Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/409

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       Golly, whatten tunket’s you guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peep
at his wearables. By mighty! What’s he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by James.
Wants it real bad. D’ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the Richmond?
Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his penis. Trumpery insanity.
Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once a prosperous cit. Man all
tattered and torn that married a maiden all forlorn. Slung her hook, she did.
Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in.
Schedule time. Nix for the hornies. Pardon? See him today at a runefal?
Chum o yourn passed in his checks? Ludamassy! Pore piccanninies! Thou’ll
no be telling me thot, Pold veg! Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos frien
Padney was took off in black bag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best.
I never see the like since I was born. Tiens, tiens, but it is well sad, that, my
faith, yes. O get, rev on a gradient one in nine. Live axle drives are souped.
Lay you two to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. Jappies? High angle
fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, nor any
Rooshian. Time all. There’s eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward, woozy
wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah, the Excellent One, your soul this night
ever tremendously conserve.
       Your attention! We’re nae the fou. The Leith police dismisseth us. The
least tholice. Ware hawks for the chap puking. Unwell in his abominable
regions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my thrue love. Yook. Mona, my own love.
       Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blase on. There she goes.
Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up. Pflaap! Tally ho. You not
come? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!
       Lynch! Hey? Sign on long o me. Denzille lane this way. Change here for
Bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips there shady Mary is. Righto,
any old time. Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis. You coming long? Whisper, who
the sooty hell’s the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinned against the light
and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to judge the world by
fire. Pflaap! Ut implerentur scripturae. Strike up a ballad. Then outspake
medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy. Christicle, who’s this excrement
yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall? Elijah is coming. Washed in the Blood
of the Lamb. Come on, you winefizzling ginsizzling booseguzzling existences!
Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained,
weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you triple
extract of infamy! Alexander J. Christ Dowie, that’s yanked to glory most