Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [173]
poorter on his brain, aiden bay scye and dye, aasbukividdy, twentynine to her dozen and coocoo him didulceydovely to his old cawcaws huggin and munin for his strict privatear which there’s no pure rube like an ool pool roober when your pullar beer turns out Bruin O’Luinn and beat his barge into a battering pram with her wattling way for cubblin and, be me fairy fay, sayd he, the marriage mixter, to Kersse, Son of Joe Ashe, her coaxfonder, wiry eyes and winky hair, timkin abeat your Andraws Meltons and his lovsang of the short and shifty, I will turn my thinks to things alove and I will speak but threes ones, sayd he, my truest patrions good founter, poles a port and zones asunder, tie up in hates and repeat at luxure, you can better your tooblue prodestind arson, tyler bach, after roundsabouts and donochs and the volumed smoke, though the clonk in his stumble strikes warn, and were he laid out on that counter there like a Slavocrates amongst his skippies, when it comes to the ride onerable, sayd he, that’s to make plain Nanny Ni Sheeres a full Dinamarqueza, and all needed for the lay, from the hursey on the montey with the room in herberge down to forkpiece and bucklecatch, (Elding, my elding! and Lif, my lif!) in the pravacy of the pirmanocturne, hap, sayd he, at that meet hour of night, and hop, sayd he, ant the fyrsty annas everso thried (whiles file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
the breath of Huppy Hulles-pond swumped in his seachest for to renumber all the mallyme— dears’ long roll and call of sweetheart emmas that every had a port in from Coxenhagen till the brottels on the Nile), while taylight is yet slipping under their pillow, (ill omens on Kitty Cole if she’s spilling laddy’s measure!) and before Sing Mattins in the Fields, ringsengd ringsengd, bings Heri the Concorant Erho, and the Referinn Fuchs Gutmann gives us I’ll Bell the Welled or The Steeplepoy’s Revanger and all Thingavalley knows for its never dawn in the dark but the deed comes to life? and raptist bride is aptist breed (tha lassy! tha lassy!), and, to buoy the hoop within us springing, ’tis no timbertar she’ll have then in her arms-brace to doll the dallydandle, our fiery quean, upon the night of the things of the night of the making to stand up the double tet of the oversear of the seize who cometh from the mighty deep and on the night of making Horuse to crihumph over his enemy, be the help of me cope as so pluse the riches of the roed-shields, with Elizabeliza blessing the bedpain, at the willbedone of Yinko Jinko Randy, come Bastabasco and hippychip eggs, she will make a suomease pair and singlette, jodhpur smalls and tailor-less, a copener’s cribful, leaf, bud and berry, the divlin’s own little mimmykin puss, (hip, hip, horatia!) for my old comrhade saltymar here, Briganteen — General Sir A. I. Magnus, the flapper— nooser, master of the good lifebark Ulivengrene of Onslought,-and the homespund of her hearth, (Fuss his farther was the norse norse east and Muss his mother was a gluepot) and, gravydock or groovy anker, and a hulldread pursunk manowhood, who (with a chenchen for his delight time and a bonzeye nappin through his doze) he is the bettest bluffy blondblubber of an olewidgeon what overspat a skettle in a skib. Cawcaught. Coocaged.
And Dub did glow that