Difference between revisions of "Page 152"

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  the plane where me arts soar you'd aisy rouse a thunder from and
 
  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
+
  where I cling true'tis there I climb tree and where [[Innocent]] looks
 
  best (pick!) there's [[holly in his ives]].
 
  best (pick!) there's [[holly in his ives]].
 
       As my explanations here are probably above your understand-  
 
       As my explanations here are probably above your understand-  

Revision as of 19:59, 10 October 2012

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Page 151 Page 153

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