Penguin Classics the Restored Finnegans Wake

by James Joyce

  The campus calls them. Ninan ninan, the gattling gan! Childs will be wilds. ’Twastold. And vamp, vamp, vamp, the girls are merchand. The horseshow magnete draws his field and don’t the fillyings fly? Educande of Sorrento, they newknow knowwell their Vico’s road. Arranked in their array and flocking for the fray on that old orangeray, Dolly Brae. For these are not on terms, they twain, bartrossers, since their baffle of Whatalose when Adam Leftos and the devil took our hindmost, gegifting her with his painapple, nor will not be atoned at all in fight to no finish, that dark deed doer, this wellwilled wooer, Jerkoff and Eatsoup, Yem or Yan, while felixed is who culpas does and harm’s worth healing and Brune is bad friendsch for Jour d’Anno. Tiggers and tuggers, they’re all for tenzones. Bettlimbraves. For she must walk out. And it must be with who? Teaseforhim. Toesforhim. Tossforhim. Two. Else there is danger of. Solitude.

  Postreintroducing Jeremy, the chastenot coulter, the flowing taal that brooks no brooking runs on to say how, as it was mutualiter foretold of him by a timekiller to his spacemaker, velos ambos and arubyat knychts, with their tales within wheels and stucks between spokes, on the hike from Elms-tree to Stene and back, running awage with the use of reason (sics) and ramming amok at the brake of his voice (secs), his lasterhalft was set for getting the besterwhole of his yougendtougend, for control number thrice was operating the subliminal of his invaded personality. He nobit smorfi endgo poltri and let all the tondo gang bola del ruffo. Baito no know him mor. Eat larto altruis with most perfect stranger.

  Boo, you’re through!

  Hoo, I’m true?

  Men, teacan a tea simmering, homo mavrone kerry O?

  Teapotty, teapotty.

  Kod knows. Anything ruind. Meetingless.

  He wept indeiterum. With such a tooth he seemed to love his wee tart when a buy. Highly momourning, he see thee before him. Melained from nape to kneecap though vied from her girders up. Holy Santalto, cursing saint, sight most deletious to ross up the spyballs like exude of margary! And how him it heaviered that eyerim rust! An they bare falls witless against thee, how slight becomes a hidden wound! Soldwoter he wash him all time bigfeller bruisy place blong him. He no want missies blong all boy other look bruisy place blong him. Hence. It will paineth the chastenot in that where of him whence he had loseth his once for every, ever though mode grow moramor maenneritsch and the Tarara boom decay. Immaculacy, give but to drink to his shirt and all frohlined skirtaskortas must to change her tunics. So warred he from first to last forebanned and, betweenly, a smuggler for lifer. Lift the blank, ve veared as hell! Split the hvide and aye seize heaven! He knows for he’s seen it in black and white through his eyetrompit, trained upon jenny’s and all that sort of thing, which is dandymount to a clearobscure. Prettimaid tints may try their taunts: apple, bacchante, custard, dove, eskimo, feldgrau, ginger, hematite, isinglass, jet, kipper, lucile, mimosa, nut, oysterette, prune, quasimodo, royal, sago, tango, umber, vanilla, wisteria, xray, yesplease, zaza, philomel, theerose. What are they all by? Shee.

  If you nude her in her prime, make sure you find her complementary or, by Angus Dagdasson and all his picciapiccions, on your very first occasion she’ll prick you where you’re proudest with her unsatt speagle eye. Look sharp, she’s signalling again from among the asters. Turn again, wistfultone, lode mere of Doubtlynn! Arise, Land-under-Wave! Clap your lingua to your pallet, drop your jowl with a jolt, tambourine until your breath slides, pet a pout and it’s out. Have you got me, Allysloper?

  My top it was brought Achill’s low, my middle I ope before you, my bottom’s a valser if ever there valsed and my whole the flower that stars the day and is solly well worth your pilger’s fahrt. Where there’s a hitch, a head of things, let henker’s halter hang the halunkenend. For I see through your weapon. That cry’s not Cucullus. And his eyelids are painted. If my tutor here is cut out for an oldeborre I’m Flo, shy of peeps, you know. But when he beetles backwards, ain’t I fly? Pull the bough, peep, to see how we sleep. Bee Peep! Peepette! Would you like that lump of a tongue for lungeon or this Turkey’s delighter, hys hyphen mys? My bellyswain’s a twalf whule-hrusspower though he knows as much how to man a wife as Dunckle Dalton of matching wools. Shake hands through the thicketloch! O sweet swan water, my other is mouthfilled. This kissing wold’s full of killing fellows kneeling voyantly to the cope of heaven. And somebody’s coming, I feel for a fect. I’ve a seeklet to sell thee if old Deanus won’t be threaspanning. When you’ll next have the mind to retire to be wicked this is as dainty a fine way as any. Underwoods spells bushment’s business. So if you sprig poplar you’re bound to twig this. ’Twas my lord of Glendalough benedixed the gape for me that day at Long Entry, commanding the approaches to my intimest innermosts. Look how they’re browthered! Six thirteens at Blanche de Blanche’s of 3 Behind Street and 2 Turnagain Lane. Awabeg is my callby, Magnus here’s my max, Wonder One’s my cipher and Seven Sisters is my nighbrood. Radouga, Rab, will ye na pick them in their pinks of panties. You can colour up till you’re prawn while I go squirt with any cockle. When here who adolls me infuxes sleep. But if this could see with its backsight he’d be the grand old greeneyed lobster. He’s my first viewmarc since Valentine. Wink’s the winning word.

  Luck!

  In the house of breathings lies that word, all fairness. The walls are of rubinen and the glittergates of elfinbone. The roof herof is of massicious jasper and a canopy of Tyrian awning rises and still descends to it. A grapecluster of lights hangs therebeneath and all the house is filled with the breathings of her fairness, the fairness of fondance and the fairness of milk and rhubarb and the fairness of roasted meats and uniomargrits and the fairness of promise with consonantia and avowals. Their lies her word, you reder! The height herup exalts it and the lowness herdown abaseth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from the pomoeria. A window, a hedge, a prong, a hand, an eye, a sign, a head and keep your other augur on her paypaypay. And you have it, old Sem, pat as ah be seated! And Sunny, my gander, he’s coming to land her. The boy which she now adores. She dores. Oh backed von dem zug! Make weg for their tug!

  With a ring ding dong they raise clasped hands and advance more steps to retire to the saum. Curtsey one, curtsey two, with arms akimbo, devotees.

  Irrelevance.

  All sing:

  — I rose up one maypole morning and saw in my glass how nobody loves me but you. Ugh! Ugh!

  All point in the shem direction as if to shun.

  — My name is Mishamisha but call me Toffeytough. I mean Mutton-chough. It was her, boy the boy, that was loft in the larch. Ogh! Ogh!

  Her reverence.

  All laugh.

  They pretend to helf while they simply schutet at him sauce to make hims prich. And ith ith noth cricquette, Sally Lums. Not by ever such a lot. Twentynines of bloomers gegging een man arose. Avis was there and trilled her about it. She’s her sex, for certain. So to celebrate the occasion:

  — Willst thou rossy banders havind?

  He simules to be tight in ribbings round his rumpffkorpff.

  — Are you Swarthants that’s hits on a shorn stile?

  He makes semblant to be swiping their chimbleys.

  — Can you ajew, ajew, fro’ Scheidan?

  He finges to be cuttling up with a pair of sissers and to be buythings off their maidens ends pitting their heads into their facepails.

  Spickspuck! Spoken.

  So now be hushy, little pukers! Side here roohish, cleany fuglers! Grandicellies, all stay zitty! Adultereux, rest as befour! For you’ve jollywelly dawdled all the day. When ye coif tantoncle’s hat then’ll be largely tempts for that. Yet’s the time for being now, now, now.

  For a burning would is come to dance inane. Glamours hath moidered’s lieb and herfore Coldours must leap no more. Lackbreath must leap no more.

  Lel lols for libelman libling his lore. Lolo Lolo, liebermann, you loved to be leaving Libnius. Lift your right to your Liber Lord. Link your left to your lass of liberty. Lala Lala, Leapermann, yo
ur lep’s but a loop to lee.

  A fork of hazel o’er the field invokes the verveine virgins’ ode. If you cross this rood as you roamed the rand I’m blessed but you’d feel him a blasting rod. Behind me, free from evil smells! Perdition stinks before us.

  Agatharept they fleurely to Nebnos will and Rofocale. Twice is he gone to quest of her, thrice is she now to him. So see we so as seed we sow. And their prunkqueen kilt her kirtles up. And set out. And her troupe came heeling, O. And what do you think that pride was drest in? Voollykins’ diamondinah’s vestin. For ever they scent where air she went. While all the fauns’ flares widens wild to see a florals’ school.

  Led by Lignifer, in four hops of the happiest, ac beth cac duff, a marrer of the sward incoronate, the few fly the farbetween! We haul minymony on that piebold nig. Will any dubble dabble on the bay? Noc for jocubus? Nic for jay? Attilad! Attattilad! Get up, Goth’s scourge on you! There’s a visitation in your impluvium. Hun! Hun!

  He standth theirs mum in his natural, oblious autamnesically of his very proprium (such is stockpot leaden, so did sousepun crake), the wont to be wanton maid a will to be wise. Thrust from the light, apophotorejected, he spoors loves from her heats. He blinkth. But his wrath’s the higher where those wreathe charity. For all of these have been thisworlders. Time liquescing into state, pitiless age grows angelhood. Though, as he stehs, most anysing may befallhim, from a song of a witch to the totter of Blackarts, given a fammished devil, a young sourceress and (eternal conjunction) the permission of overalls with the cuperation of nightshirt. If he spice east he seethes in sooth and if he pierce north he wilts in the waist. And what wonder with the murkery viceheid in the shade? The specks on his lapspan are his foul deed thoughts, wishmarks of mad imogenation. Take they off, sah! Make thee off, soh! But Funnylegs are leanly. A bimbamb bum! They vain would convert him to be hers in the word. Gush, they wooed! Gash, they’re fair ripecherry!

  As for she could shake him. An oaf, no more. Still, he’d be good tutor two in his big armschair lerningstoel and she be waxen in his hands. Turning up and fingering over the most dantellising peaches in the lingerous longerous book of the dark. Look at this passage about Galileotto! I know it is difficult but when your goche I go dead. Turn now to this patch upon Smacchiavelluti! Soot allours, he’s sure to spot it! ’Twas ever so in monitorology since Headmaster Adam became Eva Harte’s toucher, in omnibus moribus et temporibus, with man’s mischief in his mind whilst her pupils swimmed too heavenlies. Let his be exaspirated, letters be blowed! I is a femaline person. O, of provocative gender. U unisingular case.

  Which is why trumpers are mixed up in duels and here’s B. Rohan meets N. Ohlan for the prize of a thou.

  But listen to the mocking birde to micking barde making bared! We’ve heard it aye since songdom was gemurrmal.

  As he was queering his shoolthers. So was I. And as I was cleansing my fausties. So was he. And as way ware puffin our blowbags. Sou wous you.

  Come, thrust! Go, parry! Dvoinabrathran, dare! The mad long ramp of manchind’s parlements, the learned lacklearning, merciless as wonderful.

  — Now may Saint Mowy of the Pleasant Grin be your everglass and even-prospect!

  — Feeling dank.

  Exchange, reverse.

  — And may Saint Jerome of the Harlot’s Curse make family three of you which is much abedder!

  — Grassy ass ago.

  And each was wrought with his other. And his continence full.

  The bivetellines, Metellus and Ametallikos, her crown pretenders, obscindgemeinded bickerers, varying directly, uruseye each oxesother, super-fetated (never cleaner of lamps frowned fiercelier on anointer of hinges), while their treegrown girls, king’s game, if he deign so, are in such transfusion just to know twigst timidy twomeys, for gracious sake, who is artthoudux from whose heterotropic, the sleepy or the glouch, for, shyly bawn and showly nursured, exceedingly nice girls can strike exceedingly hard times unless so richtly chosen’s by (what though of riches he have none and hope dashes hope on his heart’s horizon) to gar their great moments greater. The thing is he must be put strait on the spot, no mere waterstichystuff in a selfmade world that you can’t believe a word he’s written in, not for pie, but one’s only owned by natural rejection. Charley, you’re my darwing! So sing they sequent the assent of man. Till they go round if they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed. They keep. Step keep. Step. Stop.

  Who is Fleur? Where is Ange? Or Gardoun?

  Creedless, croonless hangs his haughty. There end no moe red devil in the white of his eye. Braglodyte him do a katadupe! A condamn quondam jontom sick of a suckbut! He does not know how his grandson’s grandson’s grandson’s grandson will stammer up in Peruvian for in the ersebest idiom I have done it equals I so shall do. He dares not think why the grandmother of the grandmother of his grandmother’s grandmother coughed Russky with suchky husky accent since in the mouthart of the slove look at me now means I once was otherwise. Nor that the mappamund has been changing pattern as youth play moves from street to street since time was and races were and wise ants hoarded and sauterelles were spendthrifts, no thing making newthing wealthshowever for a silly old Sol, healthytobedder and latewiser. Nor that the turtling of a London’s alderman is ladled out by the waggerful to the regionals of pigmyland. His part should say in honour bound: So help me symethew, sammarc, selluc and singin, I will stick to you, by gum, no matter what, bite simbum, and in case of the event coming off beforehand, even so you was to release me for the sake of the other cheap girl’s baby’s name, plaster me but I will pluckily well pull on the buckskin gloves because it is the month of brumes. But Noodynaady’s actual ingrate tootle is of come into the garner, mauve, and thy nice are stores of morning and buy me a bunch of iodines.

  Evidentament he has failed as tiercely as the deuce before. For she is wearing none of the three. And quite as patently there is a sort of a hole in the ballet through which the rest fell out. For to explain why the residue is, was, or will not be, according to the eighth axiom, proceeded with, namely, since ever apart that gossan duad, so sure as their’s a patch on a pomelo, this yam ham in never live could, the shifting about of the lasses and the tug-of-love of the lads ending with a great deal of rough merriment, hoots, screams, scarf drill, cap fecking, ejaculations of aurinos, reechoable mirthpeals and general thumb-to-nosery (Myama’s a yaung yaung country), one must reckon with the sudden and gigantesquesque appearance unwithstandable as a general election in Barnado’s bearskin amongst the brawlmiddle of this village childergarten of the largely longsuffering laird of Lucanhof.

  But, Vrayedevraye Blankdeblank, god of all machineries and tomestone of Barnstaple, by mortisection or vivisuture, splitten up or recompounded, an isaac jacquemin mauromormo milesian, how accountibus for him, moreblue?

  Was he pitssched for an ensemple, as certain have dognosed of him, against our seawall by Rurie, Thoath and Cleaver, those three stout sweyn-hearts, Orion of the Orgiasts, Meereschal MacMuhun, Ipsedadden, the product of the extremes giving quotidients to our means, your brutest layaman with the princest champion in our archdeaconry, or so yclept, as might occur to anyone, from Clio’s clippings, which the chronicler of chivalries is sulpicious save he scan, for ancients link with presents as the human chain extends, have done, do and will again, as John, Polycarp and Ireneus eye-to-eye ayewitnessed unto Paddy Palmer, while monks sell yew to archers or the water of the livvying goes the way of all fish from Sara’s drawhead, the corralsome, to Isaac’s, the lauphed butt one, with her minnelisp ex-torreor to his moanolothe inturned? So Perrichon with Bastienne or heavy Humph with airy Nan. Ricqueracqbrimbillyjicqueyjocqjolicass? How sowesthow, dulcisamica? A and aa ab ad abu abiad. A babbel men dub gulch of tears.

  And he! Who? Old Joe, the Java Jane, older even than Adam Costollo. The mar of murmury mermers to the mind’s ear, uncharted rock, evasive weed. Only the caul knows his thousandfirst name, Hocus Crocus, Esquilocus, Finnfinn the Faineant. Doth all this two way teleopic come aft to y
ou, puritysnooper, as eft it were longtimes ofter when Potollomuck Sotyr or Sourdanapplous the Lollapaloosa put back Omega with the beths of alpability? The charges are, you will remember; the chances are, you won’t. We are recurrently meeting em, par Mahun Mesme, in cycloannalism, from space to space, time after time, in various phases of scripture as in various poses of sepulture. Greets Godd, Groceries! How feel full foes in furrinarr? Merodach! Defend the King! Hoet of the rough throat attack but whose say is soft and whose ee has a cute angle, he whose hut is a hissarlik even as her hennin’s aspire. And insodaintily she’s a quine of selmashaker while as a murder of corpse when his magot’s up he’s the best berrathon sanger in all the aisles of Skaldignavia. As who shall hear. For now at last is Longabed going to be gone to, that more than man, prince of Bunnicombe of wide roadsterds, the herblord the gillyflowrets so fain fan to flatter about. Artho is the name is on the hero, Capellissato, shoehanded slaughterer of the shader of our leaves.

  Attach him! Hold!

  Yet stir thee, to clay, Tamor!

  Why wilt thou erewaken him from his earth, O summonorother? He is weatherbitten from the dusts of ages. The hour of his closing hies to hand; the tocsin that shall claxonise his wareabouts. If one who remembered his webgoods and tealofts were to ask of any hooper for whose it was the storks were quitting Aquileyria, this trundler would not wot; if other who found faith when his depth charge bombed our barrel slipway were to—!

  Jehosophat, what doom is here! Rain ruth on them, sire! The wing of Moykill cover him! The Bulljon Bossbrute quarantee him! Calavera, caution! Slaves to Virtue, save his Veritotem! Bearara Polearis, procul abeat! The Ivorbonegorer of Danamaraca, be his Hector Protector! Woldomar with Vasa, peel your peeps! And try to saviourise the nights of labour to the order of our blooding worold! While Pliny the Younger writes to Pliny the Elder his calamolumen of contumellas, what Aulus Gellius picked on Micmacrobius and what Vitruvius pocketed from Cassiodorus. Like we larnt from that Buke of Lukan in Dublin’s capital, Kongdam Coombe. Even if you are the kooper of the winkel itself, over measure never lost a licence. Nor a duckindouche divulse from bath and breakfast. And for the honour of Alcohol drop that you-know-what-I’ve-come-about-I-saw-your-act air! Punch may be pottleproud but his Judy’s a wife’s wit better.