James Joyce - Finnegans Wake

-- Bappy-go-gully and gaff for us all! And all his morties calisenic, tripping a trepas, neniatwantyng: Mulo Mulelo! Homo Humilo! Dauncy a deady O! Dood dood dood! O Bawse! O Boese! O Muerther! O Mord! Mahmato! Moutmaro! O Smirtsch ! O Smertz ! Woh Hillill ! Woe Hallall ! Thou Thuoni I Thou Thaunaton! Umartir! Udamnor! Tschitt! Mergue! Eulumu! Huam Khuam! Malawinga! Malawunga! Ser Oh Ser! See ah See! Hamovs! Hemoves! Mamor! Rockquiem eternuel give donal aye in dolmeny ! Bat luck's perpepperpot loosen his eyis ! (Psich !).

-- But there's leps of flam in Funnycoon's Wick. The keyn has passed. Lung lift the keying!

-- God save you king! Muster of the Hidden Life!

-- God serf yous kingly, adipose rex ! I had four in the morning and a couple of the lunch and three later on, but your saouls to the dhaoul, do ye. Finnk. Fime. Fudd?

-- Impassable tissue of improbable liyers! D'yu mean to sett there where y'are now, coddlin your supernumerary leg, wi'that bizar tongue in yur tolkshap, and your hindies and shindies, like a muck in a market, Sorley boy, repeating yurself, and tell me that?

-- I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, like a sleepingtop, with all that's buried ofsins insince insensed insidesofme. If I can't upset this pound of pressed ollaves I can sit up zounds of sounds upon him.

-- Oliver! He may be an earthpresence. Was that a groan or did I hear the Dingle bagpipes Wasting war and? Watch!

-- Tris tris a ni ma mea.! Prisoner of Love! Bleating Hart! Lowlaid Herd! Aubain Hand! Wonted Foot! Usque! Usque! Usque! Lignum in . . .

-- Rawth of Gar and Donnerbruck Fire? Is the strays world moving mound or what static babel is this, tell us?

-- Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe whoishe whoishe?

-- The snare drum! Lay yer lug till the groun. The dead giant manalive! They're playing thimbles and bodkins. Clan of the Gael! Hop! Whu's within?

-- Dovegall and finshark, they are ring to the rescune !

-- Zinzin. Zinzin.

-- Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!

-- We'll gore them and gash them and gun them and gloat on them.

-- Zinzin.

-- O, widows and orphans, it's the yeomen! Redshanks for ever! Up Lancs!

-- The cry of the roedeer it is! The white hind. Their slots, linklink, the hound hunthorning ! Send us and peace ! Title ! Title !

-- Christ in our irish times! Christ on the airs independence! Christ hold the freedman's chareman! Christ light the dully expressed!

-- Slog slagt and sluaghter! Rape the daughter! Choke the pope!

-- Aure ! Cloudy father ! Unsure ! Nongood !

-- Zinzin. -- Sold! I am sold! Brinabride! My ersther! My sidster! Brinabride, goodbye! Brinabride! I sold!

-- Pipette dear! Us! Us! Me! Me!

-- Fort! Fort! Bayroyt! March!

-- Me! I'm true. True! Isolde. Pipette. My precious!

-- Zinzin.

-- Brinabride, bet my price ! Brinabride !

-- My price, my precious?

-- Zin.

-- Brinabride, my price! When you sell get my price!

-- Zin.

-- Pipette ! Pipette, my priceless one !

-- O ! Mother of my tears ! Believe for me ! Fold thy son !

-- Zinzin. Zinzin.

-- Now we're gettin it. Tune in and pick up the forain counties ! Hello !

-- Zinzin.

-- Hello! Tittit! Tell your title?

-- Abride !

-- Hellohello! Ballymacarett! Am I thru' Iss? Miss? True?

-- Tit! What is the ti . . ?

SILENCE.

Act drop. Stand by! Blinders! Curtain up. Juice, please! Foots!

-- Hello! Are you Cigar shank and Wheat?

-- I gotye. Gobble Ann's Carrot Cans.

-- Parfey. Now, after that justajiff siesta, just permit me a moment. Challenger's Deep is childsplay to this but, by our soundings in the swish channels, land is due. A truce to demobbed swarwords. Clear the line, priority call! Sybil! Better that or this? Sybil Head this end ! Better that way? Follow the baby spot. Yes. Very good now. We are again in the magnetic field. Do you remember on a particular lukesummer night, following a crying fair day? Moisten your lips for a lightning strike and begin again. Mind the flickers and dimmers! Better?

-- Well. The isles is Thymes. The ales is Penzance. Vehement Genral. Delhi expulsed.

-- Still calling of somewhave from its specific? Not more? Lesscontinuous. There were fires on every bald hill in holy Ireland that night. Better so?

-- You may say they were, son of a cove!

-- Were they bonfires? That clear?

-- No other name would at all befit them unless that. Bonafieries! With their blue beards streaming to the heavens.

-- Was it a high white night now?

-- Whitest night mortal ever saw.

-- Was our lord of the heights nigh our lady of the valley?

-- He was hosting himself up and flosting himself around and ghosting himself to merry her murmur like an andeanupper balkan.

-- Lewd's carol! Was there rain by any chance, mistandew?

-- Plenty. If you wend farranoch.

-- There fell some fall of littlewinter snow, holy-as-ivory, I gather, jesse?

-- By snaachtha clocka. The nicest at all. In hilly-and-even zimalayars.

-- Did it not blow some gales, westnass or ostscent, rather strongly to less, allin humours out of turn, jusse as they rose and sprungen?

-- Out of all jokes it did. Pipep! Icecold. Brr na brr, ny prr! Lieto galumphantes ! --Stll cllng! Nmr! Peace, Pacific! Do you happen to recollect whether Muna, that highlucky-nackt, was shining at all?

-- Sure she was, my midday darling ! And not one but a pair of pritty geallachers.

-- Quando? Quonda? Go datey!

-- Latearly! Latearly! Latearly! Latearly!

-- That was latterlig certainly. And was there frostwork about and thick weather and hice, soon calid, soon frozen, cold on warm but moistly dry, and a boatshaped blanket of bruma airsighs and hellstohns and flammballs and vodashouts and everything to please everybody?

-- Hail many fell of greats! Horey morey smother of fog! There was, so plays your ahrtides. Absolutely boiled. Obsoletely cowled. Julie and Lulie at their parkiest.

-- The amenities, the amenities of the amenities with all their amenities. And the firmness of the formous of the famous of the fumous of the first fog in Maidanvale?

-- Catchecatche and couchamed!

-- From Miss Somer's nice dream back to Winthrop's delugium stramens. One expects that kind of rimey feeling in the sire season?

-- One certainly does. Desire, for hire, would tire a shire, phone, phunkel, or wire. And mares.

-- Of whitecaps any?

-- Foamflakes flockfuyant from Foxrock to Finglas.

-- A lambskip for the marines! Paronama! The entire hori zon cloth! All effects in their joints caused ways. Raindrum, windmachine, snowbox. But thundersheet?

-- No here. Under the blunkets.

-- This common or garden is now in stilller realithy the starey sphere of an oleotorium for broken pottery and ancient vegetables?

-- Simply awful the dirt. An evernasty ashtray.

-- I see. Now do you know the wellknown kikkinmidden where the illassorted first couple first met with each other? The place where Ealdermann Fanagan? The time when Junkermenn Funagin?

-- Deed then I do, W.K.

-- In Fingal too they met at Littlepeace aneath the bidetree, Yellowhouse of Snugsborough, Westreeve-Astagob and Slutsend with Stockins of Winning's Folly Merryfalls, all of a two, skidoo and skephumble?

-- Godamedy, you're a delville of a tolkar!

-- Is it a place fairly exspoused to the four last winds?

-- Well, I faithly sincerely believe so indeed if all what I hope to charity is half true.

-- This stow on the wolds, is it Woful Dane Bottom?

-- It is woful in need whatever about anything or allselse under the grianblachk sun of gan greyne Eireann.

-- A tricolour ribbon that spells a caution. The old flag, the cold flag.