Finnegans Wake Notes

193.01 making) you squandered among underlings the overload of

193.02 your extravagance and made a hottentot of dulpeners crawsick

193.03 with your crumbs? Am I not right? Yes? Yes? Yes? Holy wax

193.04 and holifer! Don't tell me, Leon of the fold, that you are not a

193.05 loanshark! Look up, old sooty, be advised by mux and take your

193.06 medicine. The Good Doctor mulled it. Mix it twice before re-

193.07 pastures and powder three times a day. It does marvels for your

193.08 gripins and it's fine for the solitary worm.

193.09 Let me finish! Just a little judas tonic, my ghem of all jokes, to

193.10 make you go green in the gazer. Do you hear what I'm seeing,

193.11 hammet? And remember that golden silence gives consent, Mr

193.12 Anklegazer! Cease to be civil, learn to say nay! Whisht! Come

193.13 here, Herr Studiosus, till I tell you a wig in your ear. We'll do a

193.14 whisper drive, for if the barishnyas got a twitter of it they'd tell

193.15 the housetops and then all Cadbury would go crackers. Look!

193.16 Do you see your dial in the rockingglass? Look well ! Bend down

193.17 a stigmy till I! It's secret! Iggri, I say, the booseleers! I had it

193.18 from Lamppost Shawe. And he had it from the Mullah. And Mull

193.19 took it from a Bluecoat schooler. And Gay Socks jot it from

193.20 Potapheu's wife. And Rantipoll tipped the wink from old Mrs

193.21 Tinbullet. And as for she was confussed by pro-Brother Thaco-

193.22 licus. And the good brother feels he would need to defecate

193.23 you. And the Flimsy Follettes are simply beside each other.

193.24 And Kelly, Kenny and Keogh are up up and in arms. That a

193.25 cross may crush me if I refuse to believe in it. That I may rock

193.26 anchor through the ages if I hope it's not true. That the host

193.27 may choke me if I beneighbour you without my charity! Sh!

193.28 Shem, you are. Sh! You are mad!

193.29 He points the deathbone and the quick are still. Insomnia,

193.30 somnia somniorum. Awmawm.

193.31 MERCIUS (of hisself): Domine vopiscus! My fault, his fault,

193.32 a kingship through a fault! Pariah, cannibal Cain, I who oathily

193.33 forswore the womb that bore you and the paps I sometimes

193.34 sucked, you who ever since have been one black mass of jigs and

193.35 jimjams, haunted by a convulsionary sense of not having been

193.36 or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming,