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

Vi-Cocoa and the Eswuards' desippated soup beside Mother Sea-
gull's syrup. Meat took a drop when Reilly-Parsons failed. Coal's
short but we've plenty of bog in the yard. And barley's up again,
begrained to it. The lads is attending school nessans regular, sir,
spelling beesknees with hathatansy and turning out tables by
mudapplication. Allfor the books and never pegging smashers
after Tom Bowe Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. 'Tisraely the
truth! No isn't it, roman pathoricks? You were the doublejoynted
janitor the morning they were delivered and you'll be a grandfer
yet entirely when the ritehand seizes what the lovearm knows.
Kevin's just a doat with his cherub cheek, chalking oghres on
walls, and his little lamp and schoolbelt and bag of knicks, playing
postman's knock round the diggings and if the seep were milk
you could lieve his olde by his ide but, laus sake, the devil does
be in that knirps of a Jerry sometimes, the tarandtan plaidboy,
making encostive inkum out of the last of his lavings and writing
a blue streak over his bourseday shirt. Hetty Jane's a child of
Mary. She'll be coming (for they're sure to choose her) in her
white of gold with a tourch of ivy to rekindle the flame on Felix
Day. But Essie Shanahan has let down her skirts. You remember
Essie in our Luna's Convent? They called her Holly Merry her
lips were so ruddyberry and Pia de Purebelle when the redminers
riots was on about her. Were I a clerk designate to the Williams-
woodsmenufactors I'd poster those pouters on every jamb in the
town. She's making her rep at Lanner's twicenightly. With the
tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees. Beats that cachucha
flat. 'Twould dilate your heart to go.
Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and
repose your honour's lordship! Hold him here, Ezekiel Irons, and
may God strengthen you! It's our warm spirits, boys, he's spoor-
ing. Dimitrius O'Flagonan, cork that cure for the Clancartys ! You
swamped enough since Portobello to float the Pomeroy. Fetch
neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther
angst of Wramawitch! Here's lumbos. Where misties swaddlum,
where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O
sleepy! So be yet!
I've an eye on queer Behan and old Kate and the butter, trust me.
She'll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcards to
help to build me murial, tippers! I'll trip your traps! Assure a
sure there! And we put on your clock again, sir, for you. Did or
didn't we, sharestutterers? So you won't be up a stump entirely.
Nor shed your remnants. The sternwheel's crawling strong. I
seen your missus in the hall. Like the queenoveire. Arrah, it's
herself that's fine, too, don't be talking! Shirksends? You storyan
Harry chap longa me Harry chap storyan grass woman plelthy
good trout. Shakeshands. Dibble a hayfork's wrong with her only
her lex's salig. Boald Tib does be yawning and smirking cat's
hours on the Pollockses' woolly round tabouretcushion watch-
ing her sewing a dream together, the tailor's daughter, stitch to
her last. Or while waiting for winter to fire the enchantement,