Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [199]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
because alleging to having a finger a fudding in pudding and pie. And here’s the witnesses. Glue on to him, Greevy! Bottom anker, Noordeece!
And kick kick killykick for the house that juke built! Wait till they send you to sleep, scowpow! By jurors’ cruces! Then old Hunphy-dunphyville’ll be blasted to bumboards by the youthful herald who would once you were. He’d be our chosen one in the matter of Brittas more than anarthur. But we’ll wake and see. The wholes poors riches of ours hundreds of manhoods and womhoods. Two cents, two mills and two myrds. And it’s all us rangers you’ll be facing in the box before the twelfth correctional. Like one man, gell. Between all the Misses Mountsackvilles in their halfmoon haemicycles, gasping to giddies to dye for the shame. Just hold hard till the one we leapt out gets her yearing ! Hired in cameras, extra! With His Honour Surpacker on the binge. So yelp your guilt and kitz the buck. You’ll have loss of fame from Wimme-game’s fake. Forwards! One bully son growing the goff and his twinger read out by the Nazi Priers. You fought as how they’d never woxen up, did you, crucket? It will wecker your earse, that it will! When hives the court to exchequer ’tis the child which gives the sire away. Good for you, Richmond Rover! Scrum around, our side ! Let him have another between the spindlers ! A grand game! Dalymount’s decisive. Don Gouverneur Buckley’s in the Tara Tribune, sporting the insides of a Rhutian Jhanaral and little Mrs Ex–Skaerer-Sissers is bribing the halfpricers to pray for her widower in his gravest embazzlement. You on her, hosy jigses, that’ll be some nonstop marrimont! You in your stolen mace and anvil, Magnes, and her burrowed in Berkness cirrchus clouthses. Fummuccumul with a graneen aveiled. Playing down the slavey touch. Much as she was when the.fancy cutter out col-lecting milestones espied her aseesaw on a fern. So nimb, he said, a dat of dew. Between Furr-y-Benn and Ferr-y-Bree. In this tear Vikloe vich he lofed. The smiling ever. If you pulls me over pay me, prhyse! A talor would adapt his caulking trudgers on to any shape at see. Address deceitfold of wovens weard. The wonder of the women of the world together, moya!
And the lovablest Lima since Ineen MacCormick MacCoort MacConn O’Puckins MacKundred. Only but she is a little width wider got. Be moving abog. You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx. Listun till you’ll hear the Mudquirt accent. This is a bulgen horesies, this is wollan indulgencies, this is a flemsh. Tik. Scapu-lars, beads and a stump of a candle, Hubert was a Hunter, chemins de la croixes and Rosairette’s egg, all the trimmings off the tree that she picked up after the Clontarf voterloost when O’Bryan MacBruiser bet Norris Nobnut. Becracking his cucconut be-tween his kknneess. Umpthump, Here Inkeeper, it’s the doater— een’s wednessmorn! Delphin dringing!
Grusham undergang! And the Real Hymernians strenging strong at knocker knocker! Holy and massalltolled. You ought to tak a dos of frut. file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
Jik. Sauss. You’re getting hoovier, a twelve stone hoovier, fullends a twelve stone hoovier, in your corpus entis and it scurves you right, demnye! Aunt as unclish ams they make oom. But Nichtia you bound not to loose’s gone on Neffin since she clapped her charmer on him at Gormagareen. At the Gunting Munting Hunting Punting. The eitch is in her blood, arrah! For a frecklesome freshcheeky sweetworded lupsqueezer. And he shows how he’ll pick him the lock of her fancy. Poghue! Poghue! Poghue! And a good jump, Powell! Clean over all their heads. We could kiss him for that one, couddled we, Huggins? Sparkes is the footer to hance off nancies. Scaldhead, pursue ! Before you bunkledoodle down upon your birchentop again after them three blows from time, drink and hurry. The same three that nursed you, Skerry, Badbols and the Grey One. All of your own club too. With the fistful of burryberries