James Joyce - Finnegans Wake

-- The flagstone. By tombs, deep and heavy. To the unaveiling memory of. Peacer the grave.

-- And what sigeth Woodin Warneung thereof?

-- Trickspissers vill be pairsecluded.

-- There used to be a tree stuck up? An overlisting eshtree?

-- There used, sure enough. Beside the Annar. At the ford of Slivenamond. Oakley Ashe's elm. With a snoodrift from one beerchen bough. And the grawndest crowndest consecrated maypole in all the reignladen history of Wilds. Browne's Thesaurus Plantarum from Nolan's, The Prittlewell Press, has nothing alike it. For we are fed of its forest, clad in its wood, burqued by its bark and our lecture is its leave. The cran, the cran, the king of all crans . Squiremade and damesman of plantagenets, high and holy.

-- Now, no hiding your wren under a bushle! What was it doing there, for instance?

-- Standing foreninst us.

-- In Summerian sunshine?

-- And in Cimmerian shudders.

-- You saw it visibly from your hidingplace?

-- No. From my invisibly lyingplace.

-- And you then took down in stereo what took place being tunc committed?

-- I then tuk my takenplace lying down, I thunk I told you. Solve it!

-- Remounting aliftle towards the ouragan of spaces. Just how grand in cardinal rounders is this preeminent giant, sir Arber? Your bard's highview, avis on valley ! I would like to hear you burble to us in strict conclave, purpurando, and without too much italiote interfairance, what you know ? in petto about our sovereign beingstalk, Tonans Tomazeus. O dite!

-- Corcor Andy, Udi, Udite! Your Ominence, Your Imminence and delicted fraternitrees! There's tuodore queensmaids and Idahore shopgirls and they woody babies growing upon her and bird flamingans sweenyswinging fuglewards on the tipmast and Orania epples playing hopptociel bommptaterre and Tyburn fenians snoring in his quickenbole and crossbones strewing its holy floor and culprines of Erasmus Smith's burstall boys with their underhand leadpencils climbing to her crotch for the origin of spices and charlotte darlings with silk blue askmes chattering in dissent to them, gibbonses and gobbenses, guelfing and ghiberring proferring praydews to their anatolies and blighting findblasts on their catastripes and the killmaimthem pensioners chucking overthrown milestones up to her to fall her cranberries and her pommes annettes for their unnatural refection and handpainted hoydens plucking husbands of him and cock robins muchmore hatching most out of his missado eggdrazzles for him, the sun and moon pegging honeysuckle and white heather down and timtits tapping resin there and tomahawks watching tar elsewhere, creatures of the wold approaching him, hollow mid ivy, for to claw and rub, hermits of the desert barking their infernal shins over her triliteral roots and his acorns and pinecorns shooting wide all sides out of him, plantitude outsends of plenty to thousands, after the truants of the utmostfear and her downslyder in that snakedst-tu-naughsy whimmering woman't seeleib such a fashionaping sathinous dress out of that exquisitive creation and her leaves, my darling dearest, sinsinsinning since the night of time and each and all of their branches meeting and shaking twisty hands all over again in their new world through the germination of its gemination from Ond's outset till Odd's end. And encircle him circuly. Evovae!

-- Is it so exaltated, eximious, extraoldandairy and excelssiorising?

-- Amengst menlike trees walking or trees like angels weeping nobirdy aviar soar anywing to eagle it! But rocked of agues, cliffed for aye !

-- Telleth that eke the treeth?

-- Mushe, mushe of a mixness.

-- A shrub of libertine, indeed! But that steyne of law indead what stiles its neming?

-- Tod, tod, too hard parted!

-- I've got that now, Dr Melamanessy. Finight mens midinfinite true. The form masculine. The gender feminine. I see. Now, are you derevatov of it yourself in any way? The true tree I mean? Let's hear what science has to say, pundit-thenext-best-king. Splanck!

-- Upfellbowm.

-- It reminds of the weeping of the daughters?

-- And remounts to the sense arrest.

-- The wittold, the frausch and the dibble! How this looseaffair brimsts of fussforus! And was this treemanangel on his soredbohmend because Knockout, the knickknaver, knacked him in the knechtschaft?

-- Well, he was ever himself for the presention of crudities to animals for he had put his own nickelname on every toad, duck and herring before the climber clomb aloft, doing the midhill of the park, flattering his bitter hoolft with her conconundrums. He would let us have the three barrels. Such was a bitte too thikke for the Muster of the hoose so as he called down on the Grand Precurser who coiled him a crawler of the dupest dye and thundered at him to flatch down off that erection and be aslimed of himself for the bellance of hissch leif.

-- Oh Finlay's coldpalled!

-- Ahday's begatem !

-- Were you there, eh Hehr? Were you there when they lagged um through the coombe?

-- Wo wo! Who who! Psalmtimes it grauws on me to ramble, ramble, ramble.

-- Woe! Woe! So that was kow he became the foerst of our treefellers?

-- Yesche and, in the absence of any soberiquiet, the fanest of our truefalluses. Bapsbaps Bomslinger!

-- How near do you feel to this capocapo promontory, sir?

-- There do be days of dry coldness between us when he does be like a lidging house far far astray and there do be nights of wet windwhistling when he does be making me onions woup all kinds of ways.

-- Now you are mehrer the murk, Lansdowne Road. She's threwed her pippin's thereabouts and they've cropped up tooth oneydge with hates to leaven this socried isle. Now, thornyborn, follow the spotlight,please!Concerning a boy. Are you acquainted with a pagany, vicariously known as Toucher 'Thom' who is. I suggest Finoglam as his habitat. Consider yourself on the stand now and watch your words, take my advice. Let your motto be: Inter nubila numbum.

-- Never you mind about my mother or her hopitout. I consider if I did, I would feel frightfully ashamed of admired vice.

-- He is a man of around fifty, struck on Anna Lynsha's Pekoe with milk and whisky, who does messuages and has more dirt on him than an old dog has fleas, kicking stones and knocking snow off walls. Have you ever heard of this old boy "Thom" or "Thim" of the fishy stare who belongs to Kimmage, a crofting district, and is not all there, and is all the more himself since he is not so, being most of his time down at the Green Man where he steals,pawns,belches and is a curse, drinking gaily two hours after closing time, with the coat on him skinside out against rapparitions, with his socks outsewed his springsides, clapping his hands in a feeble sort of way and systematically mixing with the public going for groceries, slapping greats and littlegets soundly with his cattegut belts, flapping baresides and waltzywembling about in his accountrements always in font of the tubbernuckles, like a longarmed lugh, when he would be finished with his tea?

-- Is it that fellow? As mad as the brambles he is. Touch him. With the lawyers sticking to his trewsershins and the swatmenotting on the basque of his beret. He has kissed me more than once, I am sorry to say and if I did commit gladrolleries may the loone forgive it! O wait till I tell you!

-- We are not going yet.

-- And look here! Here's, my dear, what he done, as snooks as I am saying so !

-- Get out, you dirt! A strangely striking part of speech for the hottest worked word of ur sprogue. You're not! Unhindered and odd times? Mere thumbshow? Lately?

-- How do I know? Such my billet. Buy a barrack pass. Ask the horneys. Tell the robbers.

-- You are alluding to the picking pockets in Lower O'Connell Street?

-- I am illuding to the Pekin packet but I am eluding from Laura Connor's treat.