Complete Works of James Joyce (196 page)

No wonder Miss Dotsh took to veils and she descended from that

obloquohy.

The bookley with the rusin’s hat is Patomkin but I’m blowed if I knowed

who the slave is doing behind the curtain.

One and Only, Unic bar None, of Saint Yves by Landsend corn-

wer, man — ship me silver!, it must have been, faw! a terrible

mavrue mavone, to synamite up the old Adam-he-used-to, such a

finalley, and that’s flat as Tut’s fut, for whowghowho? the poour

girl, a lonely peggy, given the bird, so inseuladed as Crampton’s

peartree, (she sall eurn bitter bed by thirt sweet of her face !), and

short wonder so many of the tomthick and tarry members in all

there subsequious ages of our timocracy tipped to console with her

at her mirrorable gracewindow’d hut 1 till the ives of Man, the

O’Kneels and the O’Prayins and the O’Hyens of Lochlaunstown

and the O’Hollerins of Staneybatter, hollyboys, all, burryripe

who’ll buy?,
2 in
juwelietry and kickychoses and madornaments

and that’s not the finis of it (would it were!) — but to think of him

foundling a nelliza the second, 3 also cliptbuss (the best was still

there if the torso was gone) where he did and when he did, re-

triever to the last 4 — escapes my forgetness now was it dust-

covered, nom de Lieu ! on lapse or street ondown, through, for or

from a foe, by with as on a friend, at the Rectory? Vicarage Road?

Bishop’s Folly? Papesthorpe?, after picket fences, stonewalls, out

and ins or oxers — for merry a valsehood whisprit he to manny a

lilying earling; 5 and to try to analyse that ambo’s pair of brace-

leans akwart the rollyon trying to amarm all 6 of that miching

micher’s bearded but insensible virility and its gaulish mous-

taches, Dammad and Groany, into her limited (tuff, tuff, que tu es

pitre !) lapse at the same slapse for towelling ends
7 in
their dolight-

ful Sexsex home, Somehow-at-Sea (O little oily head, sloper’s

brow and prickled ears !) as though he, a notoriety, a foist edition,

were a wrigular writher neonovene babe! 8 — well, diarmuee and

1 O hce! O hce!

2 Six and seven the League.

3 It’s all round me hat I’ll wear a drooping dido.

4 Have you ever thought of a hitching your stern and being ourdeaned,

Mester Bootenfly, here’s me and Myrtle is twinkling to know.

5 To show they caught preferment.

6 See the freeman’s cuticatura by Fennella.

7 Just one big booty’s pot.

8 Charles de Simples had an infirmierity complexe before he died a natural

death.

granyou and Vae Vinctis, that is what lamoor that of gentle

breast rathe is intaken seems circling toward out yondest (it’s

life that’s all chokered by that batch of grim rushers) heaven

help his hindmost and, mark mo, if the so greatly displeaced

diorems in the Saint Lubbock’s Day number of that most improv-

ing of roundshows, Spice and Westend Woman (utterly exhausted

before publication, indiapepper edition shortly), are for our in-

dices, it agins to pear like it,par my fay,and there is no use for your

pastripreaching for to cheesse it either or praying fresh fleshblood

claspers of young catholick throats on Huggin Green 1 to take

warning by the prispast, why?, by cows . man, in shirt, is how

he is pi- la gonna Š mobile and þ they wonet do ut; and, an you

could peep inside the cerebralised saucepan of this eer illwinded

goodfornobody, you would see in his house of thoughtsam (was

you, that is, decontaminated enough to look discarnate) what a

jetsam litterage of convolvuli of times lost or strayed, of lands

derelict and of tongues laggin too, longa yamsayore, not only that

but, search lighting, beached, bashed and beaushelled a la Mer

pharahead into faturity, your own convolvulis pickninnig capman

would real to jazztfancy the novo takin place of what stale words

whilom were woven with and fitted fairly featly for, so; and

equally so, the crame of the whole faustian fustian, whether your

launer’s lightsome or your soulard’s schwearmood, it is that,

whenas the swiftshut scareyss of our pupilteachertaut duplex will

hark back to lark to you symibellically that, though a day be as

dense as a decade, no mouth has the might to set a mearbound to

the march of a landsmaul,
2 in
half a sylb, helf a solb, holf a salb on-

ward 3 the beast of boredom, common sense, lurking gyrographi-

cally down inside his loose Eating S.S. collar is gogoing of

whisth to you sternly how — Plutonic loveliaks twinnt Platonic

yearlings — you must, how, in undivided reawlity draw the line

somewhawre)