Text FW 027

after Tom Bowe Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. 'Tisraely the1
truth! No isn't it, roman pathoricks? You were the doublejoynted2
janitor the morning they were delivered and you'll be a grandfer3
yet entirely when the ritehand seizes what the lovearm knows.4
Kevin's just a doat with his cherub cheek, chalking oghres on5
walls, and his little lamp and schoolbelt and bag of knicks, playing6
postman's knock round the diggings and if the seep were milk7
you could lieve his olde by his ide but, laus sake, the devil does8
be in that knirps of a Jerry sometimes, the tarandtan plaidboy,9
making encostive inkum out of the last of his lavings and writing10
a blue streak over his bourseday shirt. Hetty Jane's a child of11
Mary. She'll be coming (for they're sure to choose her) in her12
white of gold with a tourch of ivy to rekindle the flame on Felix13
Day. But Essie Shanahan has let down her skirts. You remember14
Essie in our Luna's Convent? They called her Holly Merry her15
lips were so ruddyberry and Pia de Purebelle when the redminers16
riots was on about her. Were I a clerk designate to the Williams-17
woodsmenufactors I'd poster those pouters on every jamb in the18
town. She's making her rep at Lanner's twicenightly. With the19
tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees. Beats that cachucha20
flat. 'Twould dilate your heart to go.21
     Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and 22
repose your honour's lordship! Hold him here, Ezekiel Irons, and23
may God strengthen you! It's our warm spirits, boys, he's spoor-24
ing. Dimitrius O'Flagonan, cork that cure for the Clancartys ! You25
swamped enough since Portobello to float the Pomeroy. Fetch26
neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther27
angst of Wramawitch! Here's lumbos. Where misties swaddlum,28
where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O29
sleepy! So be yet!30
     I've an eye on queer Behan and old Kate and the butter, trust me. 31
She'll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcards to32
help to build me murial, tippers! I'll trip your traps! Assure a33
sure there! And we put on your clock again, sir, for you. Did or34
didn't we, sharestutterers? So you won't be up a stump entirely.35
Nor shed your remnants. The sternwheel's crawling strong. I36

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