| Ah, but she was the queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia, | |
| trinkettoes! And sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty | |
| Dumpling, foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer | |
| and gaffer we're all their gangsters. Hadn't he seven dams to wive | |
| him? And every dam had her seven crutches. And every crutch | |
| had its seven hues. And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for | |
| me and supper for you and the doctor's bill for Joe John. Befor! | |
| Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any | |
| Etrurian Catholic Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies | |
| and their turkiss indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was | |
| the spouse? Then all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland ! Teems of | |
| times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo. | |
| Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be. Northmen's thing made | |
| southfolk's place but howmulty plurators made eachone in per- | |
| son? Latin me that, my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into | |
| oure eryan! Hircus Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on | |
| him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord ! Twins of his bosom. Lord | |
| save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daugh- | |
| ters of. Whawk?
-- Finnegans Wake
|
No comments:
Post a Comment