Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [275]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
— All our stakes they were astumbling round the ranky roars assumbling when Big Arthur flugged the field at Annie’s courting.
— Suddenly some wellfired clay was cast out through the schappsteckers of hoy’s house?
— Schottenly there was a hellfire club kicked out through the wasistas of Thereswhere.
— Like Heavystost’s envil catacalamitumbling. Three days three times into the Vulcuum?
— Punch!
— Or Noe et Ecclesiastes, nonne?
— Ninny, there is no hay in Eccles’s hostel.
— Yet an I saw a sign of him, if you could scrape out his acquinntence?
Name or redress him and we’ll call it a night! —.i..’. .o..l .
— You are sure it was not a shuler’s shakeup or a plighter’s palming or a winker’s wake etcaetera etcaeterorum you were at?
— Precisely.
— Mayhap. Hora pro Nubis, Thundersday, at A Little Bit Of Heaven Howth, the wife of Deimetuus (D’amn), Earl Adam Fitz-adam, of a Tartar (Birtha) or Sackville–Lawry and Morland— West, at the Auspice for the Living, Bonnybrook, by the river and A. Briggs Carlisle, guardian of the birdsmaids and deputil-iser for groom. Pontifical mess. Or (soddenly) Schott, furtivfired by the riots. No flies. Agreest?
— Mayhem. Also loans through the post. With or without security. Everywhere. Any amount. Mofsovitz, swampstakers, purely providential.
— Flood’s. The pinkman, the squeeze, the pint with the kick. Gaa. And then the punch to Gaelicise it. Fox. The lady with the lamp. The boy in the barleybag. The old man on his ars. Great Scrapp ! ’Tis we and you and ye and me and hymns and hurts and heels and shields. The eirest race, the ourest nation, the airest place that erestationed. He was culping for penance while you were ringing his belle. Did the kickee, goodman rued fox, say anything important? Clam or cram, spick or spat?
— No more than Richman’s periwhelker.
— Nnn ttt wrd?
file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
— Dmn ttt thg.
— A gael galled by scheme of scorn? Nock?
— Sangnifying nothing. Mock!
— Fortitudo eius rhodammum tenuit?
— Five maim! Or something very similar.
— I should like to euphonise that. It sounds an isochronism. Secret speech Hazelton and obviously disemvowelled. But it is good laylaw too. We may take those wellmeant kicks for free granted, though ultra vires, void and, in fact, unnecessarily so. Happily you were not quite so successful in the process verbal whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical sup-pressions, it seems?
— What was that? First I heard about it.
— Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the answer, I’m not giving you a short question. Now, not to mix up, cast your eyes around Capel Court. I want you, witness of this epic struggle, as yours so mine, to reconstruct for us, as briefly as you can, inexactly the same as a mind’s eye view, how these funeral games, which have been poring over us through homer’s kerryer pid-geons, massacreedoed as the holiname rally round took place.
— Which? Sure I told you that afoul. I was drunk all lost life.
— Well, tell it to me befair, the whole plan of campaign, in that bamboozelem mincethrill voice of yours. Let’s have it, christie! The Dublin own, the thrice familiar.
— Ah, sure, I eyewitless foggus. ’Tis all around me bebatters-bid hat.
— Ah, go on now, Masta Bones, a gig for a gag, with your impendements and your perroqtriques! Blank memory of hatless darky in blued suit. You were ever the gentle poet, dove from Haywarden. Pitcher cup, patcher cap, pratey man? Be nice about it, Bones Minor! Look chairful! Come, delicacy! GO to the end, thou slackerd! Once upon a grass and a hopping high grass it was.
— Faith, then, Meesta Cheeryman, first he come up, a gag as a gig, badgeler’s rake to the town’s major from the wesz, MacSmashall Swingy of the Cattelaxes, got up regardless, with a cock on the Kildare side of his Tattersull, in his riddlesneek’s ragamufflers