The Ondt, that true and perfect host, a spiter
aspinne, was
making the greatest spass a body could with his queens
lace-
swinging for he was spizzing all over him like
thingsumanything
in formicolation, boundlessly blissfilled in an
allallahbath of
houris. He was ameising himself hugely at crabround
and mary-
pose, chasing Floh out of charity and tickling Luse, I
hope too,
and tackling Bienie, faith, as well, and jucking
Vespatilla jukely
by the chimiche. Never did Dorsan from Dunshanagan
dance it
with more devilry! The veripatetic imago of the
impossible
Gracehoper on his odderkop in the myre, after his
thrice ephe-
meral journeeys, sans mantis ne shooshooe,
featherweighed
animule, actually and presumptuably sinctifying
chronic's de-
spair, was sufficiently and probably coocoo much for
his chorous
of gravitates. Let him be Artalone the Weeps with his
parisites
peeling off him I'll be Highfee the Crackasider.
Flunkey Footle
furloughed foul, writing off his phoney, but Conte
Carme makes
the melody that mints the money. Ad majorem l.s.d.! Divi
gloriam.
A darkener of the threshold. Haru? Orimis, capsizer of
his ant-
boat, sekketh rede from Evil-it-is, lord of loaves in
Amongded.
Be it! So be it! Thou-who-thou-art, the
fleet-as-spindhrift,
impfang thee of mine wideheight. Haru!
--Finnegans Wake
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