James Joyce - Finnegan's Wake (Excerpt) | Текст песни

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• Finnegan's Wake (Excerpt)

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Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told you every telling
has a taling and that's the he and the she of it. Look, look, the dusk is
growing! My branches lofty are taking root. And my cold cher's gone ashley.
Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at? It saon is late. 'Tis endless now senne eye
or erewone last saw Waterhouse's clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum
sigh. When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach! I'd want
to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There's the Belle for Sexaloitez! And
Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out the clothes! Wring in the dew!
Godavari, vert the showers! And grant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them
here now? Ay, we will. Flip ! Spread on your bank and I'll spread mine on
mine. Flep! It's what I'm doing. Spread ! It's churning chill. Der went is
rising. I'll lay a few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his bride
embraced between them. Else I'd have sprinkled and folded them only. And
I'll tie my butcher's apron here. It's suety yet. The strollers will pass it
by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to hold to the fire and this for the
code, the convent napkins,twelve, one baby's shawl. Good mother Jossiph
knows, she said. Whose head? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her
childer, say? In kingdome gone or power to come or gloria be to them
farther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more again lost
alla stranger. I've heard tell that same brooch of the Shannons was married
into a family in Spain. And all the Dunders de Dunnes in Markland's Vineland
beyond Brendan's herring pool takes number nine in yangsee's hats. And one
of Biddy's beads went bobbing till she rounded up lost histereve with a
marigold and a cobbler's candle in a side strain of a main drain of a
manzinahurries off Bachelor's Walk. But all that's left to the last of the
Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and between is one kneebuckle and
two hooks in the front. Do you tell me. that now? I do in troth. Orara por
Orbe and poor Las Animas! Ussa, Ulla, we're umbas all! Mezha, didn't you
hear it a deluge of times, ufer and ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you
deed! I need, I need! It's that irrawaddyng I've stoke in my aars. It all
but husheth the lethest zswound. Oronoko ! What's your trouble? Is that the
great Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statue riding the high hone
there forehengist? Father of Otters, it is himself! Yonne there! Isset that?
On Fallareen Common? You're thinking of Astley's Amphitheayter where the
bobby restrained you making sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of the
Peppers. Throw the cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spread your washing
proper! It's well I know your sort of slop. Flap! Ireland sober is Ireland
stiff Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, the load is with me! Your
prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut! Were you lifting your elbow, tell us,
glazy cheeks, in Conway's Carrigacurra canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips?
Flop! Your rere gait's creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn't I up
since the damp tawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corrigan's pulse and
varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice Jane in decline and my oneeyed
mongrel twice run over, soaking and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating
cold, a widow like me, for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman
with the lavandier flannels? You won your limpopo limp fron the husky
hussars when Collars and Cuffs was heir to the town and your slur gave the
stink to Carlow. Holy Scamander, I sar it again! Near the golden fall