by James Joyce
And (lead us not into reformication with the poors in your thingdom of gory, O moan!) the message she braught belaw from the missus she bragged abouve that had her agony stays outsize her sari chemise, blancking her shifts for to keep up the fascion since the king of all dronnings kissed her beeswixed hand (fang me, hunky, I’m full of meunders!), her fize like a tub-tail of mondayne clothes, fed to the chaps with working medicals, and her birthright pang that would split an atam like the forty pins in her hood, was to fader huncher a howdydowdy, to mountainy mots in her amnest plein language, from his fain a wan, his hot and tot lass, to pierce his rope-loop ear, how, Podushka be prayhasd, now the sowns of his loins were awinking and waking and his dorter of the hush lillabilla lullaby, once after males, nonce at a time, with them Murphy’s puffs she dursted with gnockmeggs and the bramborry cake for dour dorty dompling, obayre Mottom Beettom and epsut the pfot, and if he was whishtful to licture her caudal with chesty chach from his daubery den and noviny news from Naul or toplots talks from morrienbaths or a parrotsprate’s cure for ensevelised lethurgies, spick’s my spoon and the veriblest spoon, ’twas her hour for the chamber’s ensallycopodium with love to melost Panny Kostello from X. Y. Zid for to folly billybobbis gibits porzy punzy and she was a wanton for De Marera to take her genial glow to bed.
— This is time for my tubble, reflected Mr “Gladstone Browne” in the toll hut (it was choractoristic from that “man of Delgany”). Dip.
— This is me vulcanite smoking, profused Mr “Bonaparte Nolan” under the natecup (one feels how one may hereby reekignites the “ground old mahonagyan”). Dip.
— And this is defender of defeater of defaulter of deformer of the funst man in Danelagh, willingtoned in with this glance dowon his browen and that born appalled noodlum the panellite pair’s cummal delimitator, odding: Oliver White, he’s as tiff as shee’s tight. And thisens his speak quite hoarse. Dip.
In reverence to her midgetsy the lady of the comeallyous as madgestoo our own one’s goff stature. Prosim, prosit, to the krk n yr nck!
O rum it is the chomicalest thing how it pickles up the punchey and the jude. If you’ll gimmy your thing to me I will gamey a sing to thee. Stay where you’re dummy! To get her to go ther. He banged the scoop and she bagged the sugar while the whole pub’s pobbel done a stare. On the mizzatint wall. With its chromo for all. Crimm crimms. Showing holdmenag’s asses sat by Allmeneck’s men, canins to ride with em, canins that lept at em, woollied and flundered.
So the katey’s came and the katey’s game. As so gangs sludgenose. And that henchwench what hopped it dunneth there duft the. Duras.
[Silents]
Yes, we’ve conned thon print in its gloss so gay how it came from Finndlader’s Yule to the day and it’s Hey Tallaght Hoe on the king’s highway with his hounds on the home at a turning. To Donnicoombe Fairing. Millikin’s Pass. When visiting at Izd-la-Chapelle taste the life of the waters from Carlowman’s Cup.
It tellyhows its story to their six of hearts, a twelve-eyed man, for whom has modjestky who since is dyed drown reign before the izba.
Au! Au! Aue! Ha! Heish!
As stage to set by ritual rote for the grimm grimm tale of the four of hyacinths, the deafeeled carp and the bugler’s dozen of leagues-in-amour or how Holispolis went to Parkland with mabby and sammy and sonny and sissy and mop’s varlet de shambles and all to find the right place for it by peep o’ skirt or pipe a skirl when the hundt called a halt on the chivvy-chace of the ground sloper at that lightning lovemaker’s thender apeal till, between wandering weather and stable wind, vastelend hosteilend, neuziel and oltriggersome, Bullyclubber burgherly shut the rush in general.
Let us propel us for the frey of the fray! Us, us, beraddy!
Ko Niutirenis hauru leish! A lala! Ko Niutirenis haururu laleish! Ala lala! The Wullingthund sturm is breaking. The sound of maormaoring. The Wellingthund sturm waxes fuercilier. The whackawhacks of the sturm. Katu te ihis ihis! Katu te wana wana! The strength of the rawshorn generand is known throughout the world. Let us say if we may what a weeny wukeleen can do.
Au! Au! Aue! Ha! Heish! A lala!
— Paud the roosky, weren’t they all of them then each in his different way of saying calling on the one in the same time hibernian knights underthaner that was having, half for the laugh of the bliss it sint barbaras another doesend end once tale of a tublin wished on to him with its olives ocolombs and its hills owns ravings and Tutty his tour in his Nowhare’s yarcht. It was before when Aimée stood for Arthurduke for the figger in profane and fell from grace so madlley for fill the flatter fellows. (They were saying.) And it was the lang in the shirt in the green of the wood, where obelisk rises when odalisks fall, between major threft on the make and jollyjacques spindthrift on the merry. (O Mr Mathurin, they were calling, what a topheavy hat you’re in! And there aramy maeud, they were saying, these so pioupious!) And it was cyclums cyclorums after he made design on the corse and he want to mess on him (enterellbo add all taller Danis), back, seater and sides, and he applied (I’m amazingly sorracer!) the wholed bould shoulderedboy’s width for fullness, measures for messieurs, messer’s massed (they were saycalling again and agone and all over agun, the louthly meathers, the loudly meaders, the lously measlers, six to one, bar ones).
And they pled him beheighten the firing. Dope.
Maltomeetim, alltomatetam, when a tale tarries shome shunter shove on. Fore auld they wauld to pree.
Pray.
Of this Mr A (tillalaric) and these wasch woman (dapplehued), fhronehflord and feeofeeds, who had issue keen and able and a spindlesong aside, nothing more is told until now, his awebrume hour, her sere Sahara of sad oakleaves. And then. Be old. The next thing is. We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch.
So the truce, the old truce and nattonbuff the truce, boys. Drouth is stronger than faction. Slant. Shinshin. Shinshin.
— It was of The Grant, old gartener, qua golden meddlist, Publius Manlius, fuderal private (his place is his poster, sure, they said, and we’re going to mark it, sore, they said, with a carbon caustick manner), bequothed the liberaloider at his petty corporelezzo that hung caughtnapping from his baited breath, it was of him, my wife and I thinks, to feel to every of the younging fruits, tenderosed like an atalantic’s breastswells, or, on a second wreathing, a bright tauth bight shimmeryshaking for the welt of his plow. And where the peckadillies at his wristsends meetings be loving so lightly dovesoiled the candidacy, me wipin eye sinks, of his softboiled bosom should be apparient even to our illicterate of nullatenenties.
All to which not a lot snapped The Nolan of the Calabashes at his whilom eweheart photognomist who by this sum taken was as much incensed by Saint Bruno as that what he had consummed was his own panegoric, and wot a lout about it if it was only a pippappoff pigeon shoot that gracesold getrunner, the man of centuries, was bowled out by judge, jury and umpire at batman’s biff like a witchbefooled legate. Dupe.
His almonence being alaterelly in dispensation with his three oldher patrons’ aid, providencer’s divine cow to milkfeeding mleckman, bonafacies to solafides, what matter what all his frendzay or who holds his hat to harm him, let hutch just keep on under at being a vanished consinent and let annapal livibel prettily prattle a lude all her own. And, be that semeliminal salmon solemonly angled, ingate and outgate, a truce to lovecalls, dulled in warclothes, maleybags, things and bleakhusen. Leave the letter that never begins to go, find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed at night.
Simply. As says the mug in the middle, nay brian nay noel, ney billy ney boney.
Imagine twee cweamy wosen. Suppwose you get a beautiful thought and cull them sylvias sub silence. Then immaggin a stotterer. You may suppoutre him to been one biggermaster Omnibil. Then lustily (tutu the font and tritt on the bokswoods like gay feeters’s dance) immengine up to three longly lurking lobstarts. Fair instents the Will Wo
olsley Wellaslayers. Pet her, pink him, play pranks with them. She will nod amproperly smile. He may seem to appraisiate it. They are as piractical jukersmen sure to paltipsypote. Feel the wollies drippeling out of your fingathumbs. Says two youssilves (floweers have ears, heahear!) solowly: Sooh these ease Budlim! How do, dainty daulimbs? So peached to pick on you in this way, prue and simple, pritt and spry! Heyday too, Malster Faunagon, and hopes your hahiti-tahiti licks the mankey nuts! And oodlum hoodlum doodlum to yes, Donn, Teague and Hurleg, who the bullocks brought you here and how the hillocks are ye?
We want Bud. We want Bud Budderly. We want Bud Budderly boddily. There he is in his Borrisalooner. The man that shunned the rucks on Gereland. The man that won the bettlle of the bawll. And tough. Order, order, order, order! We call on Tancred Artaxerxes Flavin to compeer with Barnabas Ulick Dunne. Order, order, order! Milster Malster in the chair. We’ve heard it sinse sung thousandtimes. How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon. For Ehren, boys, gobrawl!
[A public plouse. Citizen soldiers.]
TAFF (a smart boy, of the peat freers, thirty two eleven, looking through the roof towards a relevution of the karmalife order privious to his hoisting of an emergency umberolum in byway of paraguastical solation to the rhyttel in his hedd): All was flashning and krashning blurty moriartsky blutcherudd? What see, buttywalch? Tell ever so often?
BUTT (mottledged youth, clergical appealance, who, as his pied friar, is supposing to motto the sorry dejester in tifftaff toffiness or to be digarced from ever and a daye in his accounts): But da. But dada, mwilshsuni. Till even so aften. Sea vaast a pool!
TAFF (porumptly helping himself out by the cesspull with a yellup yurrup, puts up his furry furzed hare): Butly bitly! Humme to our mounthings. Conscribe him tillusk, unt, in his jubalant tubalence, the ground-sapper, with his soilday site out on his moulday side in. The gubernier-gerenal in laut-lievtonant of Baltiskeeamore, amaltheouse for leporty hole! Endues paramilintary langdwage. The saillils of the yellavs nocadont palignol urdlesh. Shelltoss and welltass and telltuss aghom! Sling Stranaslang, how Malorazzias spikes her, coining a speak a spake! Not the Setanik stuff that slimed soft Siranouche! The good old gunshop monowards for manosymples. Tincurs tammit! They did oak hay doe fou Chang-li-meng when that man d’airain was big top tom saw tip side bum boss pageant-filler. Ajaculate! All lea light! Rassamble the glowrings of Bruyant the Bref when the Mollies Makehalpence took his leg for his thumb. And may he be too an intrepidation of our dreams which we foregot at wiking when the morn hath razed our limpalove and the bleak-frost chilled our ravery! Pook. Sing ching lew mang! Upgo, bobby-cop! Lets hear in remember the braise of. Hold!
BUTT (drawling forth from his blousom whereis meditabound of his minkerstary, switches on his gorsecopper’s fling weitoheito langthorn, fed up the grain oils of Aerin, while his laugh neighs banck as that flashermind’s rays and his lipponease longuewedge wambles): Ullahbluh! Sehyoh narar, pokehole sann! Manhead very dirty by am anoyato. Like old Dolldy Icon when he cooked up his iggs in bicon. He gatovit and me gotafit and Oalgoak’s cheloven gut a fudden. Povar old pitschobed! Molodeztious of metchennacht belaburt that pentschmyaso! Bog carsse and dam mat, sar, gam cant! Limbers affront of him, lumbers behund. While the bucks bite his dos his hart bides the ros till the bounds of his bays bell the warning. Sobaiter, sobarkar. He was enmivallupped. Chromean fastion. With all his cannoball wappents. In his raglanrock and his malakoiffed bulbsbyg and his varnashed roscians and his cardigan’s blousejagged and his scarlett manchokuffs and his treecoloured camiflags and his perikopendulous gaelstorms. Here weeks hire pulchers! Obriania’s beromst! From Karrs and Polikoff’s, the men’s confessioners. Seval shimars pleasant time payings. Mousoumeselles buckwoulds look. Tenter and likelings.
TAFF (all Perssiasterssias shookatnaratatattar at his waggonhorchers, his bulgeglarying stargapers razzledazzlingly full of eyes, full of balls, full of holes, full of buttons, full of stains, full of medals, full of blickblackblobs): Grozarktic! Toadlebens! Some garmentguy! Insects appalling, low hum clang sin! A cheap decoy! Too deep destroy! Say mangraphique, may say nay par daguerre!
BUTT if that he hids foregodden has nate of glozery farused ameet the florahs of the follest, his spent fish’s livid smile giving allasundery the bumfit of the doped): Come alleyou jupes of Wymmingtown that graze the calves of Man! A bear raigning in his heavenspawn consomation robes. Rent, outraged, yewleaved, grained, ballooned, hindergored and voluant. Erminia’s capecloaked hoodoodman! First he s st steppes. Then he st stoo stoopt. Lookt.
TAFF (strich struch strangling like a leal lusky Lubliner to merubmer by the cycl of the cruize who strungled Attahilloupa with what empoisoned El Monte de Zuma and failing wilnaynilnay that he was pallups barn in the minkst of the Krumlin befodt he was popsoused into the monkst of the vatercan, makes the holypolygon of the emt on the greaseshaper, a little farther, a little soon, a letteracettera, oukraydoubray): Scutterer of guld! He is retourious on every roadery! The lyewdsky so so sewn of a fitchid! With his walshbrushup. And his boney bogey braggs.
BUTT (after his tongues in his cheeks, with pinkpoker pointing out in rutene to impassible abjects beyond the mistomist towards Lissnaluhy such as the Djublian Alps and the Hoofd Ribeiro as where he and his trulock may ever make a game): The field of karnags and that bloasted tree. Forget not the felled! For the lomondations of Oghrem! Warful doons bothem. Here furry glunn. Nye? Their feery pass. Tak! With guerillaman aspear aspoor to prink the pranks of prinkissies. And the buddies behide in the byre. Allahblah!
TAFF (a blackseer, he stroves to regulect all the straggles for wife in the rut of the past through the widnows in effigies keening after the blank sheets in their faminy to the relix of old decency from over draught): Oh, day of rath! Ah, murther of mines! Eh, selo moy! Uh, zulu luy! Beirnesson MacMahahon from Osro bearing nose easger for sweeth prolettas on his swooth prowl!
BUTT (back to his peatrol and paump: swee Gee’s wee rest: no more applehooley: dodewodedook): Bruinoboroff, the hooneymoonger, and the grizzliest manmichal in Meideveide! Whose annal livves the hoiest! For he devoused the lelias on the fiend and he conforted samp, tramp and marchint out of the drumbume of a narse. Guards, serf Finnland, serve we all!
TAFF (illcertain, between his bulchrichudes and the roshashanaral, whatwidth the psychophannies at the font and whetwadth the psuckofumbers beholden the fair, where he sees Bishop Ribboncake plus his pollex prized going forth on his visitations of mirrage or Miss Horizon, justso all our fannacies daintied her, on the curve of the camber unsheathing a showlaced limbaloft to the great consternations): Divulge! Hyededye, kittyls, and howdedoh, pan! Poshbott and pulbuties. See that we soll, dargman, or let thee be luna as strait a way as your ant’s folly me line while ye post is goang from Piping Pubwirth to Haunted Hillborough on his Mujiksy’s Zaravence, the Riss, the Ross, the sur of all Russers, as my farst is near to hear and my sackend is meet to sedon while my whole’s a peer’s aureolies. We should say you dones the polecad. Bang on the booche, gurg in the gorge, rap on the roof and your flap is unbu …
BUTT (at the signal of his act which seems to sharpnel his innermalls menody, playing the spool of the little brown jog round the wheel of her whang goes the millner): Buckily buckily, blodestained boyne! Bimbambombumb! His snapper was shot in the Rumjar Journaral. Why the gigls he lubbed beeyed him.
TAFF (obliges with a two stop yogacoga symphothy on the bones for ivory girl and ebony boy): The balacleivka! Trovatarovitch! I trumble!
BUTT (with the sickle of a scygthe but the humour of a hummer, O, howorodies through his cholaroguled, fumfing to fullfrength with this wallowing ol-fact): Mortar martar, tartar wartar! May his boules grow wider so his skittles gets worse! The aged monad making a venture out of the murder of investment. I seen him acting surgent what betwinks the scimitar star and the ashen moon. By their lights shalthow throw him! Piffpaff for puffpuff and my pife for his cgar! The mlachy way for gambling.
[Up to this curkscraw bind an admirable verbivocovisual p
resentment of the world-renownced Caerholme Event has been being given by The Irish Race and World. The huddled and aliven stablecrashers have shared fleetfooted enthusiasm with the paddocks dare and ditches tare while the mews was combing ground. Hippohopparray! Helioscope flashed winsor places as the gates might see. Meusdeus! That was (with burning briar) Mr Twomass Nohoholan for their common contribe satisfunction in the purports of amusedment telling the Verily Roverend Father Epiphanes, shrineshriver, of Saint Dhorough’s (in browne bomler) how (assuary as there’s a bonum in your osstheology!) Backlegs shirked the racing kenneldar. The saintly scholarist’s roastering guffalawd of nupersaturals holler at this metanoic excomologosis tells of the chestnut’s (once again, Wittyngtom!) absolutionally romptyhompty successfulness. A lots of lasses and lads without damas or dads, but fresh and blued with collecting boxes. One aught spare ones triflets, to be shut: it is Coppingers for the Children. Slippery Sam hard by them, physically present howsomedever morally absent, was slooching about in his knavish diamonds asking Gmax, Knox and the Dmuggies (a pinnance for your toughts, turffers!) to deck the ace of duds. Tomtinker Tim, howbeit, his unremitting retainer (the seers are the seers of Samael but the heers are the heers of Timoth), is in Boozer’s Gloom, soalken steady in his sulken tents. Baldawl the curse, baledale the day! And the frocks of shick sheeples in their shummering insamples! You see: a chiefsmith, semperal scandal stinkmakers, a middineat from the Casabianca and, of course, Mr Fry. Barass! Pardon the inquisition, causas es quostas? It is Da Valorem’s Dominical Brayers. Why coif that weird hood? Because among nosoever circusdances is to be apprehended the dustungwashed poltronage of the lost Gabbarnaur-Jaggarnath. Pamjab! Gross Jumpiter, whud was thud? Luckluckluckluckluckluckluck! It is the Thousand to One Guinea-Gooseberry’s Lipperfull Slipver Cup. Hold hard, titelittle ridesiddle Pitsy Riley! Gurragrunch, gurragrunch! They are at the turn of the fourth of the hurdles. By the hross of Xristos! Holophullopopulace is a shote of excramation! Bumchub! Emancipator, the Cremean hunter (Major Hermyn C. Entwhistle), with dramatic effect reproducing the form of famous sires on the scene of the formers’ triumphs, is showing the eagle’s way to Mr Whaytehayte’s three buy geldings, Homo Made Ink, Bailey Beacon and Ratatuohy, while Furstin II and The Other Girl (Mrs “Boss” Waters, Leavybrink), too early spring dabbles, are showing a clean pairof hids to Immensipater. Sinkathinks to oppen here! To this virgin’s tuft, on this golden of evens! I never sought of sinkathink. Our lorkmakor he is proformly annuysed. He is shinkly thinkly shaking in his schayns. Sat will be off follteedee! This eeridreme has being effered you by Bett and Tipp. Tipp and Bett, our swapstick quack-chancers, in From Topphole to Bottom of The Irish Race and World.]
