Finnegans Wake Notes

180.01 everthemore his queque kept swelling) of enthusiastic noble-

180.02 women flinging every coronetcrimsoned stitch they had off at

180.03 his probscenium,one after the others, inamagoaded into ajustil-

180.04 loosing themselves, in their gaiety pantheomime, when, egad, sir,

180.05 acordant to all acountstrick, he squealed the topsquall im Deal

180.06 Lil Shemlockup Yellin (geewhiz, jew ear that far! soap ewer!

180.07 loutgout of sabaous! juice like a boyd!) for fully five minutes,in-

180.08 finitely better than Baraton Mc Gluckin with a scrumptious cocked

180.09 hat and three green, cheese and tangerine trinity plumes on the

180.10 right handle side of his amarellous head, a coat macfarlane (the

180.11 kerssest cut, you understand?) a sponiard's digger at his ribs,

180.12 (Alfaiate punxit) an azulblu blowsheet for his blousebosom

180.13 blossom and a dean's crozier that he won from Cardinal Lin-

180.14 dundarri and Cardinal Carchingarri and Cardinal Loriotuli and

180.15 Cardinal Occidentaccia (ah ho!) in the dearby darby doubled for

180.16 falling first over the hurdles, madam, in the odder hand, a.a.t.s.o.t.,

180.17 but what with the murky light, the botchy print, the tattered

180.18 cover, the jigjagged page, the fumbling fingers, the foxtrotting

180.19 fleas, the lieabed lice, the scum on his tongue, the drop in his

180.20 eye, the lump in his throat, the drink in his pottle, the itch in his

180.21 palm, the wail of his wind, the grief from his breath, the fog of

180.22 his mindfag, the buzz in his braintree, the tic of his conscience,

180.23 the height up his rage, the gush down his fundament, the fire

180.24 in his gorge, the tickle of his tail, the bane in his bullugs, the

180.25 squince in his suil, the rot in his eater, the ycho in his earer,

180.26 the totters of his toes, the tetters on his tumtytum, the rats in his

180.27 garret, the bats in his belfry, the budgerigars and bumbosolom

180.28 beaubirds, the hullabaloo and the dust in his ears since it took him

180.29 a month to steal a march he was hardset to mumorise more than

180.30 a word a week. Hake's haulin! Hook's fisk! Can you beat it?

180.31 Whawe! I say, can you bait it? Was there ever heard of such

180.32 lowdown blackguardism? Positively it woolies one to think

180.33 over it.

180.34 Yet the bumpersprinkler used to boast aloud alone to himself

180.35 with a haccent on it when Mynfadher was a boer constructor and

180.36 Hoy was a lexical student, parole, and corrected with the black-