First draft (1933)
Scribbledehobbles are at their pensums. Trifid tongue and dove without gall to solve dulcarnon's dire dilemma what stumped bold Alexander and drove him to pulfer turnips. But what a world of weariness is theirs. For how many guldens would one walk now to the pillar? For one hundred? For one hundred's thousand? And to what will't all serve them in an after world. Will it make of one a good milker? Will he go away and not be silly? Or where will he find funds to smoke a whole box of matches per day? Or if she makes an earth of heaven will she lilt Barney take me home again? As long as Una reads serials in a bummeltrain the worst at last at least may happen, such as go to meet Mary, miss Many + mary Meg. Why ask her sense from what she's read since every annal has its own aroma? Quid vobis videtur? And even the remembering a tree is too beautiful for her to listen. Small blame to her then if she shook her shoe off at geography class, doing rivers of India with a whisper of wilfulove heard round the world.
While standfast and flower discusst the past and walking progress hinks linkafuss foremost scribbledehobbles are bent on their pensums. And if that three could solve a twohornheaded dulcarnon that stumped Alex among anders and drove him to pulfer turnips. And, my hat, what a worldall of weariness is theirs waiting to hear their proper mistakes! For how many guldens would one post now to the pillar? For one hundred? For one hundred's thousand? And to what will't all sewrve them in an after reeraw life? Will it make of one a good milker the having been brought up on superlatives? Or will he go away in a peajacket and just not be silly? Or where will he find funds to smoke a whole box of matches diurnally? Or if she makes an earth of heaven will she lilt that Barney to take her home again? For so long as shes read serials in a bummeltrain with a lot of uninteresting trousers hanging around it is as wholly probable as a holy parable that the worst at least at last may happen, such as go to meet Mary, miss Mamy and marry Meg. Why ask her or Tossy Madden sense from anything that shred since every annual has its own aroma? Quos vobis videtur? Even remembering of a tree is too beautiful for her to listen.
Small blame be her's therefore if she shook her off at geography class doing rivers of India with a whisper of wilfulness heard round the giddying globe!
Beware of Fanciulla's heart, the heart of Fanciulla. And her hand that's as gloveless as a peer's in the presence and how both will be ready maid marrying when Jollicomes matching home. She may swoon over Shelly to get a crush on the coalman or learn from Dalcroze how to drop her umbrella, but her true line is to beg two makes for a wing but when there's no more tay for sugar the cosy.
He who will either be crowned or hanged learns history's errors from the parrotbeak of Datars, foully traduced for the usages of dauphins of the meter of Herodotus or Noah's misbelieving Annalfabetter, missus was thick about those pages, she wd. laugh that flat that after she had sanked down on her fat arks they were all of a sheeks. This while he will be the walker as far as him, sees not her signings nor the multiplying of her shadow but is ating, as he thuks of the knuts of knowledge so as to befit him for the massacre of the ignorants though still preserving his stained glass effect (you wd think butter wouldn't melt in his breeches)
Third draft (partial)
(after typing this much I decided to create this page which includes the extra insertions, too... but I offer this (slightly earlier) version rather than throw it away)
While way back home in Pacata Hibernia, little land, one word burrowing on another, Standfest, our topical hero, signs is on his big bastille back and his white patch, the towelturbaned, and Flower, a silvering for her jubilee with eve's birch leaves for her jointure, our lady in waving, girt with a wraparound, visage full of flesh and fat as a hen's in forehead, Airyanna and Blowybart, that royal pair, in their ofttimes slated house of the hundred bottles, a palace of quicken boughs hight The Goat and Compasses ('phone number 17:69, if you want to know) discusst the past, his sea arms round her, her eyne ashipwracked, the angerache of their love and the hungerbrood it bore 'em, scribbledehobbles, in whose veins runs a mixture of, are head bent hard upon their pensums.
It is turned of seven with eight chimes all tolled. Dogs' vespers are at end. Yet wind will be ere fruminy time and the saying of fadervor be come and asterisks answer the most devouted of us until it gets bright and all cocks waken. Flying too are the evenbirds. And, for one superstationer at least, the hearse of the kine shall pass at last before the two birds outbreak in dawn song. What a terrible piece of business surely for such as keep his peace and follow his war, that old king of the sevencoloured sundaysuit must be killed off withsamt his dam and embalmed in honey for dynastic continuity, rivers breaking forth for joy at his funeral!
But, trifid tongue, others woo will and work for because of his cleverism, till his very foes' heads are turned, and, dove without gall, that backslapping gladhander and his singing likeness who lives more in florid future than in the past of bloody altars with her whose mind's a jilldaw's nest since she tears up bethrottle letters she ne'er posed a pen upon when bother her goldfashioned's in such a queer of a mood that she simply can't stand it, a couple and an odd one they strive and in earnest.
As if that three could solve, singly or together, the twohornheaded dulcarnon, handed round aurally since Euclid's patent, that stumped Alex among anders and drove him to pilfer turnips. But, my hat, and beadroll of saints thereonto, what a worldall's woe of weariness is theirs, waiting to hear their own proper mistakes. For how many duitsch guilders would one post now, the Fuminian road or Shanks' mare, to a pillar? For one hundred? For one hundred's thousand? Why for? And for what will all such a taradiddle serve them in an after reeraw life with oils and tins cheerful but guildeds glum? If a gas consumer, habituated to marble mantels, buys any number of scrupules of apples every other frosty Friday during a whole lean year at the weight of too many sesterces a pound overthepoise, taking abbaco as seven point seven and letting foundling of bulrushes stand for any woman, what a grand total of sentinels in reindeer pelts and aided by a spick span of homeless cattle, fed upon Trinidad's shell cocoa and miring in sheets and sheets of showers will it take to paper a trench even so mucky longer than a cobbler's bulk is broad?