FINNEGANS WAKE. Джеймс Джойс

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СКАЧАТЬ of Gaul noted, but before of to sputabout, the [p.044] snowycrested curl amoist the leader’s wild and moulting hair, ‘Ductor’ Hitchcock hoisted his fezzy fuzz at bludgeon’s height signum to his companions of the chalice for the Loud Fellow, boys’ and silentium in curia! (our maypole once more where he rose of old) and the canto was chantied there chorussed and christened where by the old tollgate, Saint Annona’s Street and Church.

      And aroud the lawn the rann it rann and this is the rann that Hosty made. Spoken. Boyles and Cahills, Skerretts and Pritchards, viersefied and piersified may the treeth we tale of live in stoney. Here line the refrains of. Some vote him Vike, some mote him Mike, some dub him Llyn and Phin while others hail him Lug Bug Dan Lop, Lex, Lax, Gunne or Guinn. Some apt him Arth, some bapt him Barth, Coll, Noll, Soll, Will, Weel, Wall but I parse him Persse O’Reilly else he’s called no name at all. Together. Arrah, leave it to Hosty, frosty Hosty, leave it to Hosty for he’s the mann to rhyme the rann, the rann, the rann, the king of all ranns. Have you here? (Some ha) Have we where? (Some hant) Have you hered? (Others do) Have we whered (Others dont) It’s cumming, it’s brumming! The clip, the clop! (All cla) Glass crash. The (klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatz-klatschabattacreppycrotty-graddaghsemmihsammihnouit-happluddyappladdypkonpkot!).

      {Ardite, arditi! Music cue.

      [p.045] Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty

      How he fell with a roll and a rumble

      And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple

      By the butt of the Magazine Wall,

      (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,

       Hump, helmet and all?

      He was one time our King of the Castle

      Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.

      And from Green street he’ll be sent by order of His Worship

      To the penal jail of Mountjoy

      (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!

       Jail him and joy

      He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us

      Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,

      Mare’s milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,

      Openair love and religion’s reform,

      (Chorus) And religious reform,

       Hideous in form.

      Arrah, why, says you, couldn’t he manage it?

      I’ll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,

      Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys

      All your butter is in your horns.

      (Chorus) His butter is in his horns.

       Butter his horns!

      (Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt on ye,

      Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!

      Balbaccio, balbuccio!

      We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chickenpox and china chambers Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.

      [p.046] Small wonder He’ll Cheat E’erawan our local lads nicknamed him When Chimpden first took the floor

      (Chorus) With his bucketshop store

       Down Bargainweg, Lower.

      So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous

      But soon we’ll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery

      And’tis short till sheriff Clancy’ll be winding up his unlimited company

      With the bailiff’s bom at the door,

      (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.

       Then he’ll bum no more.

      Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island

      The hooker of that hammerfast viking

      And Gall’s curse on the day when Eblana bay

      Saw his black and tan man-o’-war.

      (Chorus) Saw his man-o’-war.

       On the harbour bar.

      Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha’pence, he bawls Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin’fampiny Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface

      Thok’s min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker

      Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.

      (Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.

       He is, begod.

      Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil ye! up with the rann, the rhyming rann!

      It was during some fresh water garden pumping

      Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys

      That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey

      Made bold a maid to woo

      (Chorus) Woohoo, what’ll she doo!

       The general lost her maidenloo!

      [p.047] He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher, For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.

      Begob, he’s the crux of the catalogue

      Of our antediluvial zoo,

      (Chorus) Messrs. Billing and Coo.

       Noah’s larks, good as noo.

      He was joulting by Wellinton’s monument

      Our rotorious hippopopotamuns

      When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus

      And he caught his death of fusiliers,

      (Chorus) With his rent in his rears.

       Give him six years.

      ’Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children

      But look out for his missus legitimate!

      When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker

      Won’t there be earwigs on the green?

      (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,

       The largest ever СКАЧАТЬ