Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [172]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
ramskew coddlelecherskithers’ zirkuvs, drop down dead and deaf, and there is never a teilwrmans in the feof fife of Iseland or in the wholeabelongd of Skunkinabory from Drumadunderry till the rumnants of Mecckrass, could milk a colt in thrushes foran furrow follower width that a hole in his tale and that hell of a hull of a hill of a camelump bakk. Fadgest-fudgist!
Upon this dry call of selenium cell (that horn of lunghalloon, Riland’s in peril!) with its doomed crack of the old damn ukonnen power insound in it the lord of the saloom, as if for a flash sala-magunnded himself, listed his tummelumpsk pack and hearinat presently returned him, ambilaterally alleyeoneyesed, from their uppletoned layir to his beforetime guests, that bunch of palers on their round, timemarching and petrolling how, who if they were abound to loose a laugh (Toni Lampi, you booraascal!) they were abooned to let it as the leashed they might do when they felt (O, the wolf he’s on the walk, sees his sham cram bokk!) their joke was coming home to them, the steerage way for stabling, ghustorily spoeking, gen and gang, dane and dare, like the dud spuk of his first foetotype (Trolldedroll, how vary and likely!), the filli-bustered, the fully bellied. With the old sit in his shoulders, and the new satin atlas onder his uxter, erning his breadth to the swelt of his proud and, picking up the emberose of the lizod lights, his tail toiled of spume and spawn, and the bulk of him, and hulk of him as whenever it was he reddled a ruad to riddle a rede from the sphinxish pairc while Ede was a guardin, ere love a side issue. They hailed him cheeringly, their encient, the murrainer, and wallruse, the merman, ye seal that lubs you lassers, Thallasee or Tullafilmagh, when come of uniform age.
— Heave, coves, emptybloddy!
And ere he could catch or hook or line to suit their saussyskins, the lumpenpack. Underbund was overraskelled. As
— Sot! sod the tailors opsits from their gabbalots, change all that whole set. Shut down and shet up. Our set, our set’s allohn. And they poured em behoiled on the fire. Scaald!
Rowdiose wodhalooing. Theirs is one lessonless missage for good and truesirs. Will any persen bereaved to be passent bring-back or rumpart to the Hoved politymester. Clontarf, one love, one fear. Ellers for the greeter glossary of code, callen hom: Finucane–Lee, Finucane–Law. Am. Dg.
Welter focussed.
file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
Wind from the nordth. Warmer towards muffinbell, Lull. As our revelant Colunnfiller predicted in last mount’s chattiry sermon, the allexpected depression over Schiumdinebbia, a bygger muster of veirying precipitation and haralded by faugh sicknells, (hear kokkenhovens ekstras!) and umwalloped in an unusuable suite of clouds, having filthered through the middelhav of the same gorgers’ kennel on its wage wealthwards and incursioned a sotten retch of low pleasure, missed in some parts but with lucal drizzles, the outlook for tomarry (Streamstress Mandig) beamed brider, his ability good. What hopends to