Text FW 012 – Finnegans *web* Wake

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for in the byways of high improvidence that's what makes life-		1
work leaving and the world's a cell for citters to cit in. Let young		2
wimman run away with the story and let young min talk smooth		3
behind the butteler's back. She knows her knight's duty while		4
Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin? says he. Did I what? with		5
a grin says she. And we all like a marriedann because she is mer-		6
cenary. Though the length of the land lies under liquidation		7
(floote!) and there's nare a hairbrow nor an eyebush on this glau-		8
brous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she'll loan a vesta and		9
hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she'll		10
do all a turfwoman can to piff the business on. Paff. To puff the		11
blaziness on. Poffpoff. And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty		12
times as awkward again in the beardsboosoloom of all our grand		13
remonstrancers there'll be iggs for the brekkers come to mourn-		14
him, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere's a		15
turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight		16
of a hind make sure but you're cocked by a hin.		17
Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy,		18
fruting for firstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review		19
of the two mounds to see nothing of the himples here as at else-		20
where, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines,		21
sitton aroont, scentbreeched and somepotreek, in their swisha-		22
wish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton's Folly,		23
at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stand up, mickos!		24
Make strake for minnas ! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see		25
and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins off		26
Corkhill or the bergamoors of Arbourhill or the bergagambols		27
of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the country-		28
bossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its		29
several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each		30
harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf's on the rise and Ivor's		31
on the lift and Sitric's place's between them. But all they are all		32
there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve		33
and salve life's robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like		34
kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg		35
of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre. Behove this		36

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