......don't you kennet or haven't I told you
every telling has a
taling and that's the he and the
she of it.
Look,
look, the dusk is
growing!
My branches lofty are taking root.
And my cold cher's
gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at?
It saon is late. 'Tis
endless now senne eye or erewone last saw
Waterhouse's clogh.
They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh.
When will they
reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach!
I'd want to go to
Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There's the Belle
for Sexaloitez! And
Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out
the clothes! Wring
in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And
grant thaya grace!
Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay,
we will. Flip !
Spread on your bank and I'll spread mine on mine. Flep! It's what I'm
doing. Spread ! It's churning chill. Der went is
rising. I'll lay a
few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his bride
embraced between
them. Else I'd have sprinkled and folded them
only.
And I'll tie
my butcher's apron here. It's suety yet. The strollers will pass
it by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to hold to
the fire and this
for the code, the convent napkins, twelve, one
baby's shawl. Good
mother Jossiph knows, she said. Whose
head? Mutter snores?
Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer,
say? In kingdome
gone or power to come or gloria be to them
farther? Allalivial,
allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more
again lost alla
stranger.
I've heard tell that same brooch of the
Shannons was
married into a family in Spain. And all the Dun-
ders de Dunnes in
Markland's Vineland beyond Brendan's herring
pool takes number
nine in yangsee's hats. And one of Biddy's
beads went bobbing
till she rounded up lost histereve with a
marigold and a
cobbler's candle in a side strain of a main drain
of a manzinahurries
off Bachelor's Walk. But all that's left to the
last of the
Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and between
is one kneebuckle
and two hooks in the front. Do you tell me.
that now? I do in
troth. Orara por Orbe and poor Las Animas! Ussa, Ulla, we're
umbas all! Mezha, didn't you hear it a deluge of
times, ufer and
ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you deed! I
need, I need! It's
that irrawaddyng I've stoke in my aars. It all
but husheth the
lethest zswound. Oronoko ! What's your trouble?
Is that the great
Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statue
riding the high
horse there forehengist? Father of Otters, it is
himself! Yonne
there! Isset that? On Fallareen Common? You're
thinking of
Astley's Amphitheayter where the bobby restrained
you making
sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of the
Peppers. Throw the
cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spread
your washing
proper! It's well I know your sort of slop. Flap! Ireland sober is
Ireland stiff Lord help you, Maria, full of grease,
the load is with
me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut!
Were you lifting
your elbow, tell us, glazy cheeks, in Conway's
Carrigacurra
canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips? Flop! Your
rere gait's
creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn't I
up since the damp
dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corri-
gan's pulse and
varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice
Jane in decline and
my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking
and bleaching
boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me,
for to deck my
tennis champion son, the laundryman with the
lavandier flannels?
You won your limpopo limp fron the husky
hussars when
Collars and Cuffs was heir to the town and your
slur gave the stink
to Carlow. Holy Scamander, I sar it again!
Near the golden
falls. Icis on us! Seints of light! Zezere! Subdue
your noise, you
hamble creature! What is it but a blackburry
growth or the
dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are
you meanam Tarpey
and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now,
thank all, the four
of them, and the roar of them, that draves
that stray in the
mist and old Johnny MacDougal along with
them. Is that the
Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat
coasting nyar the
Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or
my Garry come back
from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of
the lune, love! Die
eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in
your eye. We'll
meet again, we'll part once more.
The spot I'll
seek if the hour
you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue
milk's upset.
Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you,
pluck your watch,
forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to
jurna's end! My
sights are swimming thicker on me by the sha-
dows to this place.
I sow home slowly now by own way, moy-
valley way. Towy I
too, rathmine.
Ah, but she was the
queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia,
trinkettoes! And
sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty Dumpling,
foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer
and gaffer we're
all their gangsters. Hadn't he seven dams to wive
him? And every dam
had her seven crutches. And every crutch
had its seven hues.
And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for
me and supper for
you and the doctor's bill for Joe John. Befor!
Bifur! He married
his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any
Etrurian Catholic
Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies
and their turkiss
indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was
the spouse? Then
all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland ! Teems of
times and happy
returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo.
Anna was, Livia is,
Plurabelle's to be. Northmen's thing made
southfolk's place
but howmulty plurators made eachone in per-
son? Latin me that,
my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into oure eryan! Hircus
Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on
him, soft ones for
orphans. Ho, Lord ! Twins of his bosom. Lord
save us! And ho!
Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daugh-
ters of. Whawk?
Can't hear with the
waters of. The chittering waters of. Flitter-
ing bats, fieldmice
bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome?
What Thom Malone?
Can't hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffey-
ing waters of. Ho,
talk save us ! My foos won't moos. I feel as old
as yonder elm. A
tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia's daughter-sons. Dark hawks
hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel
as heavy as yonder
stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were
Shem and Shaun the
living sons or daughters of? Night now!
Tell me, tell me,
tell me, elm! Night night! Telmetale of stem or
stone. Beside the
rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters
of. Night! |