of Bog, 

like the erst curst Hun 

in the bed of his treu-bleu Dona-whu.

————————————————————-

Best. 

This was-to-have-been underground heaven, or mole’s paradise 

which was probably also an inversion of a phallo-pharos, 

intended to foster wheat crops 

and to ginger up tourist trade 

(its architecht, Mgr Peure-la-chasse, 

having been obcaecated 

lest (p77) he should petri-fake sucha-nevver 

while the contractors 

Messrs T. A. Birkett and L. O. Tuohalls 

were made invulnerably venerable) 

first in the west, 

our mister-bilder, 

Castle-villainous, 

openly damned and blasted by means of a hydromine, system, Sowan and Belting, 

exploded from a reinvented T.N.T. bombing-post 

up ahoy of eleven and thirty wingrests 

(circiter) to stern-booard out of his aerial thorpeto, 

Auton Dynamon, 

contacted with the expectant minefield 

by tins of improved ammonia lashed to her shield-plated gunwale, 

and fused into trip-up-cables, 

slipping through tholse 

and playing down from the conning tower into the ground battery fuse-boxes, 

all differing as clocks from keys 

since nobody appeared to have the same time of beard, 

some saying by their Oorlog it was Syg-stryggs to nine, 

more holding with the Ryan vogt 

it was Dane to pfife. 

He afterwards 

whaanever his blaetther began to fail off him 

and his rough bark was wholly husky 

and, stoop by stoop, 

he neared it (would-man-spare!) 

carefully lined the ferro-concrete result with rot-proof bricks and mortar, 

fassed to fossed, 

and retired beneath the heptarchy of his towerettes, 

the beauchamp, byward, bull and lion, 

the white, the wardrobe and bloodied, 

so encouraging 

(insteppen, alls als hats beliefd!) 

additional useful councils public with hoofd off-dealings 

which were wel-holden of lady-kants te huur out 

such as the Breeders’ Union, 

the Guild of Merchants of the Staple 

et, a.u.c. to present unto him with funebral pomp, 

over and above that, 

a stone slab with the usual Mac Pelah address of velediction, 

a very fair-worded instance of false-meaning adam-elegy: 

We have done ours go-hellt with you, 

Heer Here-whippit, 

over-given it, 

skidoo!

——————————————————-

But t’house and all-aboard-shoops! 

Show coffins, winding sheets, good-buy bier-chepes, cinerary urns, 

lie-aloud blasses, snuff-chests, poteen-tubbs, lacrimal vases, 

hooden-doses, reek-water-beckers, break-middles, 

zoot-zaks for eat-lust, 

including up-your-healthing rook-worst 

and meat-hewer-softened forken-pootsies 

and for that matter, javel also, 

any kind of in-humationary bric au brac 

for the adornment of his glass-tone hono-phreum, 

would, met these trein of konditiens, 

naturally follow, halas, 

in the ordinary course, 

enabling that round-the-worlder wandelings-wight, 

did suches pass (p78) him, 

to live all safe-at-homely the presenile days of his life of opulence, 

ancient ere decrepitude, 

late lents last lenience, 

till stuffering stage, 

whaling away the whole of the while 

(hypnos chilia eonion!) 

lethe-lulled between explosion and re-explosion 

(Donnaur-watteur! Hunder-thunder!) 

from gross-kopp to megapod, 

embalmed, 

of grand age, 

rich in death anticipated.

———————————————————-

But abide Zeit’s sumonserving, rise afterfall. 

Blue-blitz-bolted from there, 

knowing the hinge-worms of the hallmirks of habitationlesness, 

buried burrowing in Gehinnon, 

to proliferate through all his Unter-wealth, 

seam by seam, sheol om sheol, 

and revisit our Upper-crust Sideria of Utilitarios, 

the divine one, 

the hoarder hidden pro-paguting his plutor-popular progeniem 

of pots and pans and pokers and puns 

from bidden-land to boughten-land, 

the spearway fore the spoorway.

———————————————————————

The other spring offensive on the heights of Abraham 

may have come about all quite by accidence, 

Fought-arundser 

(for Breed-a-brooda had at length presuaded him 

to have himself to be as septuply buried 

as the murdered Cian in Finntown), 

had not been three monads in his watery grave 

(what vigilantes and ridings then and spuit-wyne pledges with aard-appel frittling!) when portrifaction, 

dreyfussed as ever, 

began to ramp, ramp, ramp, the boys are parching. 

A hooden-winkle gave the signal and a blessing paper freed the flood. 

Why did the patrizien make him scares with his gruntens? 

Because the druiven were muskating at the door. 

From both Celt-iberian camps 

(granting at the onset 

for the sake of argument 

that men on the two sides 

in New South Ireland and Vetera Uladh, 

blue-min and pill-faces, 

during the ferment With the Pope or On the Pope, 

had, moors or letts, grant ideas, grunted) 

all conditions, 

poor cons and dives mor, 

each, of course, 

on the purely doffensive 

since the eternals were owl-wise on their side every time, 

were drawn toowards their Bellona’s Black Bottom, 

once Woolwhite’s Waltz 

(Oh-i-boh, how becrimed, becurse-kissed and be-dumb-to-it!) 

some for want of proper feeding in youth, 

others already caught in the honourable act 

of slicing careers for family 

and carvers in conjunction; 

and, if emaciated nough, 

the person garrotted may have suggested 

to whomever he (p79) took the ham of, 

the plain being involved in darkness, 

low cirque waggery, 

nay, even the first old wugger of himself in the flesh, 

whiggissimus incarnadined, 

when false-sighted by the if-such-he-was bully on the hill 

for there had circulated freely fairly among his opposition 

the feeling that in so hibernating 

Massa Ewacka, who, previous to that demi-detached life, 

had been known of barmicidal days, 

cook said, 

between soups and savours, 

to get outside his own length of rainbow trout 

and taerts atta tarn 

as no man of woman born, 

nay could, like the great crested brebe, 

devour his three-score-ten of roach per life-day, 

ay, and as many minnow a minute 

(the big mix, may Gibbet choke him!) 

was, like the salmon of his ladder-leap all this time 

of totality secretly and by suckage 

feeding on his own misplaced fat.

—————————————————

Ladies did not disdain those pagan ironed times of the firs; 

city (called after the ugliest Danadune) 

when a frond was a friend inneed to carry, 

as earwigs do their dead, 

their soil to the earth-ball 

where indeeth we shall calm decline, 

our legacy unknown. 

Venuses were gigglibly tempta-trix, 

vulcans guffaw-ably eruptious 

and the whole wives’ world frockful of fickles. 

Fact, any human inyon you liked 

any ere-noon or efter 

would take her bare godkin out, 

or an even pair of hem, 

(lugod! lugodoo!) 

and prettily pray with him 

(or with em even) 

every-he to her taste, 

long for luck, 

tapette and tape petter and take pettest of all. 

(Tip!) 

Wells she’d woo and wills she’s win 

but how the deer knowed where she’d marry! 

Arbour, bucket-room, caravan, ditch? 

Coach, carriage, wheel-barrow, dungcart?

———————————————————

Kate Strong, a widow (Tiptip!)

— she pulls a lane picture for us, 

in a dreari-o-dreama setting, 

glowing and very vidual, 

of old dumplan as she nosed it, 

a homelike cottage of elvan-stone 

with droppings of biddies, stinkend pusshies, 

moggies’ duggies, rotten witch-a-wubbles, 

festering rubbages and beggars’ bullets, 

if not worse, 

sending salmo-farious germs in gleefully through the smithereen panes —

Widow Strong, then, 

as her weaker had turned him to the wall 

(Tiptiptip!), 

did most all the scavenging from good King Hamlaugh’s gulden dayne 

though her lean besom cleaned but sparingly 

and her bare statement reads that, (p80) 

there being no macadamised side-tracks on those old nekropolitan nights in, 

barring a foot-batter, 

Bryant’s Causeway, 

bordered with speedwell, white clover and sorrel a wood knows, 

which left off, being beaten, 

where the plaintiff was struck, 

she left down, 

as scavengers, who will be scavengers must, 

her filth-dump near the Serpentine in Phornix Park 

(at her time called Finewell’s Keepsacre 

but later tau-tau-bapp-tossed Pat’s Purge), 

that danger-field circling butchers-wood 

where fire-worker oh flaherty engaged a nutter of castle-mallards 

and ah for archer stunned’s turk, 

all over which fossil footprints, 

bootmarks, finger-signs, elbow-dints, breech-bowls, a. s. o. 

were all successively traced of a most envolving description. 

What subtler time-place of the weald 

than such wolfs-belly castrament to will hide a leabhar 

from Thursmen’s brandi-hands 

or a loveletter, lost-fully hers, 

that would be lust on Ma, 

than then when ructions ended, 

than here where race began: 

and by four hands of forethought 

the first babe of reconcilement is laid 

in its last cradle of hume sweet hume. 

Give over it! 

And no more of it! 

So pass the pick for child sake!

O men!

—————————————————-

For hear All-highest sprack for krischnians 

as for propagana fidies and his nuptial eagles sharped their beaks of prey: 

and every morphyl man of us, 

pome by pome, 

falls back into this terrine: 

as it was let it be, says he! 

And it is as though 

where Agni ara-flammed 

and Mithra monished 

and Shiva slew as maya-mutras 

the obluvial waters of our no-archic memory withdrew, 

windingly gohark-some, 

to some hasty-swasty timber-man torch-priest, 

flamen-fan, 

the ward of the wind 

that lightened the fire 

that lay in the wood that Jove bolt, 

at his rude word. 

Posi-donius O’Fluctuary! 

Lave that bloody stone as it is! 

What are you doing your dirty minx 

and his big tree-block way up your path? 

Slip around, you, by the rare of the ministers’! 

And, you, take that barrel back where you got it, 

Mac Shane’s, 

and go the way your old one went, 

Hatchetts-bury Road! 

And gish! how they gushed away, 

the pennyf-ares, 

a whole school for scamper, 

with their sashes flying sish behind them, 

all the little pirly-pettes! 

Issy-la-Chapelle! 

Any lucans, please? (p81)

————————————————

Yes, the viability of vicinals if invisible is invincible. 

And we are not trespassing on his corns either. 

Look at all the plotsch! 

Fluminian! 

If this was Hannibal’s walk it was Hercules’ work. 

And a hungried thousand of the unemancipated slaved the way. 

The mausoleum lies behind us 

(O Adgigasta, multi-populi-pater!) 

and there are milestones in their chead-milias 

faultering along the trames-track by Brahm and Anton Hermes! 

Per omnibus secular seekalarum. 

Amain. 

But the past has made us this present of a rhedar-hoad. 

So more boher O’Connell! 

Though rainy-hidden, you’re rhino-hide. 

And if he’s not a Romeo you may scallop your hat. 

Were-up-under in the fane of Saint Fiacre! 

Halte!

———————————————————

It was hard by the howe’s there, 

plainly on this disoluded and a buchan cold spot, 

rupestric then, 

resurfaced that now is, 

that Luttrell sold if Lautrill bought, 

in the saddle of the Brennan’s 

(now Malpas-place?) 

pass, versts and versts from true civilisation, 

not where his dreams top their traums halt 

(Ben-eat-here! Bena-there!) 

but where livland yontide meared 

with the wilde, salt-lea with flood, 

that the attackler, a cropatkin, 

though under medium and between colours 

with truly native pluck, 

engaged the Adversary 

who had more in his eye than was less to his leg 

but whom for plunder sake, 

he mistook in the heavy rain to be Oglethorpe or some other ginkus, 

Parr aparrently, 

to whom the head-and-heel-less chicke-nest-egg 

bore some Michelangio-lesque resemblance, 

making use of sacrilegious languages 

to the defect 

that he would challenge their hemo-sphores to exterminate them 

but he would cannonise the b—y b—r’s life out of him 

and lay him out contritely as smart as the b—r had his b—y night-prayers said, 

three patreck-nocksters and a couplet of hell-muirries 

(tout est sacré pour un sacreur, femme à barbe ou homme-nourrice) 

at the same time, 

so as to plugg well let the blubby-wail ghoats out of him, 

catching holst of an oblong bar he had 

and with which he usually broke furnitures 

he rose the stick at him. 

The boarder incident pre-repeated itself. 

The pair 

(whether-they-were Nippo-luono engaging Wei-Ling-Taou 

or de Razzkias trying to reconnoistre the general Boukeleff, 

man may not say), 

struggled apairently for some considerable time, 

the cradle rocking equally (p82) to one and oppositely from the other 

on its law of capture and recapture), 

under the All In rules around the book-safe, 

fighting like purple top and tipperuhry Swede, 

(Secremented Servious of the Divine Zeal!) 

and in the course of their tussle 

the toller man, who had opened his bully bowl to beg, 

said to the miner who was carrying the worm 

(a handy term for the portable distillery 

which consisted of three vats, two jars and several bottles 

though we purposely say nothing of the stiff, 

both parties having an interest in the spirits): 

Let me go, Pautheen! I hardly knew ye. 

Later on, 

after the solstitial pause for refleshmeant, 

the same man 

(or a different and younger him of the same ham) 

asked in the vermicular with a very oggly chew-chin-grin: 

Was six victolios fifteen pigeon takee offa you, 

tell he me, stlong-fella, 

by picky-pocky ten to foul months behind-aside? 

There were some further collida-banter 

and severe tries to convert 

for the best part of an hour 

and now a woden affair in the shape of a webley 

(we at once recognise our old friend Ned of so many ill-or-temporate letters) 

fell from the intruser 

who, as stuck as that cat to that mouse 

in that tube of that christ-church organ, 

(did the imnage of Girl Cloud Pensive flout above them light young charm, 

in ribbons and pigtail?) 

whereupon became friendly and, 

saying not his shirt to tear, 

to know wanted, 

joking and knob-kerries, all aside laying, 

if his change companion 

who stuck still to the in vention of his strong-box, 

with a tenacity corrobberating their mutual tenitorial rights, 

happened to have the loots change of a tenpound crickler about him at the moment, addling that hap so, 

he would pay him back the six vics odd, 

do you see, 

out of that for what was taken on the man of samples 

last Yuni or Yuly, 

do you follow me, Capn? 

To this the other, 

Billi with the Boule, 

who had mummed and mauled up to that 

(for he was hesitency carried to excelcism) 

rather amusedly replied: 

Woo-woo would you be grossly surprised, Hill, to learn that, 

as it so happens, 

I honestly have not such a thing as the loo, 

as the least chance of a tin-panned crackler 

anywhere about me at the present mo-ho-moment 

but I believe I can see my way, 

as you suggest, 

it being Yuletide or Yuddan-fest 

and as it’s mad nuts, son, for you (p83)

when it’s hatter’s hares, mon, for me, 

to advance you something like four and sevenpence 

between hopping and trapping 

which you might just as well have, 

boy baches, 

to buy J. J. and S. with. 

There was a minute silence before memory’s fire’s rekindling and then. 

Heart alive! 

Which at very first wind of gay gay and whisk-wigs 

wick’s ears pricked up, 

the starving gunman, 

strike him pink, 

became strangely calm and forthright sware by all his lards porsenal 

that the thorntree of sheol might ramify up his Sheofon 

to the lux apoint-lex 

but he would go good to him suntime 

marx my word fort, 

for a chip off the old Flint, 

(in the Nichtian glossery 

which purveys a-prioric roots 

for a-posteriorious tongues 

this is nat language at any sinse of the world 

and one might as fairly go and kish his sprogues 

as fail to certify whether the war-trophy eluded at some lives earlier 

was that somethink like a jug, to what, a coctable) 

and remarxing in languid-oily, 

seemingly much more highly pleased than tongue could tell 

at this opening of a lifetime 

and the foretaste of the Dun Bank pearl-mothers 

and the boy to wash down 

which he would feed to himself in the Ruadh Cow at Tallaght 

and then into the Good Woman at Ringsend 

and after her inat Conway’s Inn at Blackrock 

and, first to fall, 

cursed be all, 

where appetite would keenest be, 

atte, funeral fare or fun fain real, 

Adam and Eve’s in Quantity Street 

by the grace of gamy queen Tailte, 

her will and testament: 

You stunning little south-downer! 

I’d know you anywhere, Declaney, l

et me truthfully tell you in or out of the lex-inction of life 

and who the hell else, 

be your blanche patch on the boney part! 

Goal-ball I’ve struck this daylit dielate night of nights, by golly! 

My hat, you have some bully German grit, sun-downer! 

He spud in his faust (axin); 

he toped the raw best (pardun); 

he poked his pick (a tip is a tap): 

and he tucked his friend’s leave. 

And, with French hen or the portli-fowlium of hastes and leisures, 

about to continue that, 

the queer mixture exchanged the pax in embrace 

or poghue puxy 

as practised between brothers of the same breast, 

hille-lulia, kille-lulia, allen-a-law, 

and, having ratified before the god of the day 

their torgan-truce which belittlers have schmall-kalled the treatyng to cognac, 

turning his fez menial-strait in the (p84) direction of Moscas, 

he first got rid of a few mits-millers and huroo-shoos 

and levanted off with tubular jurbulance 

at a bull’s run over the ass-back bridge, 

spitting his teeths on rooths, 

with the seven and four in danegeld 

and their humoral hurlbat 

or other uncertain weapon of lignum vitae, 

but so evermore rhum-an-asant of a toboggan poop, 

picked up to keep some crow-plucking appointment 

with some rival rialtos 

anywheres between Pea-ridge and the Little-horn 

while this poor delaney, 

who they left along with the confederate fender behind 

and who albeit balls-bluffed, 

bore up wonderfully wunder all of it 

with a whole number of plum-sized contusiums, 

plus alas-alah bruised coccyx, 

all over him, 

reported the occurance in the best way he could, 

to the flabber-gaze of the whole lab, 

giving the Paddy-banners the military salute 

as for his exilicy’s the O’Daffy, 

in justifiable hope that, 

in nobilo-roman review of the hugely sitisfactuary conclusium 

of their negotiations and the juggle-monkysh agripment de-in-derivative, 

some lotion or fomentation of poppy-heads 

would be jennerously exhibited to the parts, 

at the nearest watchhouse in Vicar Lane, 

the white ground of his face 

all covered with digonally red-crossed non-fatal mammalian blood 

as proof-positive of the seriousness of his character 

and that he was bleeding in self defience 

(stanch it!) 

from the nostrils, lips, pavilion and palate, 

while some of his hitter’s hairs had been pulled off his knut’s head 

by Colt 

though otherwise his all-round health appeared to be middling along 

as it proved most fortunate 

that not one of the two hundred and six bones 

and five hundred and one muscles in his corso 

was a whit the whorse for her whacking. 

Herwho?

——————————————-

Nowthen, 

leaving clashing ash, 

brawn and muscle and brass-made 

to oust earthern-born and rock-crystal 

to wreck isinglass 

but wurming along gradually 

for our savings back-towards mother-waters 

so many miles from bank and Dublin stone 

(olympiading even till the eleventh dynasty to reach that thuddy-sickend Hamlaugh) 

and to the question of boney’s unlawfully obtaining a pierced para-flamme 

and clap-trap fire-guard 

there crops out the still more salient point 

of the politish leanings and town pursuits of our forebeer, 

El Don De Dunelli, 

(may his ship thicked stick (p85) in the bottol of the river 

and all his crewsers stock locked in the burral of the seas!) 

who, when within the black of your toenail, sir, 

of being mistakenly ambushed by one of the uddah-veddahs, 

and as close as made no matter, mam, 

to being kayoed off-hand when the hyou-gono heckler 

with the Peter the Painter 

wanted to hole him, 

was consistently practising 

the first of the primary and imprescriptible liberties of the pacific subject 

by circulating 

(be British, boys to your belly-bone and chuck a chum a chance!) 

alongst one of our umphrohibited semitary thru-fahrts, 

open to buggy and bike, 

to walk, 

Wellington Park road, 

with the curb or quaker’s quack-nostrum under his auxter 

and his alpen-stuck in his redhand, 

a highly commendable exercise, 

or, number two of our acta legitima plebeia, 

on the brink (beware to baulk a man at his will!) 

of taking place upon a public seat, 

to what, bare by Butt’s, 

most easterly (but all goes west!) 

of blackpool bridges, 

as a public protest and natur-like-vice, 

without intent to annoy either, 

being praise-good thankfully for the wrath-bereaved ring-dove 

and the fearstung boa-constrictor 

and all the more right jolly-well pleased, 

which he was, 

at having other people’s weather.

——————————————————————

But to return to the atlantic and Phenitia Proper. 

As if that were not to be enough for anyone but little headway, 

if any, 

was made in solving the was-not-to-be crime cunundrum 

when a child of Maam, 

Festy King, 

of a family long and honourably associated with the tar and feather industries, 

who gave an address in old plomansch 

Mayo of the Saxons 

in the heart of a foul-famed potheen district, 

was subsequently haled up at the Old Bailey 

on the calends of Mars, 

under an incompatibly framed indictment of both the counts 

(from each equinoxious points of view, 

the one fellow’s fetch being the other follow’s person) 

that is to see, 

flying cushats out of his ouveralls 

and making fesses immodst his forces on the field. 

Oyeh! Oyeh! 

When the prisoner, 

soaked in methylated, 

appeared in dry dock, 

appatently ambrosia-u-realised, 

like Kersse’s Korduroy Karikature, 

wearing, 

besides stains, rents and patches, 

his fight shirt, straw braces, 

sou’wester and a policeman’s corkscrew trowswers, 

all out of the true 

(as he had purposely torn up all his cymtry-manx bespokes in the mamer-time), 

deposing for (p86) his exution 

with all the fluors of sparse in the royal Irish vocabulary 

how the whole padder-jag-martin tripiezite suet 

and all the sulfeit of copperas had fallen off him 

quatz unaccountably like the chrystalisations of Alum on Even 

while he was trying for to stick fire to himcell, 

(in feacht he was dripping 

as he found upon stripping 

for a pipkin ofmalt 

as he feared the coold raine) 

it was attempted by the crown 

(P.C. Robort) 

to show that King, 

elois Crowbar, 

once known as Meleky, 

impersonating a climbing boy, 

rubbed some pixes of any luvial peats-moor 

o’er his face, plucks and pussas, 

with a clane-tourf 

as the best means of disguising himself 

and was to the middle-white fair in Mudford of a Thoorsday, 

feishts of Peeler and Pole, 

under the ill-assumed names of Tyking-fest and Rabworc 

picked by him and Anthony out of a tellafun book, 

ellegedly with a pedigree pig (unlicensed) and a hyacinth. 

They were on that sea by the plain of Ir 

nine hundred and ninetynine years 

and they never cried crack 

or ceased from regular paddle-wicking 

till that they landed their two and a trifling selves, 

amadst camel and ass, 

grey-beard and suckling, 

priest and pauper, 

matr-matron and merry-meg, 

into the meddle of the mud-storm. 

The gathering, 

convened by the Irish Angricultural and Prepostoral Ouraganisations, 

to help the Irish muck to look his brother dane in the face 

and attended thanks to Larry 

by large numbers, of christies and jew’s totems, 

tospite of the deluge, 

was distinctly of a scattery kind 

when the bally-bricken he could get no good of, 

after cock-of-the-walking through a few fancy-fought mains 

ate some of the doorweg, 

the pikey later selling the gentleman ratepayer 

because she, Francie’s sister, 

that is to say, 

ate a whole side of his (the animal’s) sty, 

on a struggle Street, 

Qui Sta Troia, 

in order to pay off, 

hiss or lick, 

six doubloons fifteen arrears of his, 

the villain’s not the rumbler’s 

rent.

——————————————

Remarkable evidence was given, anon, 

by an eye, ear, nose and throat witness, 

whom Wesleyan chapel-goers suspected of being a plain clothes priest 

W.P., situate at Nullnull, Medical Square, 

who, upon letting down his rice and peace-green cover-disk 

and having been sullenly cautioned against yawning while (p87) being grilled, 

smiled 

(he had had a one-bumper at parting from Mrs Molroe in the morning) 

and stated to his eliciter under his morse must-accents 

(gobbless!) 

that he slept with a bonafides 

and that he would be there to remember the filth of November, 

hatinaring, rowdy O, 

which, with the jiboulees of Juno and the dates of ould lanxiety, 

was going, please the Rain-maker, 

to decembs within the ephemerides of profane history, 

all one with Tournay, Yets-to-slay and Temorah, 

and one thing which would pig-stick-ularly strike a person 

of such sorely tried observational powers 

as Sam, him and Moffat, 

though theirs not to reason why, 

the striking thing about it was 

that he was patrified to see, hear, taste and smell, 

as his time of night, 

how Hyacinth O’Donnell, B.A., 

described in the calendar as a mixer and word-painter, 

with part of a sivispacem 

(Gaeltact for dungfork) 

on the fair green 

at the hour of twenty-four o’clock sought 

(the bully-cassidy of the fried-hoffer!) 

to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded 

another two of the old kings, 

Gush Mac Gale and Roaring O’Crian, Jr., 

both changelings, 

unlucalised, 

of no address and in non-communicables, 

between him and whom, 

ever since wallops before the Mise of Lewes, 

bad blood existed 

on the ground of the boer’s trespass on the bull 

or because he first-parted his polar-beeber hair in two-ways, 

or because they were creep-foxed andt grousuppers 

over a nippy in a noveletta, 

or because they could not say meace, (mute and daft) meathe. 

The litigants, he said, 

local congsmen and donalds, 

kings of the arans and the dalkeys, 

kings of mud and tory, 

even the goat king of Killorglin, 

were egged on by their supporters 

in the shape of better-women 

with bow-strung hair of Carrotha-genuine ruddiness, 

waving crimson petties 

and screaming from Isod’s tower-top. 

There were cries from the thicksets in court 

and from the mac-dublins on the bohern-a-breen of: 

Mind the bank from Banagher, Mick, sir! 

Prodooce O’Donner. 

Ay! Exhibit his relics! 

Bu! Use the tongue mor! 

Give lip less! 

But it oozed out in Deadman’s Dark Scenery Court 

through cross-exanimation of the case-hardened testis 

that when and where that knife of knifes 

the tree-partied ambush was laid 

(roughly spouting around half hours ’twixt dusk in dawn, (p88)

by Waterhose’s Meddle Europeic Time, 

near Stop and Think, 

high chief ever-virens and only abfall-tree in auld the land) 

there was not as much light from the widowed moon 

as would dim a child’s altar. 

The mixer, accordingly, 

was bluntly broached, 

and in the best basel to boot, 

as to whether he was one of those lucky cocks 

for whom the audible-visible-gnosible-edible world existed. 

That he was only too cognitively conatively cogita-bundantly sure of it 

because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping morpho-melo-sopho-pan-creates, 

as he most significantly did, 

whenever he thought 

he heard 

he saw 

he felt 

he made a bell 

clipper-clipper-clipper-clipper. 

Whether he was practically sure too of his lugs and truies names 

in this king and blouseman business? 

That he was pediculously so. 

Certified? 

As cad could be. 

Be lying! 

Be the lonee I will. 

It was Morbus O’ Somebody? 

A’Quite. 

Szerday’s Son? 

A satyr in weddens. 

And how did the greeneyed mister arrive at the B.A.? 

That it was like his poll. 

A cross-grained trapper with murty odd oogs, 

awflorated ares, inquiline nase and a twithcherous mouph? 

He would be. 

Who could bit you att to a ten-yerd-fuul when aastalled? 

Ballera jobbera. 

Some majar bore too? 

Iguines. 

And with tumblerous legs, 

redip-nominated 

Helmingham Erchenwyne Rutter Egbert 

Crumwall Odin Maximus Esme Saxon Esa 

Vercingetorix Ethelwulf Rupprecht 

Ydwalla Bentley Osmund Dysart 

Yggdrasselmann? 

Holy Saint Eiffel, the very phoenix! 

It was Chudley Magnall once more between the deffodates and the dumb scene? 

The two child-spies waapreesing him auza de Vologue 

but the renting of his rock was from the three wicked Vuncouverers Forests 

bent down awhits, arthou sure? 

Yubeti, Cumbilum comes! 

One of the oxmen’s thinga-bossers, hvad? 

And had he been refresqued by the founts of bounty 

playing there-is-a-pain-aleland in Long’s gourgling barral? 

A loss of Lordedward 

and a lack of sir-philip 

a surgeonet shower-a-down could suck more gargling bubbles 

out of the five lamps in Portterand’s praise. 

Wirrgeling and maries? 

As whose wouldn’t, laving his leaf-time in Blackpool. 

But, of course, he could call himself Tem, too, if he had time to? 

You butt he could anytom. 

When he pleased? 

Win and (p89) place. 

A stoker temptated by evesdripping aginst the driver 

who was a witness as well? 

Sacred avatar, how the devil did they guess it! 

Two dreamy-ums in one dromium? 

Yes and no error. 

And both as like as a duel of lentils? 

Peacisely. 

So he was pelted out of the coram populo, was he? 

Be the powers that be he was. 

The prince in principel should not expose his person? 

Macchevuole! 

Rooskay-man kamerad? 

Sooner Gallwegian he would say. 

Not unintoxicated, fair witness? 

Drunk as a fishup. 

Askt to whether she minded whither he smuked? 

Not if he barkst into phlegms. 

Anent his ajaciulations to his Crosscann Lorne, cossa? 

It was corso in cursu on coarser again. 

The gracious miss was we not doubt sensible 

how yellowatty on the forx was altered? 

That she esually was, O’Dowd me not! 

As to his religion, if any? 

It was the see-you-Sunday sort. 

Exactly what he meant by a pederast prig? 

Bejacob’s, just a gent who prayed his lent. 

And if middle-classed portavorous was a usual beast? 

Bynight as useful as a vomit to a shorn man. 

If he had rognarised dtheir gcourts marsheyls? 

Dthat nday in ndays he had. 

Linden-delly, coke or skilllies spell me gart without a gate? 

Harly-a-drope. 

The grazing rights (Mrs Magistra Martinetta) 

expired with the expiry of the goat’s sire, 

if they were not mistaken? 

That he exactly could not tell the worshipfuls 

but his mother-in-waders had the recipis for the price of the coffin 

and that he was there to tell them 

that herself was the velocipede that could tell them kitcat. 

A maundarin tongue in a pounderin jowl? 

Father ourder about the mathers of prenanciation. 

Distributary endings? 

And we recommends.

Quare hircum? 

No answer. 

Unde gentium fe . . . ? 

No ah. 

Are you not danzzling on the age of a vulcano? 

Siar, I am deed. 

And how olld of him? 

He was intendant to study pulu. 

Which was meant in a shirt of two shifts macogh-a-made or up Finn, 

three-hatted ladder? 

That a head in thighs under a bush at the sunface 

would bait a serpent to a millrace through the heather. 

Arm bird colour defdum ethnic fort perharps? 

Sure and glomsk handy jotal-pheson as well. 

Hokey jasons, then, in a pigee-geeses? 

On a pontiff’s order as ture as there’s an ital on atac. 

As a gololy bit to joss? 

Leally and tululy. 

But, why this hankow-chaff and (p90) whence this second tone, son-yet-sun? 

He had the cowtaw in his buxers flay of face. 

So this that Sola-sistras, 

setting odds evens at defiance, 

took the laud from Labouriter? 

What displaced Tob, Dilke and Halley, 

not been greatly in love with the game. 

And, changing the venders, 

from the king’s head to the republican’s arms, 

as to the pugnaxities evinxed from flag-fall to ante-post 

during the effrays round father-thyme’s beckside 

and the regents in the plant-sown raining, 

with the skiddy-stars and the morkern-windup, 

how they appealed to him then? 

That it was wildfires night on all the betty-gallaghers. 

Mick-michael’s soords shrieking shrecks through the wilkinses 

and neck-a-nicholas’ toasting-forks pricking prongs up the tunny-bladders. 

Let there be fight? 

And there was. 

Foght. 

On the site of the Angel’s, you said? 

Guinney’s Gap, he said, between what they said and the pussy-kitties. 

In the middle of the garth, then? 

That they mushn’t toucht it. 

The devoted couple was or were only two disappainted solicitresses 

on the job of the unfortunate class 

on Saturn’s mountain fort? 

That was about it, jah! 

And Camellus then said to Gemellus: I should know you? 

Parfaitly. 

And Gemellus then said to Camellus: Yes, your brother? 

Obsolutely. 

And if it was all about that, egregious sir? 

About that and the other. 

If he was not alluding to the whole in the wall? 

That he was when he was not eluding from the whole of the woman. 

Briefly, how such beginall finally struck him now? 

Like the crack that bruck the bank in Multifarnham. 

Whether he fell in with what they meant? 

Cursed that he suppoxed he did. 

Thos Thoris, Thomar’s Thom? 

The rudacist rotter in Roebuckdom. 

Sur-topical? 

And subhuman. 

If it was, in yappa-noise language, ach bad clap? 

Oo! Ah! 

Augs and ohrs with Rhian O’ kehley to put it tertianly, we wrong? 

Shocking! 

Such as turly pearced our really’s that he might, 

that he might never, 

that he might never that night? 

Treely and rurally.

Blady-ugh-foul-moecklenburg-whura-whora-scorta-

strumpa-porna-nenny-kocks-apastip-pat-appa-

tupper-strip-puck-putta-nach, eh? 

You have it alright.

—————————————————-

Meirdreach an Oincuish! 

But a new complexion was put upon the matter 

when to the perplexedly uncondemnatory bench 

(whereon punic judgeship strove with penal law) 

the senior (p91) king of all, 

Pegger Festy, 

as soon as the outer layer of stuccko-muck had been removed 

at the request of a few live jurors, 

declared in a loud-burst of poesy, 

through his Brythonic interpreter on his oath, 

mhuith peisth mhuise as fearra bheura muirre hriosmas, 

whereas take notice be the relics of the bones of the story bouchal 

that was ate be Clio-patrick (the sow) 

princess of parked porkers, 

afore God and all their honours and king’s commons 

that, what he would swear to the Tierney of Dundalgan or any other Tierney, 

yif live thurkells folloged him about 

sure that was no steal and that, 

nevertheless, 

what was deposited from that eyebold earbig nose-knaving gut-throat, 

he did not fire a stone 

either before or after he was born down and up to that time. 

And, incidentalising that they might talk about Markarthy 

or they might walk to Baala-startey 

or they might join the nabour party 

and come on to Porterfeud 

this the sock-dologer had the neck to endorse 

with the head bowed on him 

over his out-turned noreaster 

by protesting to his lipreaders 

with a just-been-cleaned bare-facedness, 

abeam of moonlight’s hope, 

in the same trelawney what he would impart, 

pleas bench, 

to the Llwyd Josus and the gentlemen in Jury’s 

and the four of Masterers 

who had been all those yarns yearning for that good one about why he left Dublin, 

that, amreeta beaker coddling doom, 

as an Inishman was as good as any cantonnatal, 

if he was to parish by the market steak 

before the dorming of the mawn, 

he skuld never ask to see sight or light of this world 

or the other world 

or any either world, 

of Tyre-na-nOg, 

as true as he was there in that jackabox that minute, 

or wield or wind (no thanks t’yous!) 

the inexoust-haus-thible wassail-horn tot of isky-baush 

the hailth up the wailth 

of the end-known abgod of the fire of the moving way 

of the hawks with his heroes in War-horror 

if ever in all his exchequered career he up 

or lave a chancery hand to take 

or throw the sign of a mortal stick or stone at man, 

yoe-lamb or salvation army either 

before or after being puptised 

down to that most holy and every blessed hour. 

Here, 

upon the half-kneed castle-knocker’s attempting kith-oguishly 

to lilt his holy-mess the paws 

and make the sign of the Roman Godhelic faix, 

(Xaroshie, zdrst!—

in his excitement the laddo had (p92) broken exthro Castilian 

into which the whole audience perseguired and pursuited him olla podrida) 

outbroke much yell-achters from owners in the heall 

(Ha!) 

in which, under the mollification of metha-glin, 

the testi-fighter reluctingly, 

but with ever so lady-like indecorum, 

joined. 

(Ha! Ha!)

—————————————————-

The hilario-hoot of Pegger’s Windup 

cum-justled as neatly with the tristi-tone of the Wet Pinter’s 

as were they isce et ille equals of opposites, 

evolved by a one-same power of nature or of spirit, iste, 

as the sole condition and means of its him-undher manifestation 

and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. 

Distinctly different were their duasdestinies. 

Whereas the maidies of the bar, 

(a pairless trentene, a lunarised score) 

when the eranthus myrrmyrred: 

Show’m the Posed: 

fluttered and flattered around the willingly pressed, 

nominating him for the swiney prize, 

complimenting him, 

the captivating youth, 

on his having all his senses about him, 

stincking thyacinths through his curls 

(O feen! O deur!) 

and bringing busses to his cheeks, 

their masculine Oirisher Rose 

(his neece cleur!), 

and legando round his nice new neck for him 

and pizzi-cagnoling his wooly-wags, 

with their dindy dandy sugar de candy 

mechree me postheen flowns courier to belive them 

of all his untiring young dames 

and send treats in their times. 

Ymen. 

But it was not unobserved of those presents, 

their worships, 

how, 

of one among all, 

her deputised to defeme him by the Lunar Sisters’ Celibacy Club, 

a love-looking leap-girl, 

all all alonely, 

Gentia Gemma of the Make-giddy-culling Reeks, 

he, wan and pale in his unmixed admiration, 

seemed blindly, mutely, tastelessly, tactlessly, 

innamorate with her-upon-him in shining aminglement, 

the shaym of his hisu shifting into the shimmering of her hers, 

(youthsy, beautsy, hee’s her chap and shey’ll tell memmas when she gays whom) 

till the wild wish-wish of her shee-shea melted most musically 

mid the dark deep-deep of his shay-shaun.

———————————————————

And whereas distracted 

(for was not just this in effect which had just caused that 

the effect of that which it had caused to occur?) 

the four justicers laid their wigs together, 

Untius, Muncius, Punchus and Pylax 

but could do no worse than promulgate (p93) their standing verdict 

of Nolans Brumans 

where-one-after King, 

having murdered all the English he knew, 

picked out his pockets and left the tribunal scotfree, 

trailing his Tommey-lommey’s tunic in his hurry, 

there-in-under proudly showing off the blink patch to his brit-gits 

to prove himself (an’t plase yous!) a rael genteel. 

To the Switz bobby-guard’s curial but court-like: 

Commodore valley O hairy, Arthre jenny-rosy?: 

the fire-water-loover returted 

with such a vine-smelling forty-tudor ages raw-down-hams tan-you-hide 

as would the latten stomach even of a tumass equinous 

(we were prepared for the chap’s clap cap, 

the accent, but, took us as, by surprise 

and now we’re geshing it like gush gash from a burner!) 

so that all the two-from-thirty advocatesses within echo, 

pulling up their briefs at the krigkry: 

Shun the Punman!: 

safely and soundly soccered that fenemine Parish Poser, 

(how dare he!) umprumptu right-o-way hames, 

much to his thanks, 

gratia-sagam, 

to all the wrong donatrices, 

biss Drink-battle’s Dingy Dwellings 

where (for like your true venuson Esau 

he was dovetimid as the dears at Bottome) 

he shat in (zoo), 

like the muddy goal-bind who he was (dun), 

the chasse-titties belles conclaiming: 

You and your gift of your gaft of your garbage abaht our Farvver! 

and gain-gri-dando: 

Hon! Verg! Nau! Putor! Skam! Schams! Shames!

—————————————————

And so it all ended. 

Artha kama dharma moksa. 

Ask Kavya for the kay. 

And so everybody heard their plaint and all listened to their plause. 

The letter! The litter! 

And the soother the bitther! 

Of eyebrow pencilled, by lip-stipple penned. 

Borrowing a word and begging the question 

and stealing tinder and slipping like soap. 

From dark Rasa Lane a sigh and a weep, 

from Lesbia Looshe the beam in her eye, 

from lone Coogan Barry his arrow of song, 

from Sean Kelly’s anagrim a blush at the name, 

from I am the Sullivan that trumpeting tramp, 

from Suffering Dufferin the Sit of her Style, 

from Kathleen May Vernon her Mebbe fair efforts, 

from Fill-the=pot Curran his scotch-love machreether, 

from hymn Op. 2 Phil Adolphos the weary O, the leery, O, 

from Sam-you-will Leaver 

or Dam-you-well Lover that-jolly old molly bit 

or that bored saunter by, 

from Timm Finn again’s weak tribes, loss of strenghth to his sowheel, 

from the wedding (p94) on the greene, a-girlies, the gretnass of joy-boys, 

from Pat Mullen, Tom Mallon, Dan Meldon, Don Maldon 

a slick-stick picnic made in Moate by Muldoons. 

The solid man saved by his sillied woman. 

Crack-a-jolking away like a hearse on fire. 

The elm that whimpers at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. 

Wind broke it. 

Wave bore it. 

Reed wrote of it. 

Syce ran with it. 

Hand tore it and wild went war. 

Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace. 

It was folded with cunning, 

sealed with crime, 

uptied by a harlot, 

undone by a child. 

It was life but was it fair? 

It was free but was it art? 

The old hunks on the hill read it to perlection. 

It made ma make merry and sissy so shy 

and rubbed some shine off Shem 

and put some shame into Shaun. 

Yet Una and Ita spill famine with drought and Agrippa, 

the pro-pastored, 

spells tripulations in his threne. 

Ah, furchte fruchte, timid Danaides! 

Ena milo melomon, 

frai is frau and swee is too, 

swee is two when swoo is free, 

ana mala woe is we! 

A pair of sycopanties with amygdaleine eyes, 

one old obster lumpky pumpkin and three meddlars on their slies. 

And that was how framm Sin fromm Son, 

acity arose, 

finfin funfun, 

a sitting arrows. 

Now tell me, tell me, tell me then!

——————————————————————

So there you are now there they were, 

when all was over again, 

the four with them, 

setting around upin their judges’ chambers, 

in the muniment room, 

of their marshalsea, 

under the suspices of Lally, 

around their old traditional tables of the law 

like Somany Solans to talk it over rall-the-same-again. 

Well and druly dry. 

Suffering law the dring. 

Accourting to king’s evelyns. 

So help her goat and kiss the bouc. 

Festives and high-a-jinks 

and jintyaun and her beety-rossy betty-doaty 

and not to forget now a’duna o’darnel. 

The four of them and thank court now there were no more of them. 

So pass the push for port sake. 

Be it soon. 

Ah ho! 

And do you remember, Singa-bob, 

the bad-father, the same, 

the great How-do-you-call-em, 

and his old nickname, Dirty Daddy Pantaloons, 

in his mono-poleums, 

behind the war of the two roses, 

with Michael Victory, 

the sheemen’s preester, 

before (p95) he caught his paper dispill-sation from the poke, 

old Minace and Minster York? 

Do I mind? 

I mind the gush off the mon like Bally-bock manure works on a trade-winds day. 

    And the O’Moyly gracies and the O’Briny rossies 

chaffing him bluch-face and playing him pranks. 

How do you do, todo, North Mister? 

Get into my way! 

Ah dearome for-sailoshe! 

Gone over the bays! 

When gina-bawdy mead-a-bawdy! 

Yerra, why would he heed that old gasometer 

with his hooping coppin and his dyin-boosy-cough 

and all the birds of the south-side after her, 

Minxy Cunningham, 

their dear divorcee darling, 

jimmies and jonnies to be her jo? 

Hold hard. 

There’s three other corners to our isle’s cork float. 

Sure, ’tis well I can tele-smell him H2CE3 

that would take a township’s breath away! 

Gob and I nose him too well as I do meself, 

heaving up the Kay Wall by the 32 to 11 

with his lime-looking horse-bags full of sesame-seed, 

the White-side Kaffir, 

and his sayman’s effluvium and his scent-painted voice, 

puffing out his thundering big brown cabbage! 

Pa! Thawt I’m glad a gull for his pawsdeen fiunn! 

Goborro, sez he, Lanky-shied! 

Go-bugga ye, sez I! 

O breezes! 

I sniffed that lad long before anyone. 

It was when I was in my far-father out at the west 

and she and myself, the red-headed girl, 

first-nighting down Sycomore Lane. 

Fine feel-play we had of it mid the kissa-betts 

frisking in the kool kurkle dusk of the lushiness. 

My perfume of the pampas, says she 

(meaning me) putting out her nether-lights, 

and I’d sooner one precious sip at your pure mountain dew 

than enrich my acquaintance with that big brewer’s belch.

———————————————————

And so they went on, 

the four-bottle men, 

the analists, 

unguam and nunguam and lunguam again, 

their anschluss about her whose-before and his where-afters 

and how she was lost away away in the fern 

and how he was founded deap on deep in anear, 

and the rustlings 

and the twitterings 

and the raspings 

and the snappings 

and the sighings 

and the paintings 

and the uk-ukuings 

and the (hist!) the spring-a-partings 

and the (hast!) the byby-scuttlings 

and all the scandal-munkers 

and the pure craigs that used to be (up) that time 

living and lying and rating and riding round Nunsbelly Square. 

And all the buds in the bush. 

And the laughing (p96) jackass. 

Harik! Harik! Harik! 

The rose is white in the darik! 

And Sun-fella’s nose has got rhinoceritis from haunting the roes in the parik! 

So all rogues lean to rhyme. 

And contra-drinking themselves about Lilly-trilly law pon hilly 

and Mrs Niall of the Nine Corsages 

and the old markiss their bester-far, 

and, arrah, sure there was never a marcus at all at all among the manlies 

and dear Sir Armoury, queer Sir Rumoury, 

and the old house by the churpelizod, 

and all the goings on so very wrong 

long before when they were going on retreat, 

in the old gammel-dags, 

the four of them, 

in Milton’s Park under lovely Father Whisperer 

and making her love with his stuff-stuff in the languish of flowers 

and feeling to find was she mushy-mushy, 

and wasn’t that vely both of them, 

the sauci-cissters, 

a drahereen o machree!, 

and (peep!) meeting waters most improper (peepette!) 

ball-round the garden, 

trickle trickle trickle triss, please, 

miman, may I go flirting? 

farmers gone with a groom 

and how they used her, mused her, licksed her and cuddled. 

I differ with ye! 

Are you sure of yourself now? 

You’re a liar, excuse me! 

I will not and you’re another! 

And Lully holding their breach of the peace for them. 

Pool loll Lolly! 

To give and to take! 

And to forego the pasht! 

And all will be forgotten! 

Ah ho! 

It was too too bad to be falling out about her kindness pet 

and the shape of O O O O O O O O Ourang’s time. 

Well, all right, Lelly. 

And shakeahand. 

And schenk-us-more. 

For Craig sake. 

Be it suck.

—————————————————

Well?

——————————————————————

Well, even should not the framing up of such figments 

in the evidential order 

bring the true truth to light 

as fortuitously as a dim seer’s setting of a starchart might 

(heaven helping it!) 

uncover the nakedness of an unknown body in the fields of blue 

or as fore-hearingly as the sib-speeches of all mankind have foliated 

(earth seizing them!) 

from the root of some funner’s stotter 

all the soundest sense to be found immense 

our special mentalists now holds 

(securus iudicat orbis terrarum) 

that by such playing possum 

our hagious curious encestor 

bestly saved his brush with his posterity, 

you, charming copar-cenors, 

us, heirs of his tailsie. 

Gundogs of all breeds were beagling 

with renounced urbi-and-orbic (p97) bugles, 

hot to run him, given law, 

on a scent breast-high, 

keen for the worry. 

View! 

From his holt out-ratted 

across the Juletide’s genial corsslands of Humfries Chase 

from Mullin-ahob and Peacocks-town, 

then bearing right upon Tankardstown, 

the outlier, 

a white noelan 

which Mr Lœwensteil Fitz Urse’s basset beaters had first mis-badgered 

for a bruin of some swart, 

led bayers the run, 

then through Raystown and Horlockstown 

and, louping the loup, to Tankardstown again. 

Ear canny hare for doubling through Cheeverstown they raced him, 

through Loughlinstown and Nutstown to wind him by the Boolies. 

But from the good turn when he last was lost, 

check, 

upon Ye Hill of Rut in full winter coat with ticker pads, 

pointing for his rooming house his old nordest 

in his roll-top-royal hessians 

a deaf fuchser’s volponism hid him close in covert, 

miraculously raven-fed and buoyed up, 

in rumer, reticule, onasum and abo-masum, 

upon (may All-brewham have his mead!) 

the cream-clotted sherriness of cinnamon syllabub, 

Mikkel-raved, Nikkel-saved. 

Hence hounds hied home. 

Preservative perseverance in the reeducation of his intestines 

was the rebuttal by whilk he sort of git the big bulge 

on the whole bunch of spa-soakers, 

dieting against glues and gravies, 

in that sometime prestreet protown. 

Vainly violence, virulence and vituperation 

sought wellnigh utterly to attax and abridge, 

to derail and depontify, 

to enrate and inroad, 

to ongoad and unhume the great shipping mogul and under-linen overlord.

——————————————————————-

But the spoil of hesitants, the spell of hesitency. 

His atake is it ashe, tittery taw tatterytail, 

hasitense hump-on-a-dimply, 

hey-hey-hey-hey a wincey-wencky.

——————————————————

Assembly men murmured. Reynard is slow!

————————————————————

One feared for his days. 

Did there yawn? 

’Twas his stommick. 

Eruct? 

The libber. 

A gush? 

From his visuals. 

Pung? 

Delivver him, orelode! 

He had laid violent hands on himself, 

it was brought in Fugger’s Newsletter, 

lain down, all in, fagged out, 

with equally melancholy death. 

For the triduum of Saturnalia his goat-servant 

had paraded hiz willing-sons in the Forum 

while the jenny infanted the lass to be greeted raucously 

(the Yard-stated) 

with houx and epheus and measured with missiles too 

from (p98) a hundred of manhood and a wimmering of weibes. 

Big went the bang: 

then wilde-wide was quiet: 

a report: 

silence: 

last Fama put it under ether. 

The noase or the loal had dreven him 

blem, 

blem, 

stun blem. 

Sparks flew. 

He had fled again (open shunshema!) 

this country of exile, 

sloughed off, 

sidleshomed via the subterranean shored with bedboards, 

stowed away and ankered in a dutch bottom tank, 

the Arsa, 

hod S.S. Finlandia, 

and was even now occupying, 

under an islamitic newhame in his seventh generation, 

a physical body Cornelius Magrath’s 

(bad-old-karakter, common-or-rong can-bung) 

in Asia Major, 

where as Turk of the theater 

(first house all flatty: the king, eleven sharps) 

he had bepiastered the buik-danseuses 

from the opulence of his omnibox 

while as arab at the street-door 

he bepestered the bumba-shaws for the alms of a para’s pence. 

Wires hummed. 

Peacefully general astonishment assisted by regrettitude 

had put a term till his existence: 

he saw the family saggarth, 

resigned, put off his remainders, 

was recalled and scrap-heaped by the Maker. 

Chirpings crossed. 

An infamous private ailment 

(vulgo-vario-veneral) 

had claimed endright, 

closed his vicious circle, snap. 

Jams jarred. 

He had walked towards the middle of an ornamental lilypond 

when innebriated 

up to the point where braced shirts meet knickerbockers, 

as wang-fish daring the buoyant waters, 

when rodmen’s first-aiding hands had rescued un 

from very possibly several feel of demi-frish water. 

Mush spread. 

On Umbrella Street where he did drinks from a pumps 

a kind workman, Mr Whitlock, gave him a piece of wood. 

What words of power were made fas between them, 

eke-names and auchnomes, acnomina ecnumina? 

That, O that, did Hansard tell us, 

would gar ganz Dub’s ear wag in every pub of all the citta! 

Batty believes a baton while Hogan hears a hod 

yet Heer prefers a punsil shapner 

and Cope and Bull go cup and ball. 

And the Cassidy—Craddock rome and reme round 

e’er a wiege ne’er a waage is still immer and immor awagering over it, 

a cradle with a care in it 

or a casket with a kick behind. 

Toties testies quoties questies. 

The war is in words and the wood is the world. 

Maply me, willowy we, hickory he and yew yourselves. 

How-for-him chirrupeth ever-each-bird! (p99) 

From gold-dawn glory to glowworm gleam. 

We were low-quacks did we not tacit turn. 

Elsewere there here no concern of the Guinnesses. 

But only the ruining of the rain has heard. 

Estout pour-porteral! 

Cracklings cricked. 

A human pest cycling (pist!) and recycling (past!) 

about the sledgy streets, 

here he was (pust!) again! 

Morse nuisance noised. 

He was loose at large and (Oh baby!) 

might be anywhere when a disguised exnun, 

of huge stand-build and masculine manners 

in her fairly fat forties, 

Carpulenta Gygasta, 

hattracted hattention by harbitrary conduct with a homnibus. 

Aerials buzzed to coastal listeners of an oertax bror collector’s budget, 

fullybigs, sporran, tie, tuft, tabard and bloody anti-chill cloak, 

its tailor’s (Baernfather’s) tab reading V.P.H., 

found nigh Scald-brothar’s Hole, 

and divers shivered to think what kaind of beast, 

wolves, croppis’s or four-penny friars, 

had devoured him. 

C. W. cast wide. 

Hvidfinns lyk, drohneth svertgleam, Valkir lockt. 

On his pinksir’s postern, the boys had it, 

at Whit-weekend had been nailed an inkedup name and title, 

inscribed in the national cursives, 

accelerated, regressive, filiform, turreted 

and envenom-oloped in piggotry: 

Move up. Mumpty! 

Mike room for Rumpty! 

By order, Nick-ekellous Plugg; 

and this go, 

no pentecostal jest about it, 

how gregarious his race soever 

or skilful learned wise cunning knowledgable clear profound his saying f

ortitudo fraught or prudentia-proven, 

were he chief, count, general, field-marshal, prince, king 

or Myles the Slasher in his person, 

with a molia-mordhar mansion 

in the Breffnian empire 

and a place of inauguration on the hill of Tully-mongan, 

there had been real murder, 

of the rayheallach royghal raxa-craxian variety, 

the MacMahon chaps, 

it was, that had done him in. 

On the fidd of Verdor the rampart combatants had left him 

lion with his dexter handcoup 

wrest-erected in a pureede paumee bloody proper. 

Indeed not a few thick and thin wellwishers, 

mostly of the clontarf-minded class, 

(Colonel John Bawle O’Roarke, fervxamplus), 

even ventured so far as to loan or beg copies 

of D. Blayncy’s tri-lingual tri-weekly, 

Scatter-brains’ Aftening Posht, 

so as to make certain sure onetime 

and be satisfied of their quasi-contribuso-dalitarian’s having become 

genuinely quite (p100) beetly dead 

whether by land whither by water. 

Trans-ocean atala-clamoured him; 

The latter! The latter! 

Shall their hope then be silent or Macfarlane lack of lamentation? 

He lay under leagues of it in deep Bartholoman’s Deep.

——————————————————————-

Achdung! Pozor! Attenshune! 

Vikeroy Besights Smucky Yung Pige-schoolies. 

Tri Pais-dinernes Eventyr Med Lochlanner Fathach I Fiounn-is-gehaven.

        Banna-lanna Bangs Bally-hooly Out Of Her Buddaree Of A Bulla-vogue.

———————————————————————-

But, their bright little contemporaries not-with-standing, 

on the morrowing morn of the suicidal murder of the unrescued expatriate, 

aslike as asnake comes sliduant down that oaktree 

onto the duke of beavers, 

(you may have seen some liquid-amber exude exotic 

from a balsam poplar at Parteen-a-lax Limestone. 

Road and cried Abies Magnifica! not, noble fir?) 

a quarter of nine, 

imploring his resipiency, 

saw the infallible spike of smoke’s jutstiff punctual 

from the seventh gable of our Quintus Centimachus’ porphyroid butter-tower 

and then thirsty p.m. with oaths upon his lastingness 

(En caecos harauspices! Annos longos patimur!) 

the lamps of maintenance, 

beacons-fara-field inner-half the zuggurat, 

all brevet-named, 

the wasting wyvern, 

the tawny of his mane, 

the swing-low-swaying blue-paw, 

the outstanding man, 

the lolllike lady, 

being litten for the long 

(O land, how long!) 

lifesnight, 

with suffusion of fineglass transom and lead-light panes.

Wherefore let it hardly by any being thinking be said either 

or thought that the prisoner of that sacred edifice, 

were he an Ivor the Boneless or an Olaf the Hide, 

was at his best a one-stone parable, 

a rude breathing on the void of to be, 

a venter hearing his own bauch-speech in backwords, 

or, more strictly, 

but tris-turned initials, 

the cluekey to a world-room beyond the room-whorld, 

for scarce one, 

or pathetically few of his dode canal sammen-livers cared seriously 

or for long to doubt with Kurt Iuld van Dijke 

(the gravitational pull perceived by certain fixed residents 

and the capture of uncertain comets chance-drifting through our system 

suggesting an authentic-i-tatem of his aliqui-tu-dinis) 

the canonicity of his existence as a tesseract. 

Be still, O quick! 

Speak him dumb! 

Hush ye fronds of Ulma! (p101) 

—————————————————-

Dispersal women wondered. Was she fast?

———————————————————

Do tell us all about. 

As we want to hear all-about. 

So tellus tellas all-abouter. 

The why or whether she looked alottylike like ussies 

and whether he had his wimdop like themses shut? 

Notes and queries, tipbids and answers, 

the laugh and the shout, the ards and downs. 

Now listed to one aneither and liss them down 

and smoothen out your leaves of rose. 

The war is o’er. 

Wim-wim wim-wim! 

Was it Unity Moore or Estella Swifte or Varina Fay or Quarta Quaedam?

        Toemaas, mark oom for yor ounckel! 

Pigeys, hold op med yer leg! 

Who, but who (for second time of asking) 

was then the scourge of the parts 

about folk-rich Lucalizod 

it was wont to be asked, 

as, in ages behind of the Homo Capite Erectus, 

what price Peabody’s money, 

or, to put it bluntly, 

whence is the herringtons’ white cravat, 

as, in epochs more cainozoic, 

who struck Buckley 

though nowadays as thentimes 

every school-filly of seven-score moons or more 

who know her intimologies 

and every colleen bawl aroof 

and every red-flammel-waving warwife 

and widow-peace upon Dublin Wall 

for ever knows 

as yayas is yayas 

how it was Buckley-self 

(we need no blooding paper to tell it neither) 

who struck and the Russian generals, 

da! da!, 

instead of Buckley who was caddishly struck by him when be herselves. 

What fullpried paul-poison in the spy of three castles 

or which hate-filled smiley-seller? 

And that such a vetriol of venom, 

that queen’s head affranchisant, 

a quiet stinking-plaster zeal could cover, 

prepostered or postpaid! 

The lounge-lizards of the pumproom had their nine days’ jeer, 

and pratschkats at their platsch-pails too 

and holen-polendom beside, 

Szpaszpas Szpissmas, 

the zhany-zhonies, 

when, still believing in her owenglass, 

when izarres were twinklins, 

that the upper reaches of her mouthless face 

and her impermanent waves 

were the better half of her, 

one nearer him, 

dearer than all, 

first warming creature of his early morn, 

bond-woman of the man of the house, 

and murrmurr of all the macka-vicks, 

she who had given his eye for her bed 

and a tooth for a child 

till one one and one ten and one hundred again, 

O me and O ye! 

cadet and prim, 

the hungray and anngreen 

(and if she is older now than her teeth 

she has hair that (p102) is younger than thighne, my dear!) 

she who shuttered him after his fall 

and waked him widowt sparing 

and gave him keen 

and made him able 

and held ada-zillahs to each arche of his noes, 

she who will not rast her from her running to seek him till, 

with the help of the okeamic, 

some such time that she shall have been after hiding 

the crumbends of his enormousness in the are-you looking-for Pearl-far sea, 

(ur, uri, uria!) 

stood forth, 

burnz-burn the gorggony old danworld, 

in gogor’s name, 

for gagar’s sake, 

dragging the countryside in her train, 

finickin here and funickin there, 

with her louise-quean’s brogues 

and her culunder buzzle 

and her litde bolero boa 

and all 

and two times twenty curli-cornies for her headdress, 

specks on her eyeux, 

and spudds on horeilles 

and a circus-fix riding her Parisienne’s cockneze, 

a vaunt her straddle from Equerry Egon, 

when Tink-tink in the church-close 

clinked Step-loa-jazzy-ma Sunday, Sola, 

with pawns, 

prelates and pookas pelotting in her piecebag, 

for Handiman the Chomp, Esquoro, 

biskbask, 

to crush the slander’s head.

Wery weeny wight, plead for Mor-and-mor! 

Notre Dame de la Ville, mercy of thy balm-heartzy-heat! 

Ogrowdnyk’s beyond herbata tay, wort of the drogist. 

Bulk him no bulkis. 

And let him rest, thou wayfarre, and take no grave-spoil from him! 

Neither mar his mound! 

The bane of Tut is on it. 

Ware! 

But there’s a little lady waiting and her name is A.L.P. 

And you’ll agree. 

She must be she. 

For her holden heirheaps hanging down her back. 

He spenth his strenth amok harem-scarems. 

Poppy Narancy, Giallia, Chlora, Marinka, Anileen, Parme. 

And ilk a those dames had her rainbow huemoures 

yet for whilko her whims but he coined a cure. 

Tifftiff today, kissy-kissy tonay and agelong pine tomauranna. 

Then who but Crippled-with-Children 

would speak up for Dropping-with-Sweat?

Sold him her lease of nine-nine-nine-tee,

Tresses undresses so dye-dye-daintee,

Goo, the groot gudgeon, gulped it all.

Hoo was the C. O. D.?

Bum!

(p103)

At Island Bridge she met her tide.
Atta-bom, atta-bom, atta-bom-bom-boom!
The Fin had a flux and his Ebba a ride.
Atta-bom, atta-bom, atta-bom-bom-boom!
We’re all up to the years in hues and cribies.
That’s what she’s done for wee!
        Woe!