Quadrant Model of Reality

FINNEGANS WAKE IS DIVIDED INTO FOUR PARTS

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and the wild geese and the gannets and the migratories and the

mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the rockby-

suckerassousyoceanal sea, all four of them, all sighing and sob-

bing, and listening. Moykle ahoykling!

They were the big four, the four maaster waves of Erin, all

listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old

Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes

they used to be saying grace together, right enough, bausnabeatha,

in Miracle Squeer: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gre-

gory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and

sure, thank God, there are no more of us: and, sure now, you

wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow and old

Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more of us and so

now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be

saying their grace before fish, repeating itself, after the interims

of Augusburgh for auld lang syne. And so there they were, with

their palms in their hands, like the pulchrum's proculs, spraining

their ears, luistening and listening to the oceans of kissening, with

their eyes glistening, all the four, when he was kiddling and

cuddling and bunnyhugging scrumptious his colleen bawn and

dinkum belle, an oscar sister, on the fifteen inch loveseat, behind

the chieftaness stewardesses cubin, the hero, of Gaelic champion,

the onliest one of her choice, her bleaueyedeal of a girl's friend,

neither bigugly nor smallnice, meaning pretty much everything

to her then, with his sinister dexterity, light and rufthandling,

vicemversem her ragbags et assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and

offsides, the brueburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was

palpably wrong and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and

kissing her, tootyfay charmaunt, in her ensemble of maidenna

blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies, Isolamisola,

and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was

whips for one was two and two was lips for one was three, and

dissimulating themself, with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue,

the dear dear annual, they all four remembored who made the

world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar ear

 

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cuddling and kiddling her, after an oyster supper in Cullen's barn,

from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening, in the good

old bygone days of Dion Boucicault, the elder, in Arrah-na-

pogue, in the otherworld of the passing of the key of Two-

tongue Common, with Nush, the carrier of the word, and with

Mesh, the cutter of the reed, in one of the farback, pitchblack

centuries when who made the world, when they knew O'Clery,

the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the

nod, neer the Nodderlands Nurskery, whiteboys and oakboys,

peep of tim boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the sin

was shining, with their slates and satchels, playing Florian's fables

and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum mem-

bers, in the Queen's Ultonian colleges, along with another fellow,

a prime number, Totius Quotius, and paying a pot of tribluts

to Boris O'Brien, the buttler of Clumpthump, two looves, two

turnovers plus (one) crown, to see the mad dane ating his

vitals. Wulf! Wulf! And throwing his tongue in the snakepit. Ah

ho! The ladies have mercias! It brought the dear prehistoric

scenes all back again, as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, natu-

ral born lovers of nature, in all her moves and senses, and after

that now there he was, that mouth of mandibles, vowed to pure

beauty, and his Arrah-na-poghue, when she murmurously, after

she let a cough, gave her firm order, if he wouldn't please mind,

for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best favourite lyrical

national blooms in Luvillicit, though not too much, reflecting on

the situation, drinking in draughts of purest air serene and re-

velling in the great outdoors, before the four of them, in the fair

fine night, whilst the stars shine bright, by she light of he moon,

we longed to be spoon, before her honeyoldloom, the plaint effect

being in point of fact there being in the whole, a seatuition so

shocking and scandalous and now, thank God, there were no more

of them and he poghuing and poghuing like the Moreigner

bowed his crusted hoed and Tilly the Tailor's Tugged a Tar in the

Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number and there they were, like a

foremasters in the rolls, listening, to Rolando's deepen darblun

Ossian roll, (Lady, it was just too gorgeous, that expense of a

 

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lovely tint, embellished by the charms of art and very well con-

ducted and nicely mannered and all the horrid rudy noisies locked

up in nasty cubbyhole!) as tired as they were, the three jolly

topers, with their mouths watering, all the four, the old connu-

bial men of the sea, yambing around with their old pantometer,

in duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall and all wishen-

ing for anything at all of the bygone times, the wald times and

the fald times and the hempty times and the dempty times, for a

cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman

squash, with them, all four, listening and spraining their ears for

the millennium and all their mouths making water.

Johnny. Ah well, sure, that's the way (up) and it so happened

there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their pater familias, and (up)

the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear

old heladies and really they looked awfully pretty and so nice and

bespectable and after that they had their fathomglasses to find

out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat, just now like the old

Merquus of Pawerschoof, the old determined despot, (quiescents

in brage!) only for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer

there dormont, in front of the place near O'Clery's, at the darku-

mound numbur wan, beside that ancient Dame street, where the

statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell, prostituent behind the Trinity

College, that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges,

Bootersbay Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters, the pru-

misceous creaters, that sells all the emancipated statues and

flowersports, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green,

after he made the centuries, going to the tailturn horseshow, be-

fore the angler nomads flood, along with another fellow, active

impalsive, and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians

and the barrancos and the cappunchers childerun, Jules, every-

one, Gotopoxy, with the houghers on them, highstepping the

fissure and fracture lines, seven five threes up, three five

sevens down, to get out of his way, onasmuck as their withers

conditions could not possibly have been improved upon,

(praisers be to deeseesee!) like hopolopocattls, erumping oround

their Judgity Yaman, and all the tercentenary horses and priest

 

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hunters, from the Curragh, and confusionaries and the authori-

ties, Noord Amrikaans and Suid Aferican cattleraiders (so they

say) all over like a tiara dullfuoco, in his grey half a tall hat and

his amber necklace and his crimson harness and his leathern jib

and his cheapshein hairshirt and his scotobrit sash and his para-

pilagian gallowglasses (how do you do, jaypee, Elevato!) to find

out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame

James? Get out of my way!), forkbearded and bluetoothed and

bellied and boneless, from Strathlyffe and Aylesburg and North-

umberland Anglesey, the whole yaghoodurt sweepstakings and

all the horsepowers. But now, talking of hayastdanars and

wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance,

(the explutor, his three andesiters and the two pantellarias) that

reminds me about the manausteriums of the poor Marcus of Lyons

and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four

of us and there they were now, listening right enough, the four

saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore, long long ago

in the olden times Momonian, throw darker hour sorrows, the

princest day, when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem, and Lally

in the rain, with the blank prints, now extincts, after the wreak

of Wormans' Noe, the barmaisigheds, when my heart knew no

care, and after that then there was the official landing of Lady

Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S., and the

christening of Queen Baltersby, the Fourth Buzzersbee, accord-

ing to Her Grace the bishop Senior, off the whate shape, and

then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians

and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea,

and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the

castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin

Isles, at that time, suir knows, in the red sea and a lovely

mourning paper and thank God, as Saman said, there were no

more of him. And that now was how it was. The arzurian deeps

o'er his humbodumbones sweeps. And his widdy the giddy is

wreathing her murmoirs as her gracest triput to the Grocery

Trader's Manthly. Mind mand gunfree by Gladeys Rayburn!

Runtable's Reincorporated. The new world presses. Where the

 

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old conk cruised now croons the yunk. Exeunc throw a darras

Kram of Llawnroc, ye gink guy, kirked into yord. Enterest at-

tawonder Wehpen, luftcat revol, fairescapading in his natsirt.

Tuesy tumbles. And mild aunt Liza is as loose as her neese. Ful-

fest withim inbrace behent. As gent would deem oncontinent.

So mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin.

Like the newcasters in their old plyable of A Royenne Devours.

Jazzaphoney and Mirillovis and Nippy she nets best. Fing. Ay,

ay! Sobbos. And so he was. Sabbus.

Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish

armada, all scattered, and all officially drowned, there and then, on

a lovely morning, after the universal flood, at about aleven thirty-

two was it? off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the

anabaptist, and Saint Kevin, the lacustrian, with toomuch of tolls

and lottance of beggars, after converting Porterscout and Dona,

our first marents, and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite

hourse of Hunover, rising Clunkthurf over Cabinhogan and all

they remembored and then there was the Frankish floot of Noahs-

dobahs, from Hedalgoland, round about the freebutter year of

Notre Dame 1132 P.P.O. or so, disumbunking from under

Motham General Bonaboche, (noo poopery!) in his half a grey

traditional hat, alevoila come alevilla, and after that there he was,

so terrestrial, like a Nailscissor, poghuing her scandalous and very

wrong, the maid, in single combat, under the sycamores, amid

the bludderings from the boom and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-

na-Poghue, so silvestrious, neer the Queen's Colleges, in 1132

Brian or Bride street, behind the century man on the door. And

then again they used to give the grandest gloriaspanquost univer-

sal howldmoutherhibbert lectures on anarxaquy out of doxarch-

ology (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) accord-

ing to the pictures postcard, with sexon grimmacticals, in the

Latimer Roman history, of Latimer repeating himself, from the

vicerine of Lord Hugh, the Lacytynant, till Bockleyshuts the rah-

jahn gerachknell and regnumrockery roundup, (Marcus Lyons

speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes

and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and

 

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sages and the Plymouth brethren, droning along, peanzanzangan,

and nodding and sleeping away there, like forgetmenots, in her

abijance service, round their twelve tables, per pioja at pulga

bollas, in the four trinity colleges, for earnasyoulearning Erin-

growback, of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the

four grandest colleges supper the matther of Erryn, of Killorcure

and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure,

where their role was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo

rolled round. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories

(Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Janesdanes Lady Anders-

daughter Universary, for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian

lady, breathtaking beauty, Bambam's bonniest, lived to a great

age at or in or about the late No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary

Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teach-

ing the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias, repeating her-

self, on which purposeth of the spirit of nature as difinely deve-

loped in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny

MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and

absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano.

Ah, dearo, dear! O weep for the hower when eve aleaves bower!

How it did but all come eddaying back to them, if they did but

get gaze, gagagniagnian, to hear him there, kiddling and cuddling

her, after the gouty old galahat, with his peer of quinnyfears and

his troad of thirstuns, so nefarious, from his elevation of one

yard one handard and thartytwo lines, before the four of us, in

his Roman Catholic arms, while his deepseepeepers gazed and

sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloon rodolling olo-

sheen eyenbowls by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos. Anumque,

umque. Napoo.

Queh? Quos?

Ah, dearo dearo dear! Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses

gandered gamen. Mahazar ag Dod! It was so scalding sorry for all

the whole twice two four of us, with their familiar, making the toten,

and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and all belongings to

him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and

repeating himself and telling him now, for the seek of Senders

 

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Newslaters and the mossacre of Saint Brices, to forget the past,

when the burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil, and con-

tradicting all about Lally, the ballest master of Gosterstown, and

his old fellow, the Lagener, in the Locklane Lighthouse, earing his

wick with a pierce of railing, and liggen hig with his ladder up, and

that oldtime turner and his sadderday erely cloudsing, the old

croniony, Skelly, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts,

full of lightweight beltts and all the bald drakes or ever he had up

in the bohereen, off Artsichekes Road, with Moels and Mahmullagh

Mullarty, the man in the Oran mosque, and the old folks at home

and Duignan and Lapole and the grand confarreation, as per the

cabbangers richestore, of the filest archives, and he couldn't stop

laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four

middleaged widowers, all nangles, sangles, angles and wangles.

And now, that reminds me, not to forget the four of the Welsh

waves, leaping laughing, in their Lumbag Walk, over old Battle-

shore and Deaddleconchs, in their half a Roman hat, with an an-

cient Greek gloss on it, in Chichester College auction and, thank

God, they were all summarily divorced, four years before, or so

they say, by their dear poor shehusbands, in dear byword days,

and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the

floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, per Nupiter

Privius, only terpary, on the best of terms and be forgot, whilk was

plainly foretolk by their old pilgrim cocklesong or they were sing-

ing through the wettest indies As I was going to Burrymecarott we

fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by

their orthodox proverb so there was said thus That old fellow

knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted.

In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked

is left over. As evil flows so Ivel flows. Ay, ay. Ah, well sure,

that's the way. As the holymaid of Kunut said to the haryman

of Koombe. For his humple pesition in odvices. Woman. Squash.

Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.

Lucas. And, O so well they could remembore at that time, when

Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland, Mrs

Dowager Justice Squalchman, foorsitter, in her fullbottom wig

 

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and beard, (Erminia Reginia!) in or aring or around about the

year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1768 Y.W.C.A., at the

Married Male Familyman's Auctioneer's court in Arrahnacuddle.

Poor Johnny of the clan of the Dougals, the poor Scuitsman,

(Hohannes!) nothing if not amorous, dinna forget, so frightened

(Zweep! Zweep!) on account of her full bottom, (undullable

attraxity!) that put the yearl of mercies on him, and the four

maasters, in chors, with a hing behangd them, because he was

so slow to borstel her schoon for her, when he was grooming her

ladyship, instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper, like

any old methodist, and all divorced and innasense interdict, in

the middle of the temple, according to their dear faithful. Ah, now,

it was too bad, too bad and stout entirely, all the missoccurs; and

poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, from the brownesberrow in

nolandsland, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted with ally

croaker by everybody, by decree absolute, through Herrinsilde,

because he forgot himself, making wind and water, and made

a Neptune's mess of all of himself, sculling over the giamond's

courseway, and because he forgot to remember to sign an old

morning proxy paper, a writing in request to hersute herself, on

stamped bronnanoleum, from Roneo to Giliette, before saying

his grace before fish and then and there and too there was

poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned too, before the

world and her husband, because it was most improper and most

wrong, when he attempted to (well, he was shocking poor in

his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him), because

he (ah, well now, peaces pea to Wedmore and let not the song go

dumb upon your Ire, as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and we

won't be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian) and after

that, as red as a Rosse is, he made his last will and went to con-

fession, like the general of the Berkeleyites, at the rim of the rom,

on his two bare marrowbones, to Her Worship his Mother and

Sister Evangelist Sweainey, on Cailcainnin widnight and he was

so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootybutton in the

handsome cab and now, tell the truth, unfriends never, (she was

his first messes dogess and it was a very pretty peltry and there

 

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were faults on both sides) well, he attempted (or so they say)

ah, now, forget and forgive (don't we all?) and, sure, he was only

funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over

him, well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to

attempt some hunnish familiarities, after eten a bad carmp in the

rude ocean and, hevantonoze sure, he was dead seasickabed (it was

really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the housepays for

the daying at the Martyr Mrs MacCawley's, where at the time

he was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah,

the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and

frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they

were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo

dear!

And where do you leave Matt Emeritus? The laychief of Ab-

botabishop? And exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch!

They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat,

with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of

or Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in folds — sure he

hadn't the heart in her to pull them up — poor Matt, the old peri-

grime matriarch, and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon

them!) sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground,

for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause, (who shall say?)

in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family all to

himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tomb-

stone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea

time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and

taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren, under all the auspices, amid

the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening, with her

ivyclad hood, and gripping an old pair of curling tongs, belong-

ing to Mrs Duna O'Cannell, to blow his brains with, till the

heights of Newhigherland heard the Bristolhut, with his can of

tea and a purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of

Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come.

Gordon Heighland, when you think of it! The merthe dirther!

Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlour-

men, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the

 

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smell of Shakeletin and scratchman and his mouth watering, acid

and alkolic; signs on the salt, and so now pass the loaf for Christ

sake. Amen. And so. And all.

Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped.

Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham!

Take breath! Ay! Ay!

And still and all at that time of the dynast days of old konning

Soteric Sulkinbored and Bargomuster Bart, when they struck coil

and shock haunts, in old Hungerford-on-Mudway, where first I

met thee oldpoetryck flied from may and the Finnan haddies and

the Noal Sharks and the muckstails turtles like an acoustic pot-

tish and the griesouper bullyum and how he poled him up his

boccat of vuotar and got big buzz for his name in the airweek's

honours from home, colonies and empire, they were always with

assisting grace, thinking (up) and not forgetting about shims and

shawls week, in auld land syne (up) their four hosenbands, that

were four (up) beautiful sister misters, now happily married, unto

old Gallstonebelly, and there they were always counting and con-

tradicting every night 'tis early the lovely mother of periwinkle

buttons, according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up

one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was,

in the end, the deary, soldpowder and all, the beautfour sisters,

and that was her mudhen republican name, right enough, from

alum and oves, and they used to be getting up from under, in

their tape and straw garlands, with all the worries awake in their

hair, at the kookaburra bell ringring all wrong inside of them

(come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shan-

don bellbox (come out to hell, you lousy louts!) so frightened,

for the dthclangavore, like knockneeghs bumpsed by the fister-

man's straights, (ys! ys!), at all hours every night, on their mistle-

toes, the four old oldsters, to see was the Transton Postscript

come, with their oerkussens under their armsaxters, all puddled

and mythified, the way the wind wheeled the schooler round,

when nobody wouldn't even let them rusten, from playing

their gastspiels, crossing their sleep by the shocking silence,

when they were in dreams of yore, standing behind the

 

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door, or leaning out of the chair, or kneeling under the sofa-

cover and setting on the souptureen, getting into their way

something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown convi-

brational bed or they used to slumper under, when hope was there

no more, and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synop-

ticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, like svvollovv-

ing, like the time they were dadging the talkeycook that chased

them, look look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool,

to break fyre to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown,

the rathure's evelopment in spirits of time in all fathom of space

and slooping around in a bawneen and bath slippers and go away

to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad

they had their night tentacles and there they used to be, flapping

and cycling, and a dooing a doonloop, panementically, around

the waists of the ships, in the wake of their good old Foehn

again, as tyred as they were, at their windswidths in the

waveslength, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and

Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts and Roe of the fair cheats, ex-

changing fleas from host to host, with arthroposophia, and he

selling him before he forgot, issle issle, after having prealably

dephlegmatised his gutterful of throatyfrogs, with a lungible fong

in his suckmouth ear, while the dear invoked to the coolun dare

by a palpabrows lift left no doubt in his minder, till he was in-

stant and he was trustin, sister soul in brother hand, the subjects

being their passion grand, that one fresh from the cow about

Aithne Meithne married a mailde and that one too from Engr-

vakon saga abooth a gooth a gev a gotheny egg and the park-

side pranks of quality queens, katte efter kinne, for Earl Hooved-

soon's choosing and Huber and Harman orhowwhen theeupon-

thus (chchch!) eysolt of binnoculises memostinmust egotum

sabcunsciously senses upers the deprofundity of multimathema-

tical immaterialities wherebejubers in the pancosmic urge the

allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone (hear, O hear,

Caller Errin!) exteriorises on this ourherenow plane in disunited

solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) peril-

whitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited

 

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selfdom (murky whey, abstrew adim!) in the higherdimissional

selfless Allself, theemeeng Narsty meetheeng Idoless, and telling

Jolly MacGolly, dear mester John, the belated dishevelled, hack-

ing away at a parchment pied, and all the other analist, the

steamships ant the ladies'foursome, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety,

duk, downalupping, (how long tandem!) like a foreretyred schoon-

masters, and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, like

the narcolepts on the lakes of Coma, through the steamy win-

dows, into the honeymoon cabins, on board the big steamadories,

made by Fumadory, and the saloon ladies' madorn toilet chambers

lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows

and, hee hee, listening, qua committe, the poor old quakers, oben

the dure, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies,

serious me, a lass spring as you fancy, and sheets far from the lad,

courting in blankets, enfamillias, and, shee shee, all improper, in a

lovely mourning toilet, for the rosecrumpler, the thrilldriver, the

sighinspirer, with that olive throb in his nude neck, and, swayin

and thayin, thanks ever so much for the tiny quote, which sought

of maid everythingling again so very much more delightafellay,

and the perfidly suite of her, bootyfilly yours, under all their

familiarities, by preventing grace, forgetting to say their grace be-

fore chambadory, before going to boat with the verges of the

chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema Knatut, so pass the

poghue for grace sake. Amen. And all, hee hee hee, quaking, so

fright, and, shee shee, shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.

For it was then a pretty thing happened of pure diversion

mayhap, when his flattering hend, at the justright moment, like

perchance some cook of corage might clip the lad on a poot of

porage handshut his duckhouse, the vivid girl, deaf with love,

(ah sure, you know her, our angel being, one of romance's fade-

less wonderwomen, and, sure now, we all know you dote on

her even unto date!) with a queeleetlecree of joysis crisis she

renulited their disunited, with ripy lepes to ropy lopes (the dear

o'dears!) and the golden importunity of aloofer's leavetime,

when, as quick, is greased pigskin, Amoricas Champius, with one

aragan throust, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the

 

396 UP

both lines of forwards (Eburnea's down, boys!) rightjingbangshot

into the goal of her gullet.

Alris!

And now, upright and add them! And plays be honest! And

pullit into yourself, as on manowoman do another! Candidately,

everybody! A mot for amot. Comong, meng, and douh! There

was this, wellyoumaycallher, a strapping modern old ancient

Irish prisscess, so and so hands high, such and such paddock

weight, in her madapolam smock, nothing under her hat but

red hair and solid ivory (now you know it's true in your

hardup hearts!) and a firstclass pair of bedroom eyes, of most

unhomy blue, (how weak we are, one and all!) the charm

of favour's fond consent! Could you blame her, we're saying,

for one psocoldlogical moment? What would Ewe do? With

that so tiresome old milkless a ram, with his tiresome duty

peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old hairyg orangogran

beaver, in his tiresome old twennysixandsixpenny sheopards

plods drowsers and his thirtybobandninepenny tails plus toop!

Hagakhroustioun! It were too exceeding really if one woulds

to offer at sulk an oldivirdual a pinge of hinge hit. The

mainest thing ever! Since Edem was in the boags noavy. No, no,

the dear heaven knows, and the farther the from it, if the whole

stole stale mis betold, whoever the gulpable, and whatever the

pulpous was, the twooned togethered, and giving the mhost

phassionable wheathers, they were doing a lally a lolly a dither

a duther one lelly two dather three lilly four dother. And it was

a fiveful moment for the poor old timetetters, ticktacking, in tenk

the count. Till the spark that plugged spared the chokee he

gripped and (volatile volupty, how brieved are thy lunguings!)

they could and they could hear like of a lisp lapsing, that

was her knight of the truths thong plipping out of her chapell-

ledeosy, after where he had gone and polped the questioned.

Plop.

Ah now, it was tootwoly torrific, the mummurrlubejubes! And

then after that they used to be so forgetful, counting mother-

peributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu mouldern

 

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maiden name, for overflauwing, by the dream of woman the

owneirist, in forty lands. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg

and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four!

And there she was right enough, that lovely sight enough, the

girleen bawn asthore, as for days galore, of planxty Gregory.

Egory. O bunket not Orwin! Ay, ay.

But, sure, that reminds me now, like another tellmastory re-

peating yourself, how they used to be in lethargy's love, at the

end of it all, at that time (up) always, tired and all, after doing the

mousework and making it up, over their community singing

(up) the top loft of the voicebox, of Mamalujo like the senior

follies at murther magrees, squatting round, two by two, the four

confederates, with Caxons the Coswarn, up the wet air register

in Old Man's House, Millenium Road, crowning themselves in

lauraly branches, with their cold knees and their poor (up) quad

rupeds, ovasleep, and all dolled up, for their blankets and materny

mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown shackle and

milky and boterham clots, a potion a peace, a piece aportion, a

lepel alip, alup a lap, for a cup of kindest yet, with hold take hand

and nurse and only touch of ate, a lovely munkybown and for

xmell and wait the pinch and prompt poor Marcus Lyons to be not

beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses but to pass the teeth

for choke sake, Amensch, when it so happen they were all syca-

more and by the world forgot, since the phlegmish hoopicough,

for all a possabled, after ete a bad cramp and johnny magories, and

backscrat the poor bedsores and the farthing dip, their caschal

pandle of magnegnousioum, and read a letter or two every night,

before going to dodo sleep atrance, with their catkins coifs, in

the twilight, a capitaletter, for further auspices, on their old one

page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their

Senchus Mor, by his fellow girl, the Mrs Shemans, in her summer

seal houseonsample, with the caracul broadtail, her totam in

tutu, final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta covers, uptenable

from the orther, for to regul their reves by incubation, and Lally,

through their gangrene spentacles, and all the good or they

did in their time, the rigorists, for Roe and O'Mulcnory a

 

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Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty Mac

Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old baga-

broth, beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept

and severalty and one by one and sing a mamalujo. To the

heroest champion of Eren and his braceoelanders and Gowan,

Gawin and Gonne.

And after that now in the future, please God, after nonpenal

start, all repeating ourselves, in medios loquos, from where he got

a useful arm busy on the touchline, due south of her western

shoulder down to death and the love embrace, with an interesting

tallow complexion and all now united, sansfamillias, let us ran on

to say oremus prayer and homeysweet homely, after fully realis-

ing the gratifying experiences of highly continental evenements,

for meter and peter to temple an eslaap, for auld acquaintance, to

Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine, for navigants

et peregrinantibus, in all the old imperial and Fionnachan sea and

for vogue awallow to a Miss Yiss, you fascinator, you, sing a

lovasteamadorion to Ladyseyes, here's Tricks and Doelsy, de-

lightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop

and how she ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and aw-

fully bucked, right glad we never shall forget, thoh the dayses

gone still they loves young dreams and old Luke with his

kingly leer, so wellworth watching, and Senchus Mor, possessed

of evident notoriety, and another more of the bigtimers, to name

no others, of whom great things were expected in the fulmfilming

department, for the lives of Lazarus and auld luke syne and she

haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohole

shanghai.

Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear! The Lambeg

drum, the Lombog reed, the Lumbag fiferer, the Limibig brazenaze.

 

Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi