Difference between revisions of "Page 499"
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there where y'are now, coddlin your supernumerary leg, wi'that | there where y'are now, coddlin your supernumerary leg, wi'that | ||
bizar tongue in yur tolkshap, and your hindies and shindies, like a | bizar tongue in yur tolkshap, and your hindies and shindies, like a | ||
| − | muck in a market, Sorley boy, repeating yurself, and tell me that? | + | muck in a [[market, Sorley]] boy, repeating yurself, and tell me that? |
— I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, | — I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now, | ||
Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, | Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins, | ||
Revision as of 16:45, 19 February 2018
embalsemate, pending a rouseruction of his bogey, most highly
astounded, as it turned up, after his life overlasting, at thus being
reduced to nothing.
— Bappy-go-gully and gaff for us all! And all his morties
calisenic, tripping a trepas, neniatwantyng: Mulo Mulelo! Homo
Humilo! Dauncy a deady O! Dood dood dood! O Bawse! O
Boese! O Muerther! O Mord! Mahmato! Moutmaro! O Smir-
tsch! O Smertz! Woh Hillill! Woe Hallall! Thou Thuoni I Thou
Thaunaton! Umartir! Udamnor! Tschitt! Mergue! Eulumu!
Huam Khuam! Malawinga! Malawunga! Ser Oh Ser! See ah
See! Hamovs! Hemoves! Mamor! Rockquiem eternuel give donal
aye in dolmeny! Bat luck's perpepperpot loosen his eyis! (Psich!).
— But there's leps of flam in Funnycoon's Wick. The keyn
has passed. Lung lift the keying!
— God save you king! Muster of the Hidden Life!
— God serf yous kingly, adipose rex! I had four in the morn-
ing and a couple of the lunch and three later on, but your saouls
to the dhaoul, do ye. Finnk. Fime. Fudd?
— Impassable tissue of improbable liyers! D'yu mean to sett
there where y'are now, coddlin your supernumerary leg, wi'that
bizar tongue in yur tolkshap, and your hindies and shindies, like a
muck in a market, Sorley boy, repeating yurself, and tell me that?
— I mean to sit here on this altknoll where you are now,
Surly guy, replete in myself, as long as I live, in my homespins,
like a sleepingtop, with all that's buried ofsins insince insensed
insidesofme. If I can't upset this pound of pressed ollaves I can
sit up zounds of sounds upon him.
— Oliver! He may be an earthpresence. Was that a groan or
did I hear the Dingle bagpipes Wasting war and? Watch!
— Tris tris a ni ma mea! Prisoner of Love! Bleating Hart!
Lowlaid Herd! Aubain Hand! Wonted Foot! Usque! Usque!
Usque! Lignum in . . .
— Rawth of Gar and Donnerbruck Fire? Is the strays world
moving mound or what static babel is this, tell us?
— Whoishe whoishe whoishe whoishe linking in? Whoishe
whoishe whoishe?
