Finnegans Wake Notes

474.01 Lowly, longly, a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the

474.02 mead of the hillock lay, heartsoul dormant mid shadowed land-

474.03 shape, brief wallet to his side, and arm loose, by his staff of citron

474.04 briar, tradition stick-pass-on. His dream monologue was over,

474.05 of cause, but his drama parapolylogic had yet to be, affact. Most

474.06 distressfully (but, my dear, how successfully!) to wail he did,

474.07 his locks of a lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted,

474.08 those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time, whiles

474.09 ouze of his sidewiseopen mouth the breath of him, evenso

474.10 languishing as the princeliest treble treacle or lichee chewchow

474.11 purse could buy. Yawn in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!)

474.12 what helpings of honeyful swoothead (phew!), which ear-

474.13 piercing dulcitude! As were you suppose to go and push with

474.14 your bluntblank pin in hand upinto his fleshasplush cushionettes

474.15 of some chubby boybold love of an angel. Hwoah!

474.16 When, as the buzzer brings the light brigade, keeping the

474.17 home fires burning, so on the churring call themselves came at

474.18 him, from the westborders of the eastmidlands, three kings of

474.19 three suits and a crowner, from all their cardinal parts, along

474.20 the amber way where Brosna's furzy. To lift them they did,

474.21 senators four, by the first quaint skreek of the gloaming and

474.22 they hopped it up the mountainy molehill, traversing climes

474.23 of old times gone by of the days not worth remembering;

474.24 inventing some excusethems, any sort, having a sevenply