Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [201]
Pawpaw, wowow! Momerry twelfths, noebroed! That was a good one, ha!
So it will be quite a material what May farther be unvuloped for you, old Mighty, when it’s aped to foul a delfian in the Mahnung. Ha ha! Talk of Paddy-barke’s echo ! Kick nuck, Knockcastle! Muck! And you’ll nose it, O
you’ll nose it, without warnward from we. We don’t know the sendor to whome. But you’ll find Chiggenchugger’s taking the Treaclyshortcake with Bugle and the Bitch pairsadrawsing and Horssmayres Prosession tyghting file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
up under the threes. Stop. Press stop. To press stop. All to press stop. And be the seem talkin wharabahts hosetanzies, dat sure is sullibrated word ! Bing bong! Saxolooter, for congesters are salders’ prey. Snap it up in the loose, patchy the blank! Anyone can see you’re the son of a gunnell. Fellow him up too, Carlow! Woes to the worm-quashed, aye, and wor to the winner! Think of Aerian’s Wall and the Fall of Toss. Give him another for to volleyholleydoodlem ! His lights not all out yet, the liverpooser!
Boohoohoo it oose! With seven hores always in the home of his thinkingthings, his nodsloddledome of his noiselisslesoughts. Two Idas, two Evas, two Nessies and Rubyjuby. Phook! No wonder, pipes as kirles, that he sthings like a rheinbok. One bed night he had the dely-siums that they were all queens mobbing him. Fell stiff. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ah, he, he!
Abedicate yourself It just gegs our goad. He’ll be the deaf of us, pappappoppopcuddle, samblind daiy-rudder. Yus, sord, fathe, you woll, putty our wraughther! What we waits be after? Whyfore we come agooding? None of you, cock icy! You keep that henayearn and her fortycantle glim lookbehinder. We might do with rubiny leeses. But of all your wanings send us out your peppydecked ales and you’ll not be such a bad lot. The rye is well for whose amind but the wheateny one is proper lovely. B E N K! We sincerestly trust that Missus with the kiddies of sweet Gorteen has not B I N K to their very least tittles deranged if in B U N K
and we greesiously augur for your Meggers a B E N K B A N K B O N K
to sloop in with all sorts of adceterus and adsaturas. It’s our last fight, Megantic, fear you will! The refergee’s took to hailing to time the pass. There goes the blackwatchwomen, all in white, flaxed up, pur-gad! Right toe, Armitage! Tem for Tam at Timmotty Hall! We’re been carried away. Beyond bournes and bowers. So we’ll leave it to Keyhoe, Danelly and Pykemhyme, the three muskrat-eers, at the end of this age that had it from Variants’ Katey Sherratt that had it from Variants’ Katey Sherratt’s man for the bonnefacies of Blashwhite and Blushred of the Aquasancta Liffey Patrol to wind up and to tells of all befells after that to Mocked Majesty in the Malincurred Mansion.
So you were saying, boys? Anyhow he what?
So anyhow, melumps and mumpos of the hoose uncommons, after that to wind up that longtobechronickled gettogether thanksbetogiving day at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle, the anniver-sary of his finst homy commulion, after that same barbecue bean— feast was all over poor old hospitable corn and eggfactor, King Roderick O’Conor, the paramount chief polemarch and last pre-electric king of Ireland,