Difference between revisions of "Page 152"
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all pensible ways. | all pensible ways. | ||
As he set off with his father's sword, his <I>[[lancia spezzata]]</I>, he was | As he set off with his father's sword, his <I>[[lancia spezzata]]</I>, he was | ||
− | girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarkeels, our | + | girded on, and with that between his legs and his [[tarkeels]], our |
[[once in only Bragspear]], he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes | [[once in only Bragspear]], he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes | ||
to threetop, every inch of an immortal. | to threetop, every inch of an immortal. | ||
He had not walked over a [[pentiadpair]] of [[parsecs]] from his | He had not walked over a [[pentiadpair]] of [[parsecs]] from his | ||
[[azylium]] when at the turning of the [[Shinshone Lanteran]] near | [[azylium]] when at the turning of the [[Shinshone Lanteran]] near |
Revision as of 13:53, 10 October 2012
the plane where me arts soar you'd aisy rouse a thunder from and where I cling true'tis there I climb tree and where Innocent looks best (pick!) there's holly in his ives. As my explanations here are probably above your understand- ings, lattlebrattons, though as augmentatively uncomparisoned as Cadwan, Cadwallon and Cadwalloner, I shall revert to a more expletive method which I frequently use when I have to sermo with muddlecrass pupils. Imagine for my purpose that you are a squad of urchins, snifflynosed, goslingnecked, clothyheaded, tangled in your lacings, tingled in your pants, etsitaraw etcicero. And you, Bruno Nowlan, take your tongue out of your inkpot! As none of you knows javanese I will give all my easyfree trans- lation of the old fabulist's parable. Allaboy Minor, take your head out of your satchel! Audi, Joe Peters! Exaudi facts! The Mookse and The Gripes. Gentes and laitymen, fullstoppers and semicolonials, hybreds and lubberds! Eins within a space and a wearywide space it wast ere wohned a Mookse. The onesomeness wast alltolonely, archunsitslike, broady oval, and a Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo),so one grandsumer evening, after a great morning and his good supper of gammon and spittish, having flabelled his eyes, pilleoled his nostrils, vacticanated his ears and palliumed his throats, he put on his impermeable, seized his im- pugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo (socolled becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters and had borgeously letout gardens strown with cascadas, pinta- costecas, horthoducts and currycombs) and set off from Luds- town a spasso to see how badness was badness in the weirdest of all pensible ways. As he set off with his father's sword, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarkeels, our once in only Bragspear, he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes to threetop, every inch of an immortal. He had not walked over a pentiadpair of parsecs from his azylium when at the turning of the Shinshone Lanteran near