Finnegans Wake Notes

194.01 bewailing like a man that innocence which I could not defend

194.02 like a woman, lo,you there, Cathmon-Carbery, and thank Movies

194.03 from the innermost depths of my still attrite heart,Wherein

194.04 the days of youyouth are evermixed mimine, now ere the comp-

194.05 line hour of being alone athands itself and a puff or so before

194.06 we yield our spiritus to the wind, for (though that royal one

194.07 has not yet drunk a gouttelette from his consummation and the

194.08 flowerpot on the pole, the spaniel pack and their quarry, retainers

194.09 and the public house proprietor have not budged a millimetre

194.10 and all that has been done has yet to be done and done again,

194.11 when's day's woe, and lo, you're doomed, joyday dawns and,

194.12 la, you dominate) it is to you, firstborn and firstfruit of woe, to

194.13 me, branded sheep, pick of the wasterpaperbaskel, by the

194.14 tremours of Thundery and Ulerin's dogstar, you alone, wind-

194.15 blasted tree of the knowledge of beautiful andevil, ay, clothed

194.16 upon with the metuor and shimmering like the horescens, astro-

194.17 glodynamonologos, the child of Nilfit's father, blzb, to me

194.18 unseen blusher in an obscene coalhole, the cubilibum of your

194.19 secret sigh, dweller in the downandoutermost where voice only

194.20 of the dead may come, because ye left from me, because ye

194.21 laughed on me, because, O me lonly son, ye are forgetting me!,

194.22 that our turfbrown mummy is acoming, alpilla, beltilla, ciltilla,

194.23 deltilla, running with her tidings, old the news of the great big

194.24 world, sonnies had a scrap, woewoewoe! bab's baby walks at

194.25 seven months, waywayway ! bride leaves her raid at Punchestime,

194.26 stud stoned before a racecourseful, two belles that make the

194.27 one appeal, dry yanks will visit old sod, and fourtiered skirts

194.28 are up, mesdames, while Parimiknie wears popular short legs,

194.29 and twelve hows to mix a tipsy wake, did ye hear, colt Cooney?

194.30 did ye ever, filly Fortescue? with a beck, with a spring, all her

194.31 rillringlets shaking, rocks drops in her tachie, tramtokens in

194.32her hair, all waived to a point and then all inuendation, little

194.33 oldfashioned mummy, little wonderful mummy, ducking under

194.34 bridges, bellhopping the weirs, dodging by a bit of bog, rapid-

194.35 shooting round the bends, by Tallaght's green hills and the

194.36 pools of the phooka and a place they call it Blessington and