The Restored Finnegans Wake

by James Joyce

  Well, to the figends of Annamneses with the wholeabuelish business! For I declare to Jeshuam I’m beginning to get sunsick! I’m not half Norawain for nothing. The fine ice so temperate of our, alas, these times are not so far off as you might wish to be congealed. So now, I’ll ask of you, let ye create no scenes in my poor primmafore’s wake. I don’t want yous to be billowfighting your biddy moriarty duels, gobble gabble, over me till you spit stout, you understand, after soused mackerel, sniffling clambake to hering and imputent barney, braggart of blarney, nor your ugly lemoncholic gobs o’er the hobs in a sewing circle, stopping oddments in maids’ costumes at sweeping reductions, wearing out your ohs by sitting around on your ahs, making areekaransy round where I last put it, with the painters in too, curse me luck, with your rags up, exciting your mucuses, turning breakfarts into lost soupirs, nor your flabbies on your groaning chairs for flapjack and salonthay over Bollivar’s troubles of a bluemoondag, steaming your damp ossicles, praying Holy Prohibition and Jaun Dyspeptist while Ole Clo goes through the wood with Shep togather, touting in the chestnut burrs for Goodboy Sommers and Mistral Blownowse hugs his kindlings, when voiceyversey it’s my gala benefit, robbing leaves out of my taletold book. May my tunc fester if ever I see such a miry lot of maggalenes! Once upon a drunk and a fairly good drunk it was and the rest of your blatherumskite! Just a plain shays by the fire for absenter Sh the Po and I’ll make ye all an eastern hummingsphere of myself the moment that you name the way. Look in the slag scuttle and you’ll see me sailspread over the singing, and what do ye want trippings for when you’ve Paris inspire your hat? Sussumcordials all round, let ye alloyiss and ominies, while I stray and let ye not be getting grief out of it, though blighted troth be all bereft, on my poor headsake, even should we forfeit our life. Lo, improving ages wait ye! In the orchard of the bones. Some time very presently now when yon clouds are dissipated after their forty years’ shower, the odds are, we shall all be hooked and happy, communionistically, among the fieldnights elycean, élite of the elect, in the land of lost of time. Johannisburg’s a revelation! Deck the diamants that never die! So cut out the lonesome stuff! Drink it up, ladies, please, as smart as you can lower it! Out with lent! Clap hands, postillion! Fastintide is by. Your sole and myopper must hereupon part company. So for e’er now fare thee welt! Parting’s fun. Take thou, the wringle’s thine, love. This dime doth trost thee from mine alms. Goodbye, swisstart, goodbye! Laugh! Sure, treasures, a letterman does be often thought reading ye between lines that do have no sense at all. I sign myself. With much leg. Inflexibly yours. Ann Posht the Shorn. To be continued. Huck!

  Something of a sidesplitting nature must have occurred to westminstrel Jaunathaun for a grand big blossy hearty stenorious laugh (even Drudge that lay doggo thought feathers fell) hopped out of his woolly’s throat like a ball lifted over the head of a deep field at the bare thought of how jolly they’d like to be trolling his whoop, and all of them truetotypes in missammen massness were just starting to spladher splodher with the jolly magorios, hicky hecky hock, huges huges huges, hughy hughy hughy, O Jaun (Thou pure! Our virgin! Thou holy! Our health! Thou strong! Our victory! O salutary! Sustain our firm solitude, thou who thou well strokest! Hear, hairy ones! We have sued thee but late. Beauty parlous!), so jokable and so geepy, O, when suddenly (how like a woman!), swifter as mercury, he wheels right round starnly on the Rizzies suddenly, with his gimlets blazing rather sternish (how black like thunder!), to see what’s loose. So they stood still and wondered. Till first he sighed (and how ill soufered!) and they nearly cried (the salt of the earth!) after which he pondered and finally he replied:

  — There is something more. A word apparting and shall the heart’s tone be silent. Engagements, I’ll beseal you! Fare thee well, fairy well! All I can tell you is this, my sorellies. It’s prayers in layers all the thumping time, begor, the young gloria’s gang voices the old doxologers, in the suburrs of the heavenly gardens, once we shall have passed, after surceases, all serene, snug, neck and neck like Derby and June, through to our eternal retribution’s reward (the scorchhouse). Shunt us! Shunt us! Shunt us! If you want to be felixed come and be parked. Sacred ease there! The Seanad and pobbelqueue’s remainder. To it, to it! Seekit headup! No petty family squabbles Up There nor homemade hurricanes in our Cohortyard, no cupahurling nor apuckalips nor no puncheon jodelling nor no nothing. With the Byrns which is far better and eve for ever your idle be. You will hardly reconnaitre the old wife in the new bustle and the farmer shinner in his latterday paint. It’s the fulldress Toussaint’s wakeswalks experdition after a bail motion from the chamber of horrus. Saffron buns or sovran bonhams whichever you’re avider to like it and lump it, but give it a name. Eireny allover Irelands. And there’s food for refection when the whole flock’s at home. Hogmanny di’ye gut? Hogmanny di’ye smellygut? And hogmanny di’ye smellyspatterygut? You take Joe Hanny’s tip for it! Post Mortem is the goods. With Jollification a tight second. Toborrow and toburrow and tobarrow! That’s our crass, hairy and evergrim life, till one finel howdiedow Bouncer Naster raps on the bell with a bone and his stinkers stack behind him with the sceptre and the hourglass. We may come, touch and go, from atoms and ifs, but we’re presurely destined to be odd’s without ends. Here we moult in Moy Kain and flop on the seemy side, living sure of hardly a doorstep for a stopgap, with Whogoesthere and a live sandbag round the corner. But upmeyant, by the banks of our chlorified Amneslethea, you sprout all your abel and woof your wings, dead certain however of neuthing whatever to aye forever, while Hyam Huam’s in the chair. Ah, sure, pleasantries aside, in the tail of the cow what a humptydaum earth looks our miseryme heretoday as compared beside the Hereweareagain Gaieties of the Afterpiece when the Royal Revolver of the real globoes lets regally fire of his mio colpo for the chrisman’s pandemom to give over and the Harlequinade to begin properly SPQueaRking. Mark Time’s Finist Joke. Putting Allspace in a Notshall.

  Well, the slice and veg joint’s well in its way and so is a ribroast and jackknife as sportan diet, but home cooking everytime. Mountain’s good mustard and, with the helpings of ladies’ lickfigs and gentlemen’s relish, I’ve eaten a griddle. But I fill twice as stewhard what I felt before when I’m after eating a few natives. The crisp of the crackling is in the chawing. Give us another cup of your scald! Santos Mozos! That was a damn good cup of scald. You could trot a mouse on it. I ingoyed your pick of hissing hot luncheon fine, I did, thanks awfully (sublime!). Tenderest bully ever I ate with the boiled protestants (allinoilia, allinoilia!) only for your peas again was a taste tooth psalty to carry flavour with my godown and hereby return with my best savioury condiments and a penny in the plate for the jemes. O.K. Oh Kosmos! Ah Ireland! A.I. And for kailkannonkabbis gimme Cincinnatis with Italian (but ci vuol poco!) ciccalick cheese. Haggis good, haggis strong, haggis never say die! For quid we have recipimus, recipe, O lout! And save that, Oliviero, for thy sunny day! Soupmeagre! Couldn’t look at it! But if you’ll buy me yon coat of the vairy furry best I’ll try and pullll it awn mee. It’s in fairly good order and no doubt ’twill sarve to turn. Remove this boardcloth! Next stage, tell the tabler, for a variety of Huguenot ligooms I’ll try my set on edges grapeling an aigrydoucks, grilled over birchenrods, with a few bloomancowls in albies. I want to get outside monasticism. Mass and meat mar no man’s journey. Eat a missal lest. Nuts for the nerves, a flitch for the flue and for to rejoice the chambers of the heart the spirits of the spice isles, curry and cinnamon, chutney and cloves. All the vitalmines is beginning to sozzle in chewn and the hormonies to clingleclangle, fudgem, kates and epas and naboc and erics and oinnos on kingclud and xoxxoxo and xooxox xxoxoxxoxxx till I’m fustfed like fung-stif and very presently from now posthaste it’s off yourll see me ryuoll on my usual rounds again to draw Terminus Lower and Killadown and Letternoosh, Letterspeak, Lettermuck to Littorananima and the roomiest house even in Ireland, if you can understamp that, and my next item’s platform it’s how I’ll try and collect my extraprofessional postages owing to me
by Thaddeus Kellyesque Squire, dr, for nondesirable printed matter. The Jooks and the Kelly-Cooks have been milking turnkeys and sucking the blood out of the Marshalsea since the act of First Offenders. But I know what I’ll do. Great pains off him I’ll take and that’ll be your redletterday calendar, window machree! I’ll knock it out of him! I’ll stump it out of him! I’ll rattattatter it out of him before I’ll quit the doorstep of old Con Connolly’s residence! By the horn of twenty of both of the two Saint Collopys, blackmail him I will in arrears or my name’s not penitent Ferdinand! And it’s daily and hourly I’ll nurse him till he pays me fine fee. Ameal.

  Well, here’s looking at ye! If I never leave you biddies till my stave is a bar I’d be tempted rigidly to become a passionate father. Me hunger’s weighed. Hungkung! Me anger’s suaged! Hangkang! Ye can stop as ye are, little lay mothers, and wait in wish and wish in vain till the grame reaper draws nigh, with the sickle of the sickles, as a blessing in disguise. Devil a curly hair I care! If any lightfoot Clod Dewvale was to try to hold me up, dicksturping me and marauding me of my rights to my onus, yan, tyan, tethera, methera, pimp, I’d let him have my best pair of galloper’s heels in his creamsourer. He will have better manners, I’m dished if he won’t! Console yourself, drawhure deelish! There’s a refond of eggsized coming to you out of me so mind you do me duty on me! Bruise your bulge below the belt till I blewblack beside you. And you’ll miss me more as the narrowing weeks wing by. Someday duly, Oneday truly, Twosday newly, till Whensday. Look for me always at my west and I will think to dine. A tear or two in time is all there’s toot. And then in a click of the clock, toot toot, and doff doff we pop with sinnerettes in silkettes lining longroutes for His Diligence Majesty, our longdistance laird that likes creation. To whoosh!

  — Meesh, meesh! Yes, pet. We were too happy. I knew something would happen. I understand, but listen, drawher nearest, Tizzy intercepted, flushing but flashing from her dove and dart eyes as she tactilifully grabbed her male corrispondee to fluster sweet nunsongs in his quickturned ear. I know, benjamin brother, but listen, I want, girls palmassing, to whisper my whish. (She, like them like us, me and you, had thoud he n’er it would haltin so lithe when leased is tacitempust tongue.) Of course, engine dear, I’m ashamed for my life (I must clear my throttle) over this lost moment’s gift of memento nosepaper which I’m sorry, my precious, is allathome I with grief can call my own but all the same, listen, Jaunick, accept this witwee’s mite, though a jennyteeny witweeny piece torn in one place, from my hands in second place of a linenhall valentino with my fondest and much left to tutor. X.X.X.X. It was heavily balledicted for young Fr Ml, my pettest parriage priest, and you know who between us by your friend the pope, forty ways in forty nights, that’s the beauty of it, look, scene it, ratty. Too perfectly priceless for words. And, listen, now do enhance me, oblige my fiancy and bear it with you morn till life’s e’en and, of course, when never you make usage of it, listen, please kindly think galways, again or again, never forget, of one absendee, not sester Maggy. Ahim. That’s the stupidest little cough. Only be sure you don’t catch your cold and pass it on to us. And, since levret bounds and larks is soaring, don’t be all the night. And this, Joke, a sprig of blue speedwell, just a spell of floralora so you’ll mind your veronique. Of course, Jer, I know you know who sends it, presents that please, mercy, on the face of the waters like that film obote in the magginbottle. Awfully charming, of course, but it doesn’t do her justice, apart from her cattiness. Of course, please too write, won’t you, and leave your little bag of doubts, inquisitive, behind you, unto your utterly thine and, thank you, forward it back by return pigeon’s pneu to the loving in case I couldn’t think who it was or any funforall happens I’ll be so curiose to see in the Homesworth breakfast tablotts so as I’ll know etherways by pity bleu if it’s good for my system, what exquisite buttons, gorgiose, in case I don’t hope soon to hear from you. And thanks ever so many for the ten and the one with nothing at all on. I will tie a knot on my stringamejip to letter you with my silky paper, as I am given now to understand it will be worth my price in money one day, so don’t trouble to ans unless smthg special as I am getting his pay and wants for nothing so I can live simply and solely for my wonderful kinkless and its loops of loveliness. When I throw away my rollets there’s rings for all. Flea, a girl, says it is her colour. So does B and L and as for V! And listen to it, Cheveluir! So distant you’re always. Bow your boche! Absolutely perfect! I will pack my comb and mirror to praxis my oval owes and artless awes and it will follow you pulpicly as far as come back under all my eyes like my sapphire chaplets of ringarosary I will say for you to the Allmichael and solve quipu while the dovedoves pick my mouthbuds (msch! msch!) with nurse Madge, my linkingclass girl, she’s a fright, poor old dutch, in her sleeptalking when I paint the measles on her and mudstuskers to make her a man. We. We. Issy done that, I confesh! But you’ll love her for her hessians. What class she shows! And sickly black stockings, cleryng’s jumbles, salvadged from the Wash. Isn’t it the cat’s tonsils! Simply killing, how she tidies her hair! I call her Sosy because she’s sosiety for me and she says sossy while I say sassy and she says will you have some more scorns while I say won’t you take a few more schools and she talks about ithel dear while I simply never talk about athel darling. But she’s nice for enticing my friends and she loves your style, considering she breaks in me shoes for me when I’ve arch trouble, and she would kiss my white arms for me so gratefully but apart from that she’s terribly nice really, my sisther, round the elbow of Erne Street Lower. And I’ll be strictly forbidden always and true in my own way and private where I will long long to betrue you along with one who will so betrue you that not once while I be betreu him not once will he be betray himself. Can’t you understand? Here swheare! O bother, I must tell the trouth! My latest lad’s loveliletter I am sore I done something with. I like him lots coss he never cusses. Pity bonhom. Pip pet. I shouldn’t say he’s pretty but I’m cocksure he’s shy. Why I love taking him out when I unletched his cordon gate. Ope, Jack, and atem! Obeathe my odours and he dote so. He fell for my lips, for my lisp, for my lewd speaker. I felt for his strength, his manhood, his—do you mind? There can be no candle to hold to it, can there? And, of course, dear professor, I understand. You can trust me that though I change thy name though not the letter never while I become engaged with my first horsepower, masterthief of hearts, I will give your lovely face of mine away, my boyish bob, not for tons of donkeys, to my second mate with the twirlers, the Engineer with a passionflower (O, the wicked untruth! What a tell! That he has bought me in his wellingtons what you haven’t got!), in one of those pure clean lupstucks of yours thankfully, Arrah of the passkeys, no matter what. You may be certain of that, fluff, now I know how to tackle. Lock my nearest next myself. So don’t keep me now for a good boy for the love of my fragrant saint, you villain, peppering with fear, my goodless graceless, or I’ll first murder you. But, hvisker, meet me after by next appointment near you know Ships just there beside the Ship at the future poor fool’s circuts of lovemountjoy square to show my disrespects. Now, let me just your caroline for you, I must really so late. Sweetpig, he’ll be furious! How he stalks to simself louther and lover, immutating aperybally. My prince of the courts who’ll beat me to love! And I’ll be there when who knows where with the objects of which I’ll knowor forget. We say. Trust us. Our game. (For fun!) The Dargle shall run dry the sooner I you deny. And Mrs A’Mara make it up and be friends with Mrs O’Morum! Whoevery heard of such a think? Till the ulmost of all elmoes shall stele our harts asthone! I will write down all your names in my gold pen and ink. Everyday, precious, while m’m’ry’s leaves are falling deeply on my Jungfraud’s Messongesbook, I will dream telepath posts dulcets on this isinglass stream (but don’t tell him or I’ll be the mort of him!) under the libans and the sickamours, the cyprissis and babilonias, where the frondoak rushes to the ashside and the yewleaves too kisskiss themselves, and ’twill carry on my hearz’ waves my still water’s r
eflections in words over Margrate von Hungaria, her Quaidy ways and her Flavin hair, to thee, Jack ahoy, beyond the boysforus. Splesh of hiss splash springs your salmon. Twick twick twinkle twings my twilight as Sarterday aftermoon lex leap will smile on my four-inhanced twelvemonthsmind. And what’s this I was going to say, dean? O, I understand! Listen, here I’ll wait on Thee till the Thingavalla with beautiful Do Be Careful teacakes, more stuesser flavoured than vanilla and blackcurrant there’s a cure in, like a born gentleman till you’ll resemble me, all the time you’re awhile away. I swear to you, I will, by Candlemas! And, listen, joey, don’t be ennoyed with me, my old evernew, when, by the end of your chapter, you citch water on the wagon for me being turned a star I’ll dubeurry my two fesces under Pouts Vanisha Creme, their way for spilling creem, and, accent, umto extend my personnalitey to the latents, I’ll boy me for myself only of expensive rainproof of pinked elephant’s breath grey in the loveliest sheerest dearest widowshood over airforce blue I am so wild for, my precious once, Hope Bros, Faith Street, Charity Corner, as the bee loves her skyhigh, for I always had a crush on heliotrope since the dusess of yore cycled round the Finest Park. And listen. And never mind me laughing at what’s at. Ever! I was in the nerves but it’s my last day. Always about this hour, I’m sorry, when our gamings for Bruin and Noselong is all oh you tease and afterdoon my lickle pussiness I stheal heimlick in my russians from the attraction park with my terriblitallboots calvescatcher, Pinchapoppapoff, who is going on to be a jennyroll, at my nape, drenched, love, with dripping, to affectionate slapmamma but last at night, look, after my golden violents wetting in my upperstairs splendidly welluminated with such lidlylac curtains wallpapered to match the cat and a fireplease, keep looking, of priceless pearlogs (I just want to see will he or are all Michaels like that) I’ll strip straight after devotions before his fondstare—and I mean it too (thy gape to my gazing I’ll bind and makeleash)—and poke stiff under my isonbound with my soiedisante chineknees cheeckchubby chambermate for the night’s foreign males and your name of Shane will come forth between my shamefaced whesen with other lipth I nakest open my thighth when just woken by his toccatootletoo my first morning. So now, to thalk thildish, thome, theated with Mag at the oilthan we are doing to thay one little player before doing to deed. And a tiss to the tassie, for lu and for tu! Coach me how to tumble, Jaime, and, listen, with supreme regards, Juan, in haste, warn me which to ah ah ah ah …