[♬ by his cocklehat]
O'Donnell & Peter Cloran → O'Mara & Peter Doran → Lisa O'Dara & Roche Moran → "Lisa O'Deavis and Roche Mongan"
[epipsychidi]
"who had so much incommon... hostis et odor insuper petroperfractus" (maybe: poverty overcame both enmity and stench?)
[meed of anthems here we pant]
[♬ cremoaning and cronauning]
[alsweeeep] (FW2 changes 'at' to 'al') ((in Ulysses it's a fart))
 |
| crwth |
4DV: "without having been able to wangle it anyway. O'Donnell and Peter Cloran, as an understood thing, slept in the one bed with Hosty, and the housewife dawn-of-all-work had not been very many hours furbishing potlids, doorbrasses, scholars' applecheeks and livery metals when the rejuvenated busker and his bedroom suite were up and afoot crosstown to the thrumming of a crewth fiddle and, after a visit to a publichouse not a thousand leagues from the site of Parnell's statue where, the tale runs on,"
mysteries:
[3:06-4:58]
I.2: 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47
(from these incurable welleslays among those uncarable wellasdays
ReplyDeletethrough Sant Iago by his cocklehat good Lazar deliver us!)
without after having been able to jerrywangle it anysides.
Lisa O'Deavis and Roche Mongan
(who had so much incommon,
epipsychidically, if the phrase be permitted,
_hostis et odor insuper petroperfractus_)
as an understood thing slept their sleep of the swimborne
in the one sweet undulant mother of tumblerbunks with Hosty
just how the shavers in the shaw, the yokels in the yoats
or, well, the wasters in the wilde,
and the bustling tweeny dawn-of-all-works
(meed of anthems here we pant!)
had not been many jiffies furbishing
potlids, doorbrasses, scholars' applecheeks and linkboys' metals
when, ashhopperminded like no fella he go make bakenbeggfuss longa white man,
the rejuvenated busker
(for after a goodnight's rave and rumble
and a shinkhams topmorning with his coexes
he was not the same man)
and his broadawake bedroom suite
(our boys, as our Byron called them)
were up and ashuffle from the hogshome they lovenaned The Barrel,
cross Ebblinn's chilled hamlet
(their routes and restings on their then superficies
curiously correspondent with those lines and puncta
where our tubenny habenny metro maniplumbs
below the oberflake underrails and stations at this time of riding)
to the thrummings of a crewth fiddle which,
cremoaning and cronauning, levey grevey,
witty and wevey, appy, leppy and playable,
caressed the ears of the subjects of King Saint Finnerty the Festive,
who, in brick homes of their own and in their flavory fraiseberry beds,
heeding hardly cry of honeyman, sweet lavender or foyneboyne salmon alive,
with their priggish mouths all open
for the larger appraisiation of this longawaited Messiagh of roaratorios,
were only halfpast alsweeeep,
and, after a brisk pause at a pawnbroking establishment for the prothetic purpose
of redeeming the songster's truly admirable false teeth
and a prolonged visit to a house of call, fizz,
the Old Sots' Hole at Cujas Place in the parish of Saint Cecily
within the liberty of Ceolmore
not a thousand or one national leagues,
that was, by Griffith's valuation,
from the site of the statue of Primewer Glasstone
setting a match to the march of a maker
(last of the stewards peutêtre),
where, the tale rambles along,