Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [133]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
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 pink 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 grape cluster 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. There lies her word, you reder! The height herup exalts it and the lowness her down aba-seth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from 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 Misha Misha but call me Toffey Tough. I mean Mettenchough. 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 shauted 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 file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
trilled her about it. She’s her sex, for certain. So to celebrate the occasion:
— Willest thou rossy banders havind?
He simules to be tight in ribbings round his rumpffkorpff.
— Are you Swarthants that’s hit on a shorn stile?
He makes semblant to be swiping their chimbleys.
— Can you ajew ajew fro’ Sheidam?
He finges to be cutting up with a pair of sissers and to be buy-tings of their maidens and spitting their heads into their facepails. Spickspuk! Spoken.
So now be hushy, little pukers! Side here roohish, cleany fug-lers!
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 temts 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 herefore Coldours must leap no more. Lack breath 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, your lep’s but a loop to lee. A fork of hazel o’er the field in vox 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, frees from evil smells! Perdition stinks before us.
Aghatharept they fleurelly to Nebnos will and Rosocale. Twice is he gone to quest of her, thrice is she now to him. So see we so as seed we sow. And their prunktqueen kilt her kirtles up and set out. And her troup came heeling, O. And what do you think that pride was drest in! Voolykins’
diamondinah’s vestin. For ever they scent where air she. went. While all the fauns’ flares widens wild to see a floral’s school. Led by Lignifer, in four hops of the happiest, ach beth cac duff, a marrer