— Well, naturally he was, louties also genderymen. Being Kerssfesstiydt. They came from all lands beyond the wave for songs of Inishfeel. Whiskway and mortem! No puseyporcious either, invitem kappines all round. But the right reverend priest, Mr Hopsinbond, and the reverent bride eleft, Frizzy Fraufrau, were sober enough. I think they were sober.
— I think you’re widdershins there about the right reverence. Magraw for the Northwhiggern cupteam was wedding beastman, papers before us carry. You saw him hurriedly, or did you if thatseme’s not irrelevant? With Slater’s hammer perhaps? Or he was in serge?
— I horridly did. On the stroke of the dozen. I’m sure I’m wrong but I heard the irreverend Mr Magraw, in search of a stammer, kuckkuck kicking the bedding out of the old sexton, red-Fox Good-man around the sacristy, till they were bullbeadle black and bufeteer blue, while I and Flood and the other men, jazzlike brollies and sesuos, was gickling his missus to gackles in the hall, the divileen, (she’s a lamp in her throth) with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach.
— A loyal wifish woman cacchinic wheepingcaugh! While she laylylaw was all their rage. But you did establish personal contact? In epexegesis or on a point of order?
— That perkumiary pond is beyawnd my pinnigay pretonsions. I am resting on a pigs of cheesus but I’ve a big suggestion it was about the pint of porter.
— You are a suckersome! But this all, as airs said to oska, as only that childbearer might blogas well sidesplit? Where letties hereditate a dark mien swart hairy?
— Only. ‘Twas womans’ too woman with mans’ throw man.
— Bully burley yet hardly hurley. The saloon bulkhead, did you say, or the tweendecks?
— Between drinks, I deeply painfully repeat it.
— Was she wearing shubladey’s tiroirs in humour of her hubbishobbis, Massa’s star stellar?
— Mrs Tan-Taylour? Just a floating panel, secretairslidingdraws, a budge of klees on her schalter, a siderbrass sehdass on her anulas findring and forty crocelips in her curlingthongues.
— So this was the dope that woolied the cad that kinked the ruck that noised the rape that tried the sap that hugged the mort?
— That legged in the hoax that joke bilked.
— The jest of junk the jungular?
— Jacked up in a jock the wrapper.
— Lollgoll! You don’t soye so! All upsydown her whole creation? So there was nothing serical between you? And Drysalter, father of Izod, how was he now?
— To the pink, man, like an allmanox in his shirt and stickup, brustall to the bear, the Megalomagellan of our winevatswaterway, squeezing the life out of the liffey.
— Crestofer Carambas! Such is zodisfaction. You punk me! He came, he kished, he conquered. Vulturuvarnar! The must of his glancefull coaxing the beam in her eye? That musked bell of this masked ball ! Annabella, Lovabella, Pullabella, yep?
— Yup! Titentung Tollertone in S. Sabina’s. Aye aye, she was lithe and pleasable. Wilt thou the lee? Wilt thou the hee? Wilt thou the hussif?
— The quicker the deef the safter the sapstaff, but the main the mightier the stricker the strait. To the vast go the game! It is the circumconversioning of antelithual paganelles by a huggerknut cramwell energuman, or the caecodedition of an absquelitteris puttagonnianne to the herreraism of a cabotinesque exploser?
— I believe you. Taiptope reelly, O reely!
— Nautaey, nautaey, we’re nowhere without ye! In steam of kavos now arbatos above our hearths doth hum. And Malkos crackles logs of fun while Anglys cheers our ingles. So lent she him ear to burrow his manhood (or so it appierce) and borrow his namas? Suilful eyes and sallowfoul hairweed and the sickly sigh from her gingering mouth like a Dublin bar in the moarning.
— Primus auriforasti me.
— The park is gracer than the hole, says she, but shekleton’s my fortune?
— Eversought of being artained? You’ve soft a say with ye, Flatter O’Ford, that, honey, I hurdley chew you.
— Is that answers?
— It am queery!
— The house was Toot and Come-Inn by the bridge called Tiltass, but are you solarly salemly sure, beyond the shatter of the canicular year? Nascitur ordo seculi numfit.
— Siriusly and selenely sure behind the shutter. Securius indicat umbris tellurem.
— Date as? Your time of immersion? We are still in drought of. . . ?
— Amnis Dominae, Marcus of Corrig. A laughin hunter and Purty Sue.
— And crazyheaded Jorn, the bulweh born?
— Fluteful as his orkan. Ex ugola lenonem.
— And Jambs, of Delphin’s Bourne or (as olders lay) of Tophat?
— Dawncing the kniejinksky choreopiscopally like an easter sun round the colander, the vice! Taranta boontoday! You should pree him prance the polcat, you whould sniff him wops around, you should hear his piedigrotts schraying as his skimpies skirp a . . .
— Crashedafar Corumbas! A Czardanser indeed! Dervilish glad too. Ortovito semi ricordo. The pantaglionic affection through his blood like a bad influenza in a leap at bounding point?
— Out of Prisky Poppagenua, the palsied old priamite, home from Edwin Hamilton’s Christmas pantaloonade, Oropos Roxy and Pantharhea at the Gaiety, trippudiating round the aria, with his fiftytwo heirs of age! They may reel at his likes but it’s Noeh Bonum’s shin do.
— And whit what was Lillabil Issabil maideve, maid at?
— Trists and thranes and trinies and traines.
— A take back to the virgin page, darm it!
— Ay, graunt ye.
— The quobus quartet were there too, if I mistake not, as a sideline but, pace the contempt of senate, well to the fore, in an amenessy meeting, metandmorefussed to decide whereagainwhen to meet themselves flopsome and jerksome, lubber and deliric, drinking unsteadily through the Kerry quadrilles and Listowel lancers and mastersinging always with that consecutive fifth of theirs, eh? Like four wise elephants inandouting under a twelvepodestalled table?
— They were simple scandalmongers, that familiar, and all! Normand, Desmond, Osmund and Kenneth. Making mejical history all over the show!
— In sum, some hum? And other marrage feats?
— 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 Fitzadam, of a Tartar (Birtha) or Sackville-Lawry and MorlandWest, at the Auspice for the Living,Bonnybrook, by the river and A. Briggs Carlisle, guardian of the birdsmaids and deputiliser 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?
— 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 suppressions, 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
