Page 192
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Jump to navigationJump to searchthe waters of his thought? Ever thought of that hereticalist Marcon
and the two scissymaidies and how bulkily he shat the Ructions
gunorrhal? Ever hear of that foxy, that lupo and that monkax
and the virgin heir of the Morrisons, eh, blethering ape?
Malingerer in luxury, collector general, what has Your Low-
ness done in the mealtime with all the hamilkcars of cooked
vegetables, the hatfuls of stewed fruit, the suitcases of coddled
ales, the Parish funds, me schamer, man, that you kittycoaxed so
flexibly out of charitable butteries by yowling heavy with a
hollow voice drop of your horrible awful poverty of mind so as
you couldn't even pledge a crown of Thorne's to pawn a coat
off Trevi's and as how you was bad no end, so you was, so whelp
you Sinner Pitre and Sinner Poule, with the chicken's gape and
pas mal de siècle, which, by the by, Reynaldo, is the ordinary
emetic French for grenadier's drip. To let you have your plank
and your bonewash (O the hastroubles you lost!), to give you
your pound of platinum and a thousand thongs a year (O, you
were excruciated, in honour bound to the cross of your own
cruelfiction !) to let you have your Sarday spree and holinight sleep
(fame would come to you twixt a sleep and a wake) and leave to
lie till Paraskivee and the cockcock crows for Danmark. (O
Jonathan, your estomach!) The simian has no sentiment secre-
tions but weep cataracts for all me, Pain the Shamman! Oft in
the smelly night will they wallow for a clutch of the famished
hand, I say, them bearded jezabelles you hired to rob you, while
on your sodden straw impolitely you encored (Airish and naw-
boggaleesh!) those hornmade ivory dreams you reved of the
Ruth you called your companionate, a beauty from the bible, of
the flushpots of Euston and the hanging garments of Maryle-
bone. But the dormer moonshee smiled selene and the light-
throwers knickered: who's whinging we? Comport yourself,
you inconsistency! Where is that little alimony nestegg against
our predictable rainy day? Is it not the fact (gainsay me, cake-
eater!) that, while whistlewhirling your crazy elegies around
Templetombmount joyntstone, (let him pass, pleasegood-
jesusalem, in a bundle of straw, he was balbettised after hay-
