[♬ Dobbin's Flowery Vale]
[♬ Little Annie Rooney]
FDV: "For what we are about to believe. So sigh us! Whose on the gyant dish? Finfaw the Fush. What's at his head? A loaf of Singpatherick's bread. And what's at his tail? A glass of O'Connell's famous old Dublin ale. But what do I see? In his reins is planted a 1/2d gaff. Not one but legion. The king of the castle is k.o. The almost rubicund salmon of knowledge is one with the yesterworld of [...] We may see the brontoichthyan form outlined, even in our nighttime by the side of the troutlet stream that bronto loved and loves. What though she be in flags & flitters, rowdyrags or sundayclosies, with a mint of money or never a hapenny, yerra, we all love all of little Annie Ruiny, or I mean to say lobble Nanny Rainy, when under her brella, through piddle & poddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. There Brontolone sleeps & snores. The cranial head, castle of his reason, look yonder. Howth?
His lay feet, swarded with verdure, stick up where he last fell on em, by the hump of the magazine wall, where Maggy seen all couldn't help it at all with her sister-in-shawl. Wile beyind the Ill Sixty, bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tarrarabom, are the ambushes the scene of the lying-in-wait of the threetimesthree."
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| Magazine Fort/ Wall |
1884? song by Fulmer and Wood "Wait Till the Clouds Roll By, Jenny"
1918 song "Till We Meet Again" (When the clouds roll by I'll come to you)
1919 silent comedy film "When the Clouds Roll By"
♬ Bea Lillie from "Oh Joy"
(Are any of these remotely relevant?)
[7:52-10:05]
I.1: 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined, aslumbered,
ReplyDeleteeven in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream
that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on?
_Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam._
Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyeclosies,
with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight,
arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny,
or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny,
when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle,
she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by.
Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoors!
Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too.
The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist.
Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem,
by the mund of the magazine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sister-in-shawl.
While over against this belles' alliance
beyind Ill Sixty (ollollowed ill!),
bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tararabom,
lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hockums.
Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey,
a proudseye view is enjoyable of our mounding's mass,
now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance,
the charmful waterloose country
and they two quitewhite villagettes who hear show of themselves
so gigglesome minxt the follyages, the prettilees!
Penetrators are permitted into the museomound free.
Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk.
Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseyprams
to sate the sort of their butt.
For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the Mistress Kathe. Tip.
O'Connell's Dublin Ale [ad: http://comeheretome.com/2012/09/03/all-ireland-craft-beerfest-september-7-9/] [history: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_O%27Connell#Connection_with_the_licensed_trade]
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