- Three quarks for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasn't got much of a bark
And sure any he has it's all beside the mark.
But O, Wreneagle Almighty, wouldn't un be a sky of a lark
To see that old buzzard whooping about for uns shirt in the dark
And he hunting round for uns speckled trousers around by Palmer
stown Park?
Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah's ark
And you think you're cock of the wark.
Fowls, up! Tristy's the spry young spark
That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
Without ever winking the tail of a feather
And that's how that chap's going to make his money and mark!
Overhoved, shrillgleescreaming. That song sang seaswans. The winging ones.
Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercallzie. All the birds of
the sea they trolled out rightbold when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan
with Usolde.
And there they were too, when it was dark, whilest the wildcaps was circling, as
slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne the fates, the wardorse moved, by
courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau Downbellow Kaempersally, listening in, as hard as they
could, in Dubbeldorp, the donker, by the tourneyold of the wattarfalls, with
their vuoxens and they kemin in so hattajocky (only a quartebuck askull for the
last acts) to the solans and the sycamores and the wild geese and the gannets
and the migratories and the mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of
the rockbysuckerassousyoceanal sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing,
and listening. Moykle ahoykling!
They were the big four, the four maaster waves of Erin, all listening, four.
There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons,
the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together, right
enough, bausnabeatha, in Miracle Squeer: here now we are the four of us: old
Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure, thank
God, there are no more of us: and, sure now, you wouldn't go and forget and
leave out the other fellow and old Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more
of us and so now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be
saying their grace before fish, repeating itself, after the interims of
Augusburgh for auld lang syne. And so there they were, with their palms in their
hands, like the pulchrum's proculs, spraining their ears, luistening and
listening to the oceans of kissening, with their eyes glistening, all the four,
when he was kiddling and cuddling and bunnyhugging scrumptious his colleen bawn
and dinkum belle, an oscar sister, on the fifteen inch loveseat, behind the
chieftaness stewardesses cubin, the hero, of Gaelic champion, the onliest one of
her choice, her bleaueyedeal of a girl's friend, neither bigugly nor smallnice,
meaning pretty much everything to her then, with his sinister dexterity, light
and rufthandling, vicemversem her ragbags et assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and
offsides, the brueburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was palpably wrong
and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and kissing her, tootyfay charmaunt, in
her ensemble of maidenna blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies,
Isolamisola, and whisping and lisping her about Trisolanisans, how one was whips
for one was two and two was lips for one was three, and dissimulating themself,
with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four
remembored who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar
ear cuddling and kiddling her, after an oyster supper in Cullen's bam, from
under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening, in the good old bygone days of
Dion Boucicault, the elder, in Arrah-napogue, in the otherworld of the passing
of the key of Twotongue Common, with Nush, the carrier of the word, and with
Mesh, the cutter of the reed, in one of the farback, pitchblack centuries when
who made the world, when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were
all four collegians on the nod, neer the Nodderlands Nurskery, whiteboys and
oakboys, peep of tim boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the sin was
shining, with their slates and satchels, playing Florian's fables and communic
suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum members, in the Queen's Ultonian
colleges, along with another fellow, a prime number, Totius Quotius, and paying
a pot of tribluts to Boris O'Brien, the buttler of Clumpthump, two looves, two
turnovers plus (one) crown, to see the mad dane ating his vitals. Wulf! Wulf!
And throwing his tongue in the snakepit. Ah ho! The ladies have mercias! It
brought the dear prehistoric scenes all back again, as fresh as of yore, Matt
and Marcus, natural born lovers of nature, in all her moves and senses, and
after that now there he was, that mouth of mandibles, vowed to pure beauty, and
his Arrah-na-poghue, when she murmurously, after she let a cough, gave her firm
order, if he wouldn't please mind, for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best
favourite lyrical national blooms in Luvillicit, though not too much, reflecting
on the situation, drinking in draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the
great outdoors, before the four of them, in the fair fine night, whilst the
stars shine bright, by she light of he moon, we longed to be spoon, before her
honeyoldloom, the plaint effect being in point of fact there being in the whole,
a seatuition so shocking and scandalous and now, thank God, there were no more
of them and he poghuing and poghuing like the Moreigner bowed his crusted hoed
and Tilly the Tailor's Tugged a Tar in the Arctic Newses Dagsdogs number and
there they were, like a foremasters in the rolls, listening, to Rolando's deepen
darblun Ossian roll, (Lady, it was just too gorgeous, that expense of a lovely
tint, embellished by the charms of art and very well conducted and nicely
mannered and all the horrid rudy noisies locked up in nasty cubbyhole!) as tired
as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering, all the four,
the old connubial men of the sea, yambing around with their old pantometer, in
duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall and all wishening for anything at all
of the bygone times, the wald times and the fald times and the hempty times and
the dempty times, for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of
woman squash, with them, all four, listening and spraining their ears for the
millennium and all their mouths making water.
Johnny. Ah well, sure, that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor
Matt Gregory (up), their pater familias, and (up) the others and now really and
(up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked awfully
pretty and so nice and bespectable and after that they had their fathomglasses
to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat, just now like the old
Merquus of Pawerschoof, the old determined despot, (quiescents in brage!) only
for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer there dormont, in front of
the place near O'Clery's, at the darkumound numbur wan, beside that ancient Dame
street, where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell, prostituent behind the Trinity
College, that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Bootersbay
Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters, the prumisceous creaters, that
sells all the emancipated statues and flowersports, James H. Tickell, the
jaypee, off Hoggin Green, after he made the centuries, going to the tailturn
horseshow, before the angler nomads flood, along with another fellow, active
impalsive, and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and the barrancos
and the cappunchers childerun, Jules, everyone, Gotopoxy, with the houghers on
them, highstepping the fissure and fracture lines, seven five threes up, three
five sevens down, to get out of his way, onasmuck as their withers conditions
could not possibly have been improved upon, (praisers be to deeseesee!) like
hopolopocattls, erumping oround their Judgity Yaman, and all the tercentenary
horses and priest hunters, from the Curragh, and confusionaries and the
authorities, Noord Amrikaans and Suid Aferican cattleraiders (so they say) all
over like a tiara dullfuoco, in his grey half a tall hat and his amber necklace
and his crimson harness and his leathern jib and his cheapshein hairshirt and
his scotobrit sash and his parapilagian gallowglasses (how do you do, jaypee,
Elevato !) to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame
James? Get out of my way!), forkbearded and bluetoothed and bellied and
boneless, from Strathlyffe and Aylesburg and Northumberland Anglesey, the whole
yaghoodurt sweepstakings and all the horsepowers. But now, talking of
hayastdanars and wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance,
(the explutor, his three andesiters and the two pantellarias) that reminds me
about the manausteriums of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the
patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now,
listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could
remembore, long long ago in the olden times Momonian, throw darker hour sorrows,
the princest day, when Fair Margrate waited Swede Villem, and Lally in the rain,
with the blank prints, now extincts, after the wreak of Wormans' Noe, the
barmaisigheds, when my heart knew no care, and after that then there was the
official landing of Lady Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S.,
and the christening of Queen Baltersby, the Fourth Buzzersbee, according to Her
Grace the bishop Senior, off the whate shape, and then there was the drowning of
Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the
sea, the red sea, and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the
castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin Isles, at that time,
suir knows, in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God, as Saman
said, there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. The arzurian deeps
o'er his humbodumbones sweeps. And his widdy the giddy is wreathing her murmoirs
as her gracest triput to the Grocery Trader's Manthly. Mind mand gunfree by
Gladeys Rayburn! Runtable's Reincorporated. The new world presses. Where the old
conk cruised now croons the yunk. Exeunc throw a darras Kram of Llawnroc, ye
gink guy, kirked into yord. Enterest attawonder Wehpen, luftcat revol,
fairescapading in his natsirt. Tuesy tumbles. And mild aunt Liza is as loose as
her neese. Fulfest withim inbrace behent. As gent would deem oncontinent. So
mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin. Like the newcasters
in their old plyable of A Royenne Devours. Jazzaphoney and Mirillovis and Nippy
she nets best. Fing. Ay, ay ! Sobbos. And so he was. Sabbus.
Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada, all
scattered, and all officially drowned, there and then, on a lovely morning,
after the universal flood, at about aleven thirtytwo was it? off the coast of
Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the anabaptist, and Saint Kevin, the lacustrian,
with toomuch of tolls and lottance of beggars, after converting Porterscout and
Dona, our first marents, and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite hourse of
Hunover, rising Clunkthurf over Cabinhogan and all they remembored and then
there was the Frankish floot of Noahsdobahs, from Hedalgoland, round about the
freebutter year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.O. or so, disumbunking from under Motham
General Bonaboche, (noo poopery!) in his half a grey traditional hat, alevoila
come alevilla, and after that there he was, so terrestrial, like a Nailscissor,
poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, the maid, in single combat, under the
sycamores, amid the bludderings from the boom and all the gallowsbirds in
Arrahna-Poghue, so silvestrious, neer the Queen's Colleges, in 1132 Brian or
Bride street, behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to
give the grandest gloriaspanquost universal howldmoutherhibbert lectures on
anarxaquy out of doxarchology (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt
speaking!) according to the pictures postcard, with sexon grimmacticals, in the
Latimer Roman history, of Latimer repeating himself, from the vicerine of Lord
Hugh, the Lacytynant, till Bockleyshuts the rahjahn gerachknell and
regnumrockery roundup, (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians
green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate
and saints and sages and the Plymouth brethren, droning along, peanzanzangan,
and nodding and sleeping away there, like forgetmenots, in her abijance service,
round their twelve tables, per pioja at pulga bollas, in the four trinity
colleges, for earnasyoulearning Eringrowback, of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and
Cannought, the four grandest colleges supper the matther of Erryn, of Killorcure
and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure, where their role
was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo rolled round. Those were the
grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Janesdanes
Lady Andersdaughter Universary, for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady,
breathtaking beauty, Bambam's bonniest, lived to a great age at or in or about
the late No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many
and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias,
repeating herself, on which purposeth of the spirit of nature as difinely
developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present Johnny MacDougall
speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and
perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo, dear! O weep for the hower when eve
aleaves bower! How it did but all come eddaying back to them, if they did but
get gaze, gagagniagnian, to hear him there, kiddling and cuddling her, after the
gouty old galahat, with his peer of quinnyfears and his troad of thirstuns, so
nefarious, from his elevation of one yard one handard and thartytwo lines,
before the four of us, in his Roman Catholic arms, while his deepseepeepers
gazed and sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloon rodolling olosheen
eyenbowls by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos. Anumque, umque. Napoo.
Queh? Quos?
Ah, dearo dearo dear! Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses gandered gamen. Mahazar
ag Dod ! It was so scalding sorry for all the whole twice two four of us, with
their familiar, making the toten, and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat
and all belongings to him, in his old futile manner, cape, towel and
drawbreeches, and repeating himself and telling him now, for the seek of Senders
Newslaters and the mossacre of Saint Brices, to forget the past, when the
burglar he shoved the wretch in churneroil, and contradicting all about Lally,
the ballest master of Gosterstown, and his old fellow, the Lagener, in the
Locklane Lighthouse, earing his wick with a pierce of railing, and liggen hig
with his ladder up, and that oldtime turner and his sadderday erely cloudsing,
the old croniony, Skelly, with the lether belly, full of neltts, full of keltts,
full of lightweight beltts and all the bald drakes or ever he had up in the
bohereen,off Artsichekes Road, with Moels and Mahmullagh Mullarty, the man in
the Oran mosque, and the old folks at home and Duignan and Lapole and the grand
confarreation, as per the cabbangers richestore, of the filest archives, and he
couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four
middleaged widowers, all nangles, sangles, angles and wangles. And now, that
reminds me, not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in
their Lumbag Walk, over old Battleshore and Deaddleconchs, in their half a Roman
hat, with an ancient Greek gloss on it, in Chichester College auction and, thank
God, they were all summarily divorced, four years before, or so they say, by
their dear poor shehusbands, in dear byword days, and never brought to mind, to
see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water
laughing, per Nupiter Privius, only terpary, on the best of terms and be forgot,
whilk was plainly foretolk by their old pilgrim cocklesong or they were singing
through the wettest indies As I was going to Burrymecarott we fell in with a
lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb
so there was said thus That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it
latterly. And so they parted. In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. The good go and
the wicked is left over. As evil flows so Ivel flows. Ay, ay. Ah, well sure,
that's the way. As the holymaid of Kunut said to the haryman of Koombe. For his
humple pesition in odvices. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.
Lucas. And, O so well they could remembore at that time, when Carpery of the
Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland, Mrs Dowager Justice Squalchman,
foorsitter, in her fullbottom wig and beard, (Erminia Reginia!) in or aring or
around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1768 Y.W.C.A., at the
Married Male Familyman's Auctioneer's court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the
clan of the Dougals, the poor Scuitsman, (Hohannes !) nothing if not amorous,
dinna forget, so frightened (Zweep! Zweep!) on account of her full bottom,
(undullable attraxity!) that put the yearl of mercies on him, and the four
maasters, in chors, with a hing behangd them, because he was so slow to borstel
her schoon for her, when he was grooming her ladyship, instead of backscratching
her materfamilias proper, like any old methodist, and all divorced and innasense
interdict, in the middle of the temple, according to their dear faithful. Ah,
now, it was too bad, too bad and stout entirely, all the missoccurs; and poor
Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, from the brownesberrow in nolandsland, the poor old
chronometer, all persecuted with ally croaker by everybody, by decree absolute,
through Herrinsilde, because he forgot himself, making wind and water, and made
a Neptune's mess of all of himself, sculling over the giamond's courseway, and
because he forgot to remember to sign an old morning proxy paper, a writing in
request to hersute herself, on stamped bronnanoleum, from Roneo to Giliette,
before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor
Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned too, before the world and her husband,
because it was most improper and most wrong, when he attempted to (well, he was
shocking poor in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him),
because he (ah, well now, peaces pea to Wedmore and let not the song go dumb
upon your Ire, as we say in the Spasms of Davies, and we won't be too hard on
him as an old Manx presbyterian) and after that, as red as a Rosse is, he made
his last will and went to confession, like the general of the Berkeleyites, at
the rim of the rom, on his two bare marrowbones, to Her Worship his Mother and
Sister Evangelist Sweainey, on Cailcainnin widnight and he was so sorry, he was
really, because he left the bootybutton in the handsome cab and now, tell the
truth, unfriends never, (she was his first messes dogess and it was a very
pretty peltry and there were faults on both sides) well, he attempted (or so
they say) ah, now, forget and forgive (don't we all?) and, sure, he was only
funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him, well, he
attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish
familiarities, after eten a bad carmp in the rude ocean and, hevantonoze sure,
he was dead seasickabed (it was really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in
the housepays for the daying at the Martyr Mrs MacCawley's, where at the time he
was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah, the poor old coax!)
and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and doying to
remembore what doed they were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo
dear!
And where do you leave Matt Emeritus? The laychief of Abbotabishop? And
exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! They were all so sorgy for poorboir
Matt in his saltwater hat, with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big
for him, of or Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in folds-sure he
hadn't the heart in her to pull them up-poor Matt, the old perigrime matriarch,
and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon them!) sitting there, the sole of
the settlement, below ground, for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his
cause, (who shall say?) in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family
all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone,
like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea time, with her face to the
wall, in view of the poorhouse, and taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren,
under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms,
kalospintheochromatokreening, with her ivyclad hood, and gripping an old pair of
curling tongs, belonging to Mrs Duna O'Cannell, to blow his brains with, till
the heights of Newhigherland heard the Bristolhut, with his can of tea and a
purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf
and dilisk, waiting- for the end to come. Gordon Heighland, when you think of
it! The merthe dirther! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active
parlourmen,laudabiliter,of woman squelch and all on account of the smell of
Shakeletin and scratchman and his mouth watering, acid and alkolic; signs on the
salt, and so now pass the loaf for Christ sake. Amen. And so. And all.
Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah, God be good to
us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath ! Ay ! Ay !
And still and all at that time of the dynast days of old konning Soteric
Sulkinbored and Bargomuster Bart, when they struck coil and shock haunts, in old
Hungerford-on-Mudway, where first I met thee oldpoetryck flied from may and the
Finnan haddies and the Noal Sharks and the muckstails turtles like an acoustic
pottish and the griesouper bullyum and how he poled him up his boccat of vuotar
and got big buzz for his name in the airweek's honours from home, colonies and
empire, they were always with assisting grace, thinking (up) and not forgetting
about shims and shawls week, in auld land syne (up) their four hosenbands, that
were four (up) beautiful sister misters, now happily married, unto old
Gallstonebelly, and there they were always counting and contradicting every
night 'tis early the lovely mother of periwinkle buttons, according to the
lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that
there now she was, in the end, the deary, soldpowder and all, the beautfour
sisters, and that was her mudhen republican name, right enough, from alum and
oves, and they used to be getting up from under, in their tape and straw
garlands, with all the worries awake in their hair, at the kookaburra bell
ringring all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs !) all
inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lousy louts!) so
frightened, for the dthclangavore, like knockneeghs bumpsed by the fisterman's
straights, (ys ! ys !), at all hours every night, on their mistletoes, the four
old oldsters, to see was the Transton Postscript come, with their oerkussens
under their armsaxters, all puddled and mythified, the way the wind wheeled the
schooler round, when nobody wouldn't even let them rusten, from playing their
gastspiels, crossing their sleep by the shocking silence, when they were in
dreams of yore, standing behind the door, or leaning out of the chair, or
kneeling under the sofacover and setting on the souptureen, getting into their
way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown convibrational bed or
they used to slumper under, when hope was there no more, and putting on their
half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating
themselves, like svvollovving, like the time they were dadging the talkeycook
that chased them, look look all round the stool, walk everywhere for a jool, to
break fyre to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's
evelopment in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a
bawneen and bath slippers and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And
after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be,
flapping and cycling, and a dooing a doonloop, panementically, around the waists
of the ships, in the wake of their good old Foehn again, as tyred as they were,
at their windswidths in the waveslength, the clipperbuilt and the five
fourmasters and Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts and Roe of the fair cheats,
exchanging fleas from host to host, with arthroposophia, and he selling him
before he forgot, issle issle, after having prealably dephlegmatised his
gutterful of throatyfrogs, with a lungible fong in his suckmouth ear, while the
dear invoked to the coolun dare by a palpabrows lift left no doubt in his
minder, till he was instant and he was trustin, sister soul in brother hand, the
subjects being their passion grand, that one fresh from the cow about Aithne
Meithne married a mailde and that one too from Engrvakon saga abooth a gooth a
gev a gotheny egg and the parkside pranks of quality queens, katte efter kinne,
for Earl Hoovedsoon's choosing and Huber and Harman orhowwhen theeuponthus
(chchch!) eysolt of binnoculises memostinmust egotum sabcunsciously senses upers
the deprofundity of multimathematical immaterialities wherebejubers in the
pancosmic urge the allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone (hear, O
hear, Caller Errin!) exteriorises on this ourherenow plane in disunited solod,
likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) perilwhitened passionpanting
pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited selfdom (murky whey, abstrew adim!) in the
higherdimissional selfless Allself, theemeeng Narsty meetheeng Idoless, and
telling Jolly MacGolly, dear mester John, the belated dishevelled, hacking away
at a parchment pied, and all the other analist, the steamships ant the
ladies'foursome, ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety, duk, downalupping, (how long tandem
!) like a foreretyred schoonmasters, and their pair of green eyes and peering
in, so they say, like the narcolepts on the lakes of Coma, through the steamy
windows, into the honeymoon cabins, on board the big steamadories, made by
Fumadory, and the saloon ladies' madorn toilet chambers lined over prawn silk
and rub off the salty catara off a windows and, hee hee, listening, qua
committe, the poor old quakers, oben the dure, to see all the hunnishmooners and
the firstclass ladies, serious me, a lass spring as you fancy, and sheets far
from the lad, courting in blankets, enfamillias, and, shee shee, all improper,
in a lovely mourning toilet, for the rosecrumpler, the thrilldriver, the
sighinspirer, with that olive throb in his nude neck, and, swayin and thayin,
thanks ever so much for the tiny quote, which sought of maid everythingling
again so very much more delightafellay, and the perfidly suite of her,
bootyfilly yours, under all their familiarities, by preventing grace, forgetting
to say their grace before chambadory, before going to boat with the verges of
the chaptel of the opering of the month of Nema Knatut, so pass the poghue for
grace sake. Amen. And all, hee hee hee, quaking, so fright, and, shee shee,
shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
For it was then a pretty thing happened of pure diversion mayhap, when his
flattering hend, at the justright moment, like perchance some cook of corage
might clip the lad on a poot of porage handshut his duckhouse, the vivid girl,
deaf with love, (ah sure, you know her, our angel being, one of romance's
fadeless wonderwomen, and, sure now, we all know you dote on her even unto
date!) with a queeleetlecree of joysis crisis she renulited their disunited,
with ripy lepes to ropy lopes (the dear o'dears!) and the golden importunity of
aloofer's leavetime, when,as quick,is greased pigskin, Amoricas Champius, with
one aragan throust, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the both lines of
forwards (Eburnea's down, boys !) rightjingbangshot into the goal of her gullet.
Alris!
And now, upright and add them! And plays be honest! And pullit into yourself, as
on manowoman do another ! Candidately, everybody! A mot for amot. Comong, meng,
and douh! There was this, wellyoumaycallher, a strapping modern old ancient
Irish prisscess, so and so hands high, such and such paddock weight, in her
madapolam smock, nothing under her hat but red hair and solid ivory (now you
know it's true in your hardup hearts!) and a firstclass pair of bedroom eyes, of
most unhomy blue, (how weak we are, one and all!) the charm of favour's fond
consent! Could you blame her, we're saying, for one psocoldlogical moment? What
would Ewe do? With that so tiresome old milkless a ram, with his tiresome duty
peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old hairyg orangogran beaver, in his
tiresome old twennysixandsixpenny sheopards plods drowsers and his
thirtybobandninepenny tails plus toop! Hagakhroustioun! It were too exceeding
really if one woulds to offer at sulk an oldivirdual a pinge of hinge hit. The
mainest thing ever ! Since Edem was in the boags noavy. No, no, the dear heaven
knows, and the farther the from it, if the whole stole stale mis betold, whoever
the gulpable, and whatever the pulpous was, the twooned togethered, and giving
the mhost phassionable wheathers, they were doing a lally a lolly a dither a
duther one lelly two dather three lilly four dother. And it was a fiveful moment
for the poor old timetetters, ticktacking, in tenk the count. Till the spark
that plugged spared the chokee he gripped and (volatile volupty, how brieved are
thy lunguings!) they could and they could hear like of a lisp lapsing, that was
her knight of the truths thong plipping out of her chapellledeosy, after where
he had gone and polped the questioned. Plop.
Ah now, it was tootwoly torrific, the mummurrlubejubes ! And then after that
they used to be so forgetful, counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to
membore her beaufu mouldern maiden name, for overflauwing, by the dream of woman
the owneirist, in forty lands. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar
and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four! And there she was right enough,
that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn asthore, as for days galore, of
planxty Gregory. Egory. O bunket not Orwin! Ay, ay.
But, sure, that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how
they used to be in lethargy's love, at the end o,f it all, at that time (up)
always, tired and all, after doing the mousework and making it up, over their
community singing (up) the top loft of the voicebox, of Mamalujo like the senior
follies at murther magrees, squatting round,two by two, the four confederates,
with Caxons the Coswarn, up the wet air register in Old Man's House, Millenium
Road, crowning themselves in lauraly branches, with their cold knees and their
poor (up) quad rupeds, ovasleep, and all dolled up, for their blankets and
materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown shackle and milky and
boterham clots, a potion a peace, a piece aportion, a lepel alip, alup a lap,
for a cup of kindest yet, with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of ate, a
lovely munkybown and for xmell and wait the pinch and prompt poor Marcus Lyons
to be not beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses but to pass the teeth
for choke sake, Amensch, when it so happen they were all sycamore and by the
world forgot, since the phlegmish hoopicough, for all a possabled, after ete a
bad cramp and johnny magories, and backscrat the poor bedsores and the farthing
dip, their caschal pandle of magnegnousioum, and read a letter or two every
night, before going to dodo sleep atrance, with their catkins coifs, in the
twilight, a capitaletter, for further auspices, on their old one page codex book
of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor, by his fellow
girl, the Mrs Shemans, in her summer seal houseonsample, with the caracul
broadtail, her totam in tutu, final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta
covers, uptenable from the orther, for to regul their reves by incubation, and
Lally, through their gangrene spentacles, and all the good or they did in their
time, the rigorists, for Roe and O'Mulcnory a Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and
Buffler ap Matty Mac Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old
bagabroth, beeves and scullogues, churls and vassals, in same, sept and
severalty and one by one and sing a mamalujo. To the heroest champion of Eren
and his braceoelanders and Gowan, Gawin and Gonne.
And after that now in the future, please God, after nonpenal start, all
repeating ourselves, in medios loquos, from where he got a useful arm busy on
the touchline, due south of her western shoulder down to death and the love
embrace, with an interesting tallow complexion and all now united,
sansfamillias, let us ran on to say oremus prayer and homeysweet homely, after
fully realising the gratifying experiences of highly continental evenements, for
meter and peter to temple an eslaap, for auld acquaintance, to Peregrine and
Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine, for navigants et peregrinantibus, in all the
old imperial and Fionnachan sea and for vogue awallow to a Miss Yiss, you
fascinator, you, sing a lovasteamadorion to Ladyseyes, here's Tricks and Doelsy,
delightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop and how she
ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and awfully bucked, right glad we
never shall forget, thoh the dayses gone still they loves young dreams and old
Luke with his kingly leer, so wellworth watching, and Senchus Mor, possessed of
evident notoriety, and another more of the bigtimers, to name no others, of whom
great things were expected in the fulmfilming department, for the lives of
Lazarus and auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the
praze savohole shanghai.
Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle ! Tristan, sad hero, hear ! The Lambeg drum, the
Lombog reed, the Lumbag fiferer, the Limibig brazenaze.
Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound
sterling in the blueblack bowels of the bank of Ulster. Braw bawbees and good
gold pounds, galore, my girleen, a Sunday'll prank thee finely.
And no damn loutll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy Ghost
there'll be murder!
O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride queen from Sybil
surfriding In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymonnblue
mantle round her. Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a
jig and jilt them fairly. Yerra, why would she bide with Sig Sloomysides or the
grogram grey barnacle gander? You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when
your beau gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering Nor wake in winter,
window machree, but snore sung in my old Balbriggan surtout. Wisha, won't you
agree now to take me from the middle, say, of next week on, for the balance of
my days, for nothing (what?) as your own nursetender? A power of highsteppers
died game right enough-but who, acushla, 'll beg coppers for you? I tossed that
one long before anyone. It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as
I'm given now to understand, she was always mad gone on me. Grand goosegreasing
we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed picnic to follow. By the cross of
Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight from under me, Mick, Nick the
Maggot or whatever your name is, you're the mose likable lad that's come my ways
yet from the barony of Bohermore. Mattheehew, Markeehew, Lukeehew,
Johnheehewheehew! Haw! And still a light moves long the river. And stiller the
mermen ply their keg. Its pith is full. The way is free. Their lot is cast. So,
to john for a john, johnajeams, led it be!