"Джеймс Джойс "Поминки по Финнегану" (книга 1) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Eirenesians chewed on are chips chepped from that battery
block. If you were bowed and soild and letdown itself from the
oner of the load it was that paddyplanters might pack up plenty and
when you were undone in every point fore the laps of goddesses
you showed our labourlasses how to free was easy. The game old
Gunne, they do be saying, (skull !) that was a planter for you, a
spicer of them all. Begog but he was, the G.O.G! He's dudd-
andgunne now and we're apter finding the sores of his sedeq
but peace to his great limbs, the buddhoch, with the last league
long rest of him, while the millioncandled eye of Tuskar sweeps
the Moylean Main ! There was never a warlord in Great Erinnes
and Brettland, no, nor in all Pike County like you, they say. No,
nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king.
That you could fell an elmstree twelve urchins couldn't ring
round and hoist high the stone that Liam failed. Who but a Mac-
cullaghmore the reise of our fortunes and the faunayman at the
funeral to compass our cause? If you was hogglebully itself and
most frifty like you was taken waters still what all where was
your like to lay the cable or who was the batter could better
Your Grace? Mick Mac Magnus MacCawley can take you off to
the pure perfection and Leatherbags Reynolds tries your shuffle
and cut. But as Hopkins and Hopkins puts it, you were the pale
eggynaggy and a kis to tilly up. We calls him the journeyall
Buggaloffs since he went Jerusalemfaring in Arssia Manor. You
had a gamier cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose
of geese stubbled for All Angels' Day. So may the priest of seven
worms and scalding tayboil, Papa Vestray, come never anear you
as your hair grows wheater beside the Liffey that's in Heaven!
Hep, hep, hurrah there! Hero! Seven times thereto we salute
you! The whole bag of kits, falconplumes and jackboots incloted,
is where you flung them that time. Your heart is in the system
of the Shewolf and your crested head is in the tropic of Copri-
capron. Your feet are in the cloister of Virgo. Your olala is in the
region of sahuls. And that's ashore as you were born. Your shuck
tick's swell. And that there texas is tow linen. The loamsome
roam to Laffayette is ended. Drop in your tracks, babe! Be not
unrested ! The headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid,
Totumcalmum, saith: I know thee, metherjar, I know thee, sal-
vation boat. For we have performed upon thee, thou abrama-
nation, who comest ever without being invoked, whose coming
is unknown, all the things which the company of the precentors
and of the grammarians of Christpatrick's ordered concerning
thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing. Howe of the ship-
men, steep wall!
Everything's going on the same or so it appeals to all of us,
in the old holmsted here. Coughings all over the sanctuary, bad
scrant to me aunt Florenza. The horn for breakfast, one o'gong
for lunch and dinnerchime. As popular as when Belly the First
was keng and his members met in the Diet of Man. The same
shop slop in the window. Jacob's lettercrackers and Dr Tipple's