Difference between revisions of "Page 87"
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taste and smell, as his time of night, how Hyacinth O'Donnell, | taste and smell, as his time of night, how Hyacinth O'Donnell, | ||
B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and wordpainter, with | B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and wordpainter, with | ||
| − | part of a sivispacem (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the fair green | + | part of a [[sivispacem]] (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the fair green |
at the hour of twenty-four o'clock sought (the bullycassidy of | at the hour of twenty-four o'clock sought (the bullycassidy of | ||
| − | the friedhoffer!) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded | + | the [[friedhoffer]]!) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded |
another two of the old kings, Gush Mac Gale and Roaring | another two of the old kings, Gush Mac Gale and Roaring | ||
O'Crian, Jr., both changelings, unlucalised, of no address and | O'Crian, Jr., both changelings, unlucalised, of no address and | ||
Revision as of 20:47, 26 July 2009
being grilled, smiled (he had had a onebumper at parting from Mrs Molroe in the morning) and stated to his eliciter under his morse mustaccents (gobbless!) that he slept with a bonafides and that he would be there to remember the filth of November, hatinaring, rowdy O, which, with the jiboulees of Juno and the dates of ould lanxiety, was going, please the Rainmaker, to decembs within the ephemerides of profane history, all one with Tournay, Yetstoslay and Temorah, and one thing which would pigstickularly strike a person of such sorely tried observational powers as Sam, him and Moffat, though theirs not to reason why, the striking thing about it was that he was patrified to see, hear, taste and smell, as his time of night, how Hyacinth O'Donnell, B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and wordpainter, with part of a sivispacem (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the fair green at the hour of twenty-four o'clock sought (the bullycassidy of the friedhoffer!) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded another two of the old kings, Gush Mac Gale and Roaring O'Crian, Jr., both changelings, unlucalised, of no address and in noncommunicables, between him and whom, ever since wal- lops before the Mise of Lewes, bad blood existed on the ground of the boer's trespass on the bull or because he firstparted his polarbeeber hair in twoways, or because they were creepfoxed andt grousuppers over a nippy in a noveletta, or because they could not say meace, (mute and daft) meathe. The litigants, he said, local congsmen and donalds, kings of the arans and the dalk- eys, kings of mud and tory, even the goat king of Killorglin, were egged on by their supporters in the shape of betterwomen with bowstrung hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness, waving crim- son petties and screaming from Isod's towertop. There were cries from the thicksets in court and from the macdublins on the bohernabreen of: Mind the bank from Banagher, Mick, sir! Pro- dooce O'Donner. Ay! Exhibit his relics! Bu! Use the tongue mor! Give lip less! But it oozed out in Deadman's Dark Scenery Court through crossexanimation of the casehardened testis that when and where that knife of knifes the treepartied ambush was laid (roughly spouting around half hours 'twixt dusk in dawn,
