Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [48]
The rudacist rotter in Roebuck-dom. Surtopical? And subhuman. If it was, in yappanoise lan— guage, ach bad clap? Oo! Ah! Augs and ohrs with Rhian O’-kehley to put it tertianly, we wrong? Shocking! Such as turly pearced our really’s that he might, that he might never, that he might never that night? Treely and rurally. Bladyughfoulmoecklenburgwhurawhorascortastrumpapornanennykocksapastippata —
ppatupperstrippuckputtanach, eh? You have it alright. Meirdreach an Oincuish ! But a new complexion was put upon the matter when to the perplexedly uncondemnatory bench (whereon punic judgeship strove with penal law) the senior king of all, Pegger Festy, as soon as the outer layer of stuccko-muck had been removed at the request of a few live jurors, declared in a loudburst of poesy, through his Brythonic inter-preter on his oath, mhuith peisth mhuise as fearra bheura muirre hriosmas, whereas take notice be the relics of the bones of the story bouchal that was ate be Cliopatrick (the sow) princess of parked file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
porkers, afore God and all their honours and king’s commons that, what he would swear to the Tierney of Dundal-gan or any other Tierney, yif live thurkells folloged him about sure that was no steal and that, nevertheless, what was deposited from that eyebold earbig noseknaving gutthroat, he did not fire a stone either before or after he was born down and up to that time. And, incidentalising that they might talk about Markarthy or they might walk to Baalastartey or they might join the nabour party and come on to Porterfeud this the sockdologer had the neck to endorse with the head bowed on him over his outturned noreaster by protesting to his lipreaders with a justbeencleaned barefacedness, abeam of moonlight’s hope, in the same trelawney what he would impart, pleas bench. to the Llwyd Josus and the gentlemen in Jury’s and the four of Masterers who had been all those yarns yearning for that good one about why he left Dublin, that, amreeta beaker coddling doom, as an Inishman was as good as any cantonnatal, if he was to parish by the market steak before the dorming of the mawn, he skuld never ask to see sight or light of this world or the other world or any either world, of Tyre-nan-Og, as true as he was there in that jackabox that minute, or wield or wind (no thanks t’yous !) the inexousthausthible wassail-horn tot of iskybaush the hailth up the wailth of the endknown ab— god of the fire of the moving way of the hawks with his heroes in Warhorror if ever in all his exchequered career he up or lave a chancery hand to take or throw the sign of a mortal stick or stone at man, yoelamb or salvation army either before or after being puptised down to that most holy and every blessed hour. Here, upon the halfkneed castleknocker’s attempting kithoguishly to lilt his holymess the paws and make the sign of the Roman God-helic faix, (Xaroshie, zdrst!—in his excitement the laddo had broken exthro Castilian into which the whole audience perse-guired and pursuited him olla podrida) outbroke much yellach— ters from owners in the heall (Ha!) in which, under the mollifi— cation of methaglin, the testifighter reluctingly, but with ever so ladylike indecorum, joined. (Ha!
Ha!)
The hilariohoot of Pegger’s Windup cumjustled as neatly with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter’s as were they isce et ille equals of opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature or of spirit, iste, as the sole condition and means of its himundher manifestation and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies. Whereas the maidies of the bar, (a pairless trentene, a lunarised score) when the eranthus myrrmyrred: Show’m the Posed: fluttered