Finnegans Wake Notes

188.01 all the morning since your last wetbed confession? I advise you

188.02 to conceal yourself, my little friend, as I have said a moment

188.03 ago and put your hands in my hands and have a nightslong

188.04 homely little confiteor about things. Let me see. It is looking

188.05 pretty black against you, we suggest, Sheem avick. You will

188.06 need all the elements in the river to clean you over it all and a

188.07 fortifine popespriestpower bull of attender to booth.

188.08 Let us pry. We thought, would and did. Cur, quicquid, ubi,

188.09 quando, quomodo, quoties, quibus auxiliis? You were bred, fed,

188.10 fostered and fattened from holy childhood up in this two easter

188.11 island on the piejaw of hilarious heaven and roaring the other

188.12 place (plunders to night of you, blunders what's left of you, flash

188.13 as flash can!) and now, forsooth, a nogger among the blankards

188.14 of this dastard century, you have become of twosome twiminds

188.15 forenenst gods, hidden and discovered, nay, condemned fool,

188.16 anarch, egoarch, hiresiarch, you have reared your disunited king-

188.17 dom on the vacuum of your own most intensely doubtful soul.

188.18 Do you hold yourself then for some god in the manger, Sheho-

188.19 hem, that you will neither serve not let serve, pray nor let pray?

188.20 And here, pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to pray for the

188.21 loss of selfrespect to equip me for the horrible necessity of scan-

188.22 dalisang (my dear sisters, are you ready?) by sloughing off my

188.23 hope and tremors while we all swin together in the pool of So-

188.24 dom? I shall shiver for my purity while they will weepbig for

188.25 your sins. Away with covered words, new Solemonities for old

188.26 Badsheetbaths! That inharmonious detail, did you name it? Cold

188.27 caldor! Gee! Victory! Now, opprobro of underslung pipes,

188.28 johnjacobs, while yet an adolescent (what do I say?), while

188.29 still puerile in your tubsuit with buttonlegs,you got a hand-

188.30 some present of a selfraising syringe and twin feeders (you know,

188.31 Monsieur Abgott, in your art of arts, to your cost as well as I do

188.32 (and don't try to hide it) the penals lots I am now poking at) and

188.33 the wheeze sort of was you should (if you were as bould a stroke

188.34 now as the curate that christened you, sonny douth-the-candle!)

188.35 repopulate the land of your birth and count up your progeny by

188.36 the hungered head and the angered thousand but you thwarted