The Restored Finnegans Wake

by James Joyce

  — As you sing it it’s a study. That letter selfpenned to one’s other, that neverperfect everplanned!

  — This nonday diary, this allnights newseryreel.

  — My dear sir! In this wireless age any owl rooster can peck up bostoons. But whoewaxed he so anguished? Was he vector victored or victim vexed?

  — Mighty sure! Way way for his wehicale! A parambolator ram into his bagsmall when he was reading alawd with two ecolites and he’s been failing of that kink in his arts over sense.

  — Madonagh and chiel, idealist leading a double life! But who, for the brilliance of brothers, is the Nolan as appearant nominally?

  — Mr Nolan is pronuminally and rereally a Mr Gottgab.

  — I get it, you reeker! An untaken mispatriate! By hearing his thing about a person one begins to place him for a certain in true. He stands pat for you before a direct object in the feminine. I see. By maiden sname. Now, I am earnestly asking you and putting it as between this yohou and that houmonymh, will you just search through your gabgut memoirs for all of two minutes for this impersonating pronolan, fairhead on foulshoulders. Would it be in twofold truth a Doblinganger much about your own medium with a sandy whiskers? Poke me nabs in the ribs and pick the erstwort out of his mouth.

  — Too fullfully true! Treble Stauter of Holy Baggot, formerly Swordmeat, Street (I surpassed him lately for four and six bringing home the Christmas, as heavy as music, hand to eyes on the peer for Noel’s Arch, in Blessed Foster’s Place) is doing the dirty on me with his tantrums and all these godforgiven kilowatts I’d be better off without. Though she’s write to him she’s levt by me, Jenny Rediviva! Toot! Detter for you, Mr Nobru! Toot toot! Better for you, Mr Anol! This is the way we. Of a redtettetterday morning.

  — When your countraman from Tuwarceathay is looking for righting, that is not a good sign? Not?

  — I speak truly, it’s a shower sign that it’s not.

  — What though it be for the sow of his heart? If even she were a good poor Pegeen?

  — If she ate your windowsill you wouldn’t say sow.

  — Would you be surprised after that at my asking have you a bull, a bosbully, with a whistle in his tail to scare other birds?

  — I would.

  — Were you with Sindy and Sandy attending Goliath, a bull?

  — You’d make me sag what you like to. I was intending a funeral. Simply and samply.

  — They are too wise of solbing their silbings?

  — And both croon to the same theme.

  — Tugbag is Baggut’s, when a crispin sokolist besoops juts kamps or clapperclaws an irvingite offthedocks. A luckchange, I see. Thinking young through the muddleage spread, the moral fat his mental leans on. We can cop that with our straat that is called corkscrewed. It would be the finest boulevard billy for a mile in every direction, from Lismore to Cape Brendan, Patrick’s, if they took the bint out of the mittle of it. You told of a tryst too, two a tutu. I wonder now, without releasing seeklets of the alcove, turturs or raabraabs, have I heard mention of whose name anywhere? Mallowlane or Demaasch? Strike us up either end Have You Erred off Van Homper or Ebell Teresa Kane.

  — Marak! Marak! Marak!

  Ha drappad has draraks an Mansianhase parak

  And ha had ta barraw tha watarcrass shartclaths aff tha arkbashap af Yarak!

  — Broadribnob’s on the bummel?

  — And lillypets on the lea.

  — A being again in becomings again. From the sallies to the allies through their central power?

  — Pirce! Perce! Quick! Queck!

  — O Tara’s thrush! The sharepusher! And he said he was only taking the average grass temperature for Green Thurdsday, the blutchy scaliger! Who you know the musselman, his musclemum and mistlemam? Maomi, Mamie, My Mo Mum! He loves a drary lane. Feel Phylliscitations to Daff Mr Hairwigger who as just added twinned little curls! He was resting between Horrockses’ sheets, wailing for white warfare, prooboor welshtbreton, unbiassed by the embarrassment of disposal, but the first woking day in Baltic Bygrad, by Thunder, he stepped into the breach and put on his recriution trousers and riding apron, the old soggy, was when the bold bhuoys of Iran wouldn’t join up.

  — How voice you that, nice Sandy man? Not large goodman is he, Sandy nice? Ask him this one minute upthrow inner lotus of his burly ear womit he dropped his Bass’s to P flat.

  — And for that he was allaughed? And then baited? The whole gammat?

  — Loonacied! Marterdyed!! Madwakemiherculossed!!! Judascessed!!!! Pairaskivvymenassed!!!!! Luredogged!!!!!! And, needatellye, faulscrescendied!!!!!!!

  — Dias Domnas! Dolled to dolthood? And Annie Delittle, his daintree diva, in deltic dwilights, singing him henpecked rusish through the bars? My Wolossay’s wild as the Crasnian Sea! Grabashag, groogy, scoop and I’ll cure ye! Mother of emeralds, ara poog neighbours!

  — Capilla, Rubrilla and Melcamomilla! Dauby, dauby, without dulay! Well, I beg to traverse same above statement by saxy luters in their back haul of Coalcutter what reflects upon my administrants of slew poisoning inasmuch as my dodear devere revered meinhirr was confined to guardroom, I hindustand, by my pint of his Filthered pilsen’s bottle due to Zenaphiah Holwell, H and J. C. S, which I was bringing up my quee parapotacarry’s orders in my sedown chair with my mudfacepacket from my cash chemist and family drugger, Surager Dowling, V.S., to our aural surgeon, Afamado Hairductor Achmed Borumborad Sahib, M.A.C.A., of 1001 Ombrilla Street, Syringapadham, Alleypulley, to see what was my watergood, my mesical wasserguss, for repairs done by bollworm in the rere of pilch knickers, seven yerds to his galandhar pole on perch, together with his for me unfillable slopper, property of my deeply forfear revebereared, who was costing us mostfortunes which I am writing in mepetition to Kavanagh Djanaral, when he was sitting him humpbacked in dry dryfilthyheat to his Trinidad pinslers at their orpentings, entailing a laxative tendency to mary, especially with him being forbidden fruyt and certified by his sexular clergy to have as badazmy emotional valvular, with a basketful of priesters crossing the singorgeous to aroint him with tummy moor’s maladies, and thereinafter liable to succumb, when served with letters potent below the belch, if my rupee ropure riputed husbandship H.R.R. took a brief one in his shirtsails out of the alleged given mineral, telling me see in Foraignghistan sambatpapers his Sunday features of a welcomed aperrytiff with vallad of Erill Pearcey O (he never battered one eagle’s before paying me his duty on my annaversary to the parroteyes list in my nil ensemble in his lazychair but he hidded up my hemifaces in all my mayarannies and he looked plum into my mirrymouth like Ysamasy morning in the end of time with the songlight’s hope singling on his ruddycheeks and rawjaws) and, my charmer, when I dipped my hand in he simply showed me his propendiculous loadpoker, Seaserpents hisses Sissastones, which was as then is produced in his man’s way by this wisest of the Vikramadityationists with the remere ramind remure remark, in his gulughurutty: Yran for parasites with rum for the turkeycockeys so, Lithia, M.D., as this is for Snooker, bort!

  — Which was said by whem to whom?

  — It wham. But whim I can’t whumember.

  — Fantasy! Funtasy on fantasy! Amnes’ fintasies! And there is nihil nuder under the clothing moon. When Ota, weewahrwificle of Torquells, bumpsed her dumpsydiddle down in her woolsark, she mode our heuteyleutey girlery of peerlesses to set up in all their bombossities of feudal fiertey, fanned, flounced and frangipanned, while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the measure, simplex mendaciis, by which our Outis cuts his thruth. Arkaway now!

  — Yerds and nudes say ayes and noes! Vide! Vide!

  — Let Eivin bemember for Gates of Gold for their fadeless suns berayed her. Irise, O sirises! Be thy mouth given unto thee! For why do you lack a link of luck to poise a pont of perfect, peace? On the vignetto is a ragingoos. The overseer of the house of the oversire of the seas, Nu-Men, triumphant, sayeth: Fly as the hawk, cry as the corncrake, Ani Latch of the postern is thy name; shout!

  — My heart, my mother!
My heart, my coming forth of darkness! They know not my heart, O coolun dearast! Mon gloomerie! Mon glamourie! What a surpraise, dear Mr Preacher, I to hear from your strawnummical modesty! Yes, there was that skew arch of chrome sweet home, floodlit up above the flabberghosted farmament and bump where the camel got the needle. Talk about iridescencies! Ruby and beryl and chrysolite, jade, sapphire, jasper and lazul.

  — Orca Bellona! Heavencry at earthcall, etnat athos? Extinct your vulcanology for the lava of Moltens!

  — It’s you not me’s in erupting, hecklar!

  — Ophiuchus being visible above t’horizon, Muliercula occluded by Satarn’s serpent ring system, the Pisciolinies, Nova Ardoris and Prisca Parthenopea, are a bonnie feature in the northern sky. Ers, Mores and Merkery are surgents below the rim of the Zenith Part, while Arctura, Anatolia, Hesper and Mesembria weep in their mansions over Noth, Haste, Soot and Waste.

  — Apep and Uachet! Holy snakes! Chase me, Charley, Eva’s got barley! Under her fluencies, all in! The Ural Mount he’s on the move and he’ll quivvy her with his strombolo! Waddlewurst, the bag of tow, as broad above as he is below! Creeping through the liongrass and bullrusshies, the obesendean, before the Emfang de Maurya’s class in Bill Shasser’s shotshrift writing academy camouflaged as a blancmange and maple syrup! Obeisance to their sitinims is the follicity of this Orp! Her sheik to Slave, his dick to Dave, and the fat of the land to Guygas. The treadmill pebbledropper haha halfahead overground and she’d only chitschats in her spanking bee bonnetry, Allapolloosa! Up the slanger! Three cheers (and a heva heva heva!) for the name Dan Magraw!

  — The giant sun is in his emanence but which is chief of those white dwarfees of which he ever is surabanded?

  — And to think I might have being his seventh! He will kitssle me on melbaw. What about his age? says you. What about it? says I. I will confess to his sins and blush me further. I would misdemean to rebuke to the libels of snots from the fleshambles, the canalles. Synamite is too good for them. Two overthirties in shore shorties! She’s askapot at Nile Lodge and she’s citchincarry at the left Mrs Hamazum’s. Will you warn your old habasund, barking at baggermen, his chokefull chewing his chain? Responsif you plais. The said Sully, a barracker associated with tinkers, the blackhand Shovellyvans, wreuter of annoyingmost letters and skirriless ballets in Parsee Franch, he is Magrath’s thug and smells cheaply of Power’s spirits like a deepsea dibbler and he is not fit enough to throw guts down to a bear. Sylphling me when is a maid nought a maid he would go to anyposs length for her! So long, Sulleyman! If they cut his nose on the stitcher they had their seven good reasons. Here’s to the leglift of my snuff and trout stockangt henkerchoff, orangefin with a mosaic of dispensations from my church milliner and a frozen black patata, when Lynch, Brother, With-workers, Friends and Company with T. C. King and the Warden of Galway is prepared to stretch him sacred by the powers to the starlight, L.B.W. Hemp, hemp, hurray! says the captain in the moonlight. I could put him under my pallyass and slepp on him all night, as I would roll myself for holy poly over his barrowing places. How we will make laugh over him together, me and my Riley in the Vickar’s bed! Quink! says I. He cawls to me Granny-stream-Auborne when I am hiding under my hair from him and I cool him my Finnyking he’s so joyant a bounder. Plunk! said he. Inasmuch as I am delightful to be able to state, with the joy of lifing in my forty winkers, that a handsome sovereign was freely pledged in their pennis in the sluts maschine, alonging with a cherrywickerkishabrack of maryfruit under Shadow La Rose, to both the legintimate lady performers of display unquestionable, Elsebett and Marryetta Gunning, H2O, by that noblesse of leechers at his Saxon tannery with motto in Wwalshe’s ffrenchllatin, O’Neill Saw Queen Molly’s Pants, and much admired engraving meaning complete manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief mergey margey magistrades, five itches above the kneecap, as required by statues. V.I.C.5.6. If you won’t release me stop to please me up the leg of me. Now you see! Respect. S.V.P. Your wife. Amn. Anm. Amm. Ann.

  — You wish to take us, Frui Mria, by degrees as artis litterarumque patrona but I am afraid, my poor woman of that same name, what with your silvanes and your salvines, you are misled.

  — Alas for livings’ pledjures!

  — Lordy Daw and Lady Don! Uncle Foozle and Aunty Jack! Sure, that old humbugger was boycotted and girlcutted in debt and doom, on hill and haven, even by the show-the-flag flotilla, as I’m given now to understand. Illscribed in the gratuitouses and conspued in the takeyourhandaways. Bumbty Tumbty Sot on a Wall. Mute art for the Million. There wasn’t an archimandrite of Dane’s Island and the townland’s tropics nor a minx from the Isle of Woman nor a one of the four cantins nor any on the whole wheel of his ecunomical counciliabulum nor nogent ingen meid on alled the holed scurface of the jorth would come next or nigh him, Mr Eelwhipper, seed and nursery man, or his allgas bumgalowre, Auxilium Meum Solo A Domino (Amsad), for rime or ration, from piles or faces, after that.

  — All ears did wag old Eire wake as Piers Aurell was flappergangsted.

  — Recount!

  — I have it here to my fingees’ ends. This liggy piggy wanted to go to the jampot. And this leggy peggy spelt pea. And threese lucky puckers played at pooping tooletom. Ma’s da. Da’s ma. Madas. Sadam.

  — Pater patruum cum filiabus familiarum. Or, but, now, and, ariring out of her mirgery margery watersheads and, to change the subjunct from the traumaturgid for a once in a while and darting back to stuff, if so be you may identify yourself with the him in you, that fluctuous neck merchantur, bloodfadder and milkmudder, since there are too many of her, Abha na Lifé, and getting on to dadaddy again, as them we’re ne’er free of, was he in tea e’er he went on the bier or didn’t he onetime do something seemly heavy in sugar? He sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird’s unbespokables in his beak and then he sent out Le Caron Crow and the peacies are still looking for him. The seeker from the swayed, the beesabouties from the parent swarm. Speak to the right! Rotacist ca canny! He caun ne’er be bothered but maun e’er be waked. If there is a future in every past that is present Quis est qui non novit Quinnigin and Qui quwere quot at Quinnigain’s Quake? Stump! His producers, are they not his consumers? Your exagmination round his factification for incamination of a warping process. Declaim!

  — Arra irraha hirarra, man, weren’t they arriving in clansdestinies for the Imbandiment of the Ad Regias Agni Dapes, fogabawlers and panhibernskers, after the crack and the lean years, scalpjaggers with houth-headhunters, like the messiats of the great god, a scarlet trainful, the Twoedged Petrard, totalling, leggats and prelaps, in their aggregate ages two and thirty plus undecimmed centries of them, with tuitifruities, insiders and extraomnes allcunct, from Rathgar, Rathangan, Roundtown and Rush, from America Avenue and Asia Place and the Afrian Way and Europa Parade and besogar the walds of Noo Souch Wilds, and from Vico, Mespil, Rock and Sorrento, for the lure of his weal and the fear of his oppidumic, to his salon de espera in the keel of his kraal, like lodes of ores flocking fast to Mount Maximagnetic, afeerd he was a gunner but affaird to stay away, Merrionites, Dumstdumbdrummers and Luccanicans, Ashtowners, Battersby Parkes and Krumlin Boyards, Phillipsburgs, Cabraists and Finglossies, Ballymunmen, Raheniacs and the bettlers of Clontarf, for to contemplate in manifests and pay their firstrate duties before the both of him, twelve stone a side, with their Thieve le Roué! and their Shvr yr Thrst! and their Uisgue ad Inferos! and their Usque ad Ebbraios! at and in the licensed boosiness premises of his delhightful bazar and reunited magazine hall, by the magazine wall, Hosty’s and Co, Exports, for his five hundredth and sixtysixth borthday, the Grand Old Magennis Mor, Persee and Rahli, taker of the tributes, their Rinseky Poppakork and Piowtor the Grape, holding Dunker’s durbar, boot kings and indiarubber umpires and shawhs from Paisley and muftis in muslim and sultana reiseines and jordan almonders and a row of jam sahibs and an odd principeza in her pettedcoat and the queen of knight’s clubs and the Claddagh ringleaders and the two salaames and the Halfa Ham and the
Hanzas Khan with two fat maharashers and the German selver geyser, and he polished up, protemptible, tintinabulating to himsilf so silfrich. And there was J. B. Dunlop, the best tyrent of ourish times, and a swanks of French wine stuarts and Tudor keepsakes and the Cesarewitch for the current counter, Leodegarius Sant Legegleger, riding lapsaddlelonglegs up the oakses staircase on muleback, like Amaxodios Isteroprotos, hindquarters to the fore and kick to the lift, and he handigrabbed on to his trulley natural anthem, Horsibus, keep your tailyup, and as much as the halle of the vacant throneroom, Oldloaf ’s Buttery, could safely accommodate of the houses of Orange and Bitters M.P., permeated by Druids D.P. and Brehons B.P. and Flawhoolaghs F.P. and Agiapommenites A.P. and Antepummelites P.P. and Ulster Kong and Munster’s Herald with Athclee Ensigning and Athlone Poursuivant and his Imperial Catchering, his fain awan, and his gemmynosed sanctsons in epheud and ordilawn and his diamondskulled granddaucher, Adamantaya Liubokovskva, all murdering Irish, amok and amak, out of their boom companions in paunchjab and dogril and pammel and gougeroutty after plenty of his fresh stout and his good balls of malt, not to forget his oels a’mona nor his beers o’ryely, sopped down by his pani’s annagolorum (at Kennedy’s kiln she kned her dough, back of her bake for me, buns!), socialising and communicounting in the deification of his members, for to nobble or salvage their herobit of him, the poohpooher old bolssaloose, with his arthurious clayroses, Dodderick Ogonoch Wreck, busted to the wurrld at large, lying high as he lay in all dimensions on the table round in court dress and ludmers chain, as true as the Vernons have Brian’s sword, with the floodlight switched back and a dozen and one by one tilly tallows round in ringcampf, circumassembled by his daughters in the foregiftness of his sons and with a hogo, fluorescent of his swathings, round him like the cummulium of scents in an Italian warehouse, erica’s clustered on his hayir, the spectrum in his prisent mocking the candiedights of his dadtid, bagpuddingpodded to his deafspot, bewept of his chilidrim and serafim, poors and personalities, venturous, drones and dominators, ancients and auldancients, with his buttend up, expositoed for sale after referee’s inspection, bulgy and blowrious, bunged to ignorious, healed, cured and embalsamate, pending a rouseruction of his bogey, most highly astounded, as it turned up, after his life overlasting, at thus being reduced to nothing.