by James Joyce
Yet he begottom.
Let us wherefore, tearing ages, presently preposterose a snatchvote of thanksalot to the huskiest coaxing experimenter that ever gave his best hand into chancerisk, wishing him with his famblings no end of slow poison and a mighty broad venue for themselves between the devil’s punchbowl and the deep angleseaboard, that they may gratefully turn a deaf ear clooshed upon the desperanto of willynully their shareholders from Taaffe to Auliffe that will curse them below par and mar with their descendants, shame, humbug and profit, to greenmould upon mildew over jaundice as long as ever there’s a wagtail surtaxed to a testcase on ever a man.
We have to had them whether we’ll like it or not. They’ll have to have us now then we’re here on their spot. Scant hope theirs or ours to escape life’s high carnage of semperidentity by subsisting peasemeal upon variables. Bloody certainly have we got to see to it ere smellful demise surprends us on this concrete that down the gullies of the eras we may catch ourselves looking foreword to what will in no time be staring you larrikins on the postface in that multimirror megaron of returningties, whirled without end to end. So there was a raughty … who in Dyfflinsborg did … with his soddering iron, spadeaway, hammerlegs and … where there was a fair young … who was playing her game of … and said she you rockaby … will you peddle in my bog … and he sod her in Iarland, paved her way from Maizenhead to Youghal. And that’s how Humphrey, champion emir, holds his own. Shy sweet, she rests.
Or show pon him now, will you, Hokoway, in his hiphigh bearserk? Third position of concord. Luk! Derg rudd face should take patrick’s purge. Excellent view from front. Sidome. Female imperfectly masking male. Red spot his browbrand. Woman’s the prey! Thon’s the dullakeykongsbyogblagroggerswagginline (private judgers, change here for Looterstown! onlyromans, keep your seats!) that drew all ladies please to our great mettrollops. Leary, leary, twentytun nearly, he’s plotting Kings down for his villa’s extension! Gaze at him now in momentum! As his bridges are blown to babbyrags, by the lee of his hulk upright on her orbits and the heave of his juniper arx in action, he’s naval, I see. Poor little tartanelle, her dinties are chattering, the straits she’s in, the bulloge she bears! Her smirk is smeeching behind for her hills. By the queer quick twist of her mobcap and the lift of her shift at random and the rate of her gate of going the pace, two thinks at a time, her country I’m proud of. The field is down, the race is their own. The galleonman jovial on his bucky brown nightmare. Bigbrob dignagging his lilyputtana. One to one bore one! The datter, io, io, sleeps in peace, in peace. And the twillingsons, ganymede, garrymore, turn in trot and trot. But old Pairamere goes it a gallop, a gallop, a gallop. Bossford and phospherine. One to one on!
O, O, her fairy setalite! Casting such shadows to Persia’s blind! The man in the street can see the coming event. Photoflashing it far too wide. It will be known through all Urania soon. Like jealousjoy titaning fear; like rumour rhean round the planets; like China’s dragon snapping japets; like rhodagrey up the east. Satyrdaysboost besets Phoebe’s nearest. Here’s the flood and the flaxen flood that’s to come over helpless irryland. Is there noone to malahide Liv and her bettyship? Or who’ll buy her rosebuds, jettyblack rosebuds, ninsloes of Nivia, nonpaps of Nan? From the fall of the fig to doom’s last post every ephemeral anniversary. While the park’s police peels peering by for to weigh down morrals from county bubblin. That trainer’s trundling! Quick! Pay up!
Kickakick. She had to kick a laugh. At her old stick-in-the-block. The way he was slogging his paunch about, elbiduubled, meet oft mate on, like hale King Willow, the roberer. Cainmaker’s mace and waxend capapee. But the tarrant’s brand on his hottoweyt brow. At half past quick in the morming. And her lamp was all askew and a trumbly wick-in-her, ringeysingey. She had to spofforth, she had to kicker, too thick of the wick of her pixy’s loomph, lickering jessup the smooky shiminey. And her duffed coverpoint of a wickedy batter, whenever she druv behind her stumps for a tyddlesly wink through his tunnilclefft bagslops after the rising bounder’s yorkers, as he studd and stoddard and trutted and trumpered, to see had lordherry’s blackham’s red bobby abbels, it tickled her innings to consort pitch at kicksoclock in the morm. Tipatonguing him on in her pigeony linguish, with a flick at the bails for lubrication, to scorch her faster, faster. Ye hek, ye hok, ye hucky hiremonger! Magrath he’s my pegger, he is, for bricking up all my old Kent road. He’ll win your toss and flog your old tom’s bowling, and I darr ye, barrackybuller, to break his duck! He’s posh. I lob him. We’re parring all Oogster till the empsy-seas run googlie. Declare to ashes and teste his metch! Three for two will do for me and he for thee and she for you. Goeasyosey, for the grace of the fields, or, hooley pooley, cuppy, we’ll both be bye and bye caught in the slips for fear he’d tyre and burst his dunlops and waken her bornybarnies making his boobybabies. The game old merrimynn, square to leg, with his lolleywide towelhat and his hobbsy socks and his wisden’s bosse and his norsery pinafore and his gentleman’s grip and his playaboy’s plunge and his flannelly feelyfooling, treading her hump and hambledown like a maiden wellheld, ovalled over, with her crease where the pads of her punishments ought to be by womanish rights, when, keek, the hen in the Doran’s shantyqueer began in a kikkery key to laugh it off, yeigh, yeigh, neigh, neigh, the way she was wuck to doodledoo by her gallows bird (how’s that? noball, he carries his bat!), nine hundred and dirty too not out, at all times long past conquering cock of the Morgans.
Cocorico! How blame us? Armigerend everfasting horde! Rico! So the bill to the bowe. As the belle to the beau. We herewith pleased return auditors’ thanks for those and their favours since safely enjoined. Cocoree! Tellaman tillamie. Tubbernacul in Tipherairy, sons, travellers in company and their carriageable tochters, tanks tight Anne Thynne for her contrectactions tugowards his personeel. Echo choree chorecho! O I you O you me! Well, we all unite thoughtfully in rendering gratias, well, between loves repassed, begging your honour’s pardon for, well, exclusive pigtorial rights of Herehear fond Tiplady, his wekreations, appearing in next eon’s issue of The Neptune’s Centinel and Tritonville Lightowler with, well, the widest circulation round the whole universe. Echoho choroh choree chorico! How me O my youhou my I youtou to I O? Thanks furthermore to modest Miss Glimglow and neat Master Mattresson who so kindly profiteered their serwishes as demysell of honour and, well, as strainbearer respectively. And a cordialest brief nod of chinchin dankyshin to, well, patient ringasend, as prevenient (by your leave) to all such occasions, detachably replaceable (thanks too! twos intact!), as well as his auricular of Malthus, the promethean paradonnerwetter which first (pray go! pray go!) taught love’s lightning the way (pity shown!) to, well, conduct itself (mercy, good shot! only please don’t mention it!). Come all ye goatfathers and groanmothers, come all ye markmakers and piledrivers, come all ye laboursaving devisers and chargeleyden dividends, firefenders, waterworkers, deeply condeal with him! All that is still life with death inyeborn, all verbumsaps yet bound to be, to do and to suffer, every creature, everywhere, if you please, kindly feel for her! While the dapplegray dawn drags nearing nigh for to wake all droners that drowse in Dublin.
Humpenfeldt and Annuska, wedded now evermore in annastomoses by a groundplan of the placehunter, whiskered beau and donahbella, Totumvir and Esquimeena, who so shall separate fetters to new desire, repeals an act of union to unite in bonds of schismacy. O yes! O yes! Withdraw your member! Closure. This chamber stands abjourned. Such precedent is largely a cause to lack of collective continencies among Donnelly’s orchard as lifelong the shadyside to Fairbrother’s field. Humbo, lock your kekkle up! Anny, blow your wickle out! Tuck away the tablesheet!! You never wet the tea! And you may go rightoway back to your Aunty Dilluvia, Humphrey, after that!
Retire to rest without first misturbing your nighboor, mankind of baffling descriptions. Others are as tired of themselves as you are. Let each one learn to bore himself. It is strictly requested that no cobsmoking, spitting, pubchat, wrastle rounds, coarse courting, smut, et
c, will take place amongst those hours so devoted to repose. Look before behind before you strip you. Disrobe clothed in the strictest secrecy which privacy can afford. Water non to be discharged coram grate or ex window. Never divorce in the bedding the glove that will give you away. Maid Maud ninnies nay but blabs to mama (O, for your life, would you!): she, to her besom friend who does all chores (and what do you think my Madeleine saw?): this ignorant mostly sweeps it out along with all the rather old corporators (have you heard of one humbledown jungleman, how he bet Byrne-and-Bushe playing peg and pom?): the maudlin river then gets its dues (adding a din a ding or do): thence those laundresses (O, muddle me more about the maggies! I mean bawnee Madge Ellis and brownie Mag Dillon). Attention at all! Every ditcher’s dastard in Dupeling will know if you have paid the mulctman by whether your rent is open to be foreclosed or aback in your arrears. This is seriously meant. Here is a homelet not a hothel.
That’s right, old Oldun!
All in fact is soon as all of old right as anywas ever in very old place. Were he, hwen scalded of that couverfowl, to beat the bounds by here at such a point of time as this is for at sammel up all wood’s haypence and riviers argent (half back from three gangs multaplussed on a twentylot add allto a fiver with the deuce or roamer’s numbers ell a fee and do little ones) with the caboosh on him opheld for thrushes’ mistiles yet singing oud his parasangs in Cornish token: mean fawthery eastend appullcelery, old laddy he high hole: pollysigh patrolman Seekerseen, towney’s tanquam, crumlin quiet down from his hoonger, he would mac siccar of inket goodsforetombed ereshiningem of light turkling eitheranny of thuncle’s windopes. More, unless he were neverso wrongtaken, if he brought his boots to pause in peace, the one beside the other one, right on the road, he would seize no sound from cache or cave beyond the flow of wand was gypsing water, telling him now, telling him all, all about ham and livery, stay and toast ham in livery, and buttermore with murmurladen, to waker oats for him on livery. Faurore! Fearhoure! At last it past! Loab at cod then herrin or wind then mong them treen.
Hiss! Which we had only our hazelight to see with, cert, in our point of view, me and my auxy, Jimmy d’Arcy, hadn’t we, jimmy?—who to seen with? Kiss! No kidd, captn, which he stood us three jolly postboys first a couple of mountjoys and nutty woodbines with his cadbully’s choculars, pepped from our Theatre Regal’s drolleries puntomine, in the snug at the Cambridge Arms of Teddy Ales while we was laying, crown jewels to a peanut, was he stepmarm, old noseheavy, or a wouldower, which he said, lads, a taking low his Whitby hat, lopping off the froth and whishing, with all respectfulness to the old country, tomorrow comrades, we, his long life’s strength and cuirkscrween loan to our allhallowed king (Lawd lengthen him!), the pitchur that he’s turned to weld the wall, his standpoint was, to belt and blucher him afore the hole pleading churchale and submarine bar yonder but he made no class at all in port and cemented palships between our trucers, being a refugee, didn’t he, jimmy?—who true to me? Sish! Honeysuckler, that’s what my young lady here, Fred Watkins, bugler Fred, all the ways from Melmoth in Natal, she calls him when he dip the colours, pet, and commit his certain question vizaviz the secret empire of the snake which it was on a point of our sutton down, how was it, jimmy?—who has sinnerettes to declare? Phiss! Touching our Phoenix Rangers’ nuisance at the meeting of the waitresses, the daintylines, Elsies from Chelsies, the two legglegels in blooms, and those pest of parkies, twitch, thistle and charlock, were they for giving up their fogging trespasses, by order which we foregathered he must be raw in cane sugar, the party, no, Jimmy MacCawthelick?—who trespass against me? Briss! That’s him wiv his wig on, achewing of his maple gum, that’s our grainpopaw, Mister Beardall, an accompliced burgomaster, a great one among the very greatest, which he told us privates out of his own scented mouf he used to was, my lads, afore this Wineact come, what say, our jimmy the chapelgoer?—who fears all masters! Spiss! Hi, Jocko Nowlong, my own sweet boosy love, which he puts his feeler to me behind the beggars’ bush, does Freda, don’t you be an emugee! Carryone, he says, though we maroomed through this woylde. We must spy a half and half a hind on Honeysuckler now his old face’s hardalone wiv his defences down durin his wappin stillstand, says my Fred, and Jamessime here which, pip it, she simply must, she says, our pet, she’ll do a retroussy from her point of view (way you fly! like a frush!) to keep her flouncies off the grass while paying the wetmenots a musichall visit and pair her fiefighs fore him with just one curl after the cad came back which we fought he wars a gunner and His Corkiness lay up two bottles of joy with a shandy had by Fred and a fino oloroso which he was warming to, my right, jimmy, my old brown freer?—whose dolour, O so mine!
Following idly up to seepoint, neath kingmount shadow, the ilk for eke of us, whose nathem’s banned, whose hofd a-hooded, welkim warsail, how did you dew? Hollymerry, ivysad, whicher and whoer, Mr Black Atkins and you tanapanny troopertwos, were you there? Was truce of snow, moonmounded snow? Or did wolken hang o’er earth in umber hue his fulmenbomb? Number two coming! Full inside! Was glimpsed the mean amount of cloud? Or did pitter rain fall in a sprinkling? If the waters could speak as they flow! Tingle Tom, pull the bell! Izzy’s busy down the dell! Mizpah low, youyou, number one, in deep humidity! Listen, misled peerless, please! You are, of course. You miss him so, to listleto! Of course, my pledge between us, there’s no-one noel like him here to hear. Esch so eschess, douls a doulse! Since Allan Rogue loved Arrah Pogue it’s all Killdroughall fair. Triss! Only trees such as these, such were those, waving there, the Barketree, the O’Briertree, the Rowantree, the O’Corneltree, the Behanshrub near Windy Arbour, the Magill O’Dendron More. Trem! All the trees in the wood they trembold, humbild, when they heard the stoppress from Domday’s Erewold.
Tiss! Two pretty mistletots, ribboned to a tree, up rose liberator and, fancy, they were free! Four witty missywives, winking under hoods, made lasses like lads love maypoleriding, dotting Harold’s cross green with tricksome couples, fiftyfifty, their childern’s hundred. So childish pence took care of parents’ pounds and many made money the way in the world where rushroads to riches crossed slums of lice and, the cause of it all, he forged himself ahead like a blazing urbanorb, brewing treble to drown grief, giving and taking mayom and tuam, playing milliards with his three golden balls, making party capital out of landed selfinterest, light on a slavey but weighty on the bourse, our hugest commercial emporialist, with his sons booing home from afar and his daughters bridling up at his side. Finner!
How did he bank it up, swank it up, the whaler in the punt, a guinea by a groat, his index on the balance and such wealth into the bargain, with the bogey which he snatched in the baggage coach ahead? Going forth on the prowl, master jackill, under night and creeping back, dog to hide, over morning. Humbly to fall and cheaply to rise, exposition of failures. Through Duffy’s blunders and MacKenna’s insurance for upper ten and lower five the band played on. As one generation tells another. Ofter the fall. First, for a change of a seven days’ licence he wandered out of his farmer’s health and so lost his early parishlife. Then (’twas in fenland), occidentally of a suddom, six junelooking flamefaces straggled wild out of their turns through his parsonfired wicket, showing all shapes of striplings in sleepless tights. Promptly whomafter in undated times, very properly a dozen generations anterior to themselves, a main chanced to burst and misflooded his fortunes, wrothing foulplay over his fives’ court and his fine poultryyard wherein were spared a just two of a feather in wading room only. Next, upon due reflotation, up started four hurrigan gales to smithereen his plateglass housewalls and the slate for accounts his keeper was cooking. Then came three boy buglehorners who counterbezzled and crossburgled him. Later on in the same evening two hussyites absconded through a breach in his bylaws and left him, the infidels, to pay himself off in kind remembrances. Till, ultimatehim, fell the crowning barleystraw when an explosium of his distilleries deafandumped all his dry goods down to his most favoured sinflute and dropped him, what remains of a heptark, l
eareyed and lotterish, weeping worrybound on his bankrump.
Pepep. Pay bearer, sure and sorry, at foot of ohoho honest policiest. O never again, by Phoenix, swore on him Lloyd’s, not for beaten wheat, not after Sir Joe Meade’s father, thanks! They know him, the covenanter, by rote at least, for a chameleon at last, in his true falseheaven colours from ultraviolent to subred tissues. That’s his last tryon to march through the grand tryomphal arch. His reignbolt’s shot. Never again! How you do that like, Mista Chimepiece? You got nice yum premyums? Praypaid my promishles!
Agreed, Wu Welsher, he was chogfulled to beacsate on earn as in hiving of foxold conningnesses but who, hey honey, for all values of his latters, was, integer integerrimost, the formast of the firm? By folkmood hailed, at part farwailed. Accwmwladed concloud, Nuah-Nuah, Nebob of Nephilim! After all, what followed for apprentice’ sake? Since the now nighs nearing as the yetst hies hin. Jeebies, ugh, kek, ptah, that was an ill man! Jawboose, puddigood, this is for true one sweetish mand! But Jumbluffer, bagdad, sir, yond would be for a once over our all honoured christmastype easteredmanx.
Fourth position of solution. How johnny! Finest view from horizon. Tableau final. Two me see. Male and female unmask we hem. Begum by Gunne! Who now broothes oldbawn. Dawn! The nape of his nameshielder’s scalp. Halp! After having drummed all he dun. Hun! Worked out to an inch of his core. More! Ring down. While the queenbee he staggerhorned blesses her bliss for to feel her funnyman’s functions. Tag. Rumbling.