October 1923: Mamalujo level two?

And there they were too listening in as hard as they could to the solans & the sycamores and the mistlethrushes and all the birds all four of them listening they were the big four the four master waves of Erin all listening four there was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons the four waves and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough here now we are the four of us old Matt Gregory and old Marcus Lyons and old Luke Tarpey the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us and sure now you won't go & leave out old Johnny MacDougall the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ' sake amen the way they used to be saying grace before fish for auld lang syne there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to all the kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling & cuddling his colleen the colleen bawn cuddling her and kissing her with his pogue like arrah na Pogue the dear annual they all four remembored how they used to be cuddling and kissing under the mistlethrush and listening in the good old bygone days Dion Boucicault in Arrah na Pogue when they knew man on the door in one of those centuries when they were all four collegians in the queen's colleges it brought it all back again as fresh as ever Matt and Marcus and now there he was and his Arrah na Pogue before the four of them and now thank God there were no more of them and he poguing and poguing they were listening with their mouths watering so pass the pogue for Christ sake Amen listening & watering all the four Luke and Johnny MacDougall for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of of kindness yet for four big tumblers of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears and all their mouths making water

Ah well sure that's the way up and there up was poor Matt Gregory up and Gregory and up the others and now really & truly they were four dear old heladies and they looked so nice and respectable with their grey half tall hat and tailormade frock coat and then they had their fathom glasses to find out all the fathoms and their tall hats just now like the marquess of Powerscourt only for all the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near that street Thingmote, Essex, Sackville? the statue of Mrs Dan O'Connell behind Trinity College that arranges all the auctions of the valuable houses Smith like the auctioneer Smith or not Smith that sells all the fine houses & mansions James H North Mike James the the jaypee in Hoggin Green going to the horse show with all the people over from England and American visitors all over in his grey half tall hat how do you and his fathom glasses how do you do Mr James to find out all the horses. And now that reminds me of poor Marcus Lyons and poor Johnny and the four of us and there they were now listening right enough the four saltwater widowers and all they could remembore long long ago with [Mullaly]{Lally} when my heart knew no care the landing of Sir Arthur Casement in 1132 and the coronation of Brian by his grace bishop [James H] {J.P.} Bishop Senior in his shovel hat and then there was the drowning of Pharaoh and they were all drowned in the sea the red sea and then poor Martin Cunningham out of the castle when he was drowned off Dunleary in the red sea and and thank God there are no more of us. Ay, ay. So he was. and then there was the Flemish Armada all scattered and all drowned off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick & St Kevin & Lapoleon our first marents and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet in 1132 landing under general Boche in his grey shovel hat and there he was cuddling and poguing her in Arrahnapogue behind the queen's colleges behind the century on the door in alice's street. And then they used to give the grandest lectures by the picture postcard under the sycamores in Roman history to all the collegians green & the old Senate in the four trinity colleges Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Kilkelly-on-the-Flure those were the four great history colleges of the Jane Andersdaughter University for auld lang syne all the Roman history of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time all history past and present and present and absent and past and present and future arma virumque romano. Ah dearo dear how it all came back to them to hear him there kissing her & cuddling her in the Roman arms by Cornelius Nepo. Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. umque umque. Queh? ah dearo dear it was so sorry for the four of us and Lally. And that reminds me of Tim Tom Tarpey & Lapoule and the four widowers the four waves in their tall shovel hat in Chichester College and thank God they were all summarily divorced by their dear poor shehusbands in dear bygone days but still they parted on the best of terms. And so they parted. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. ay, ay. by decree absolute well they could remembore Mrs Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig & beard in 1132 at the Married Male Auctioneers' Court in Arrahnapogue. Poor Johnny MacDougall & the four masters because he was so slow at backscratching all divorced by their dear faithful and poor Marcus Powerscourt persecuted by everybody he was by decree absolute all because he made wind & water and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old paper and hereby make a request to herself in writing on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then there was poor Dion Boucicault all drowned too poor Dion before the world & her husband because he attempted to well he was a bit bad in his heath he said with shingles falling on them he ah well now sure we won't be too hard on him as a presbyterian & he well he went to confession to Mother Evangelist Sweeney well he ah now there were faults on both sides well he attempted some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea and sure he was deadseasickabed in the hospice for the dying ah the poor fellow & trying to [...] the nurse's hand & dying ah dearo dearo dear and where do you leave Matt they were all so sorry for poor Matt in his saltwater hat too big for it and his overalls all falling over him in folds sure he hadn't the energy to pull them old the matriarch that queenly man sitting there with his head to the west in sight of the poorhouse with his can of tea & two bits of brown loaf & dilisk waiting for the end to come God of Heaven when you think of it all divorced by woman squelch and all on account of the dull brown loaf of his mouth watering by act of parliament. So now pass the face for Christ' sake. Amen. and so. And all. Ah God be good to us. Poor Martin Cunningham. Ay. Ay.

And still and all they were always up thinking of the auld man syne and up their four masters that were four up beautiful sisters and there they were always counting the lovely periwinkle buttons in the front part of their dresses up one up two up five up four and there she was the beautiful four sisters and that was her name and they used to be getting up and looking everywhere in all the fathoms when they couldn't sleep changing beds and then they had their tentacles and they used to be all night hanging around all the waists of the ships the steamships and their bottlegreen eyes peering in through the steaming windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadory and the saloon ladies toilet apartments and rubbing off the salty cataract off the windows listening to see all the hunnishmooners and all the toilet ladies and their familiarities saying their grace before steamadory pass the jool for Christ sake Amen and watering and there they used to be all trembling and shaking & counting all their peributtons to remember her beautiful name in his dreams Doug & poor Greg the four sisters and there she was now the lovely lady asthore as in days of yore of planxty Gregory they used to be always singing round the wet fire with their feet asleep in their blankets and shawls and bowls of stale bread & milky waiting for poor Mucus to pass the teeth for chokus sake amenschtrek when they had the phlegmish hooping cough from eating bad cramps and with a farthing dip reading a word or two about the lakes of Killarney through their green & spentacles and so now they started singing the steamadorion and old Luke for auld luke syne and she wail a cupboar koiner set on the praze savole shanghai.

Hear, Isolde la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!


Anno Domini: nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine pound sterling in the black bowels of the bank of Ulster
Braw pennies, my girleen, and bright gold pounds, by God, 'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!

O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride from Sybil ariding
In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bride with sir Sloomysides or the gogram grey barnacle gander?

You'll not be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank is the worse for his soldiering and his steel.
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, for you'll have my old Balbriggan surtout
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me for nothing at all as your own nursetender?
A power of fine fellons died game right enough. but Who lives for you?

I, Dougall, on Aran Saw
Iron night [cite]

And there they were too
listening in as hard as they could
to the solans & the sycamores and the mistlethrushes and all the birds
all four of them listening
they were the big four
the four master waves of Erin
all listening four

VI.A Words (July?): "solan goose"

solan goose

"sycamores" are trees not birds (will be cited as tree below)
the sycamores native to Ireland are a species of maple, also called planetrees

'mistle thrushes' get their name from eating mistletoe

there was old Matt Gregory
and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons
the four waves
and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough
here now we are
the four of us
old Matt Gregory and old Marcus Lyons and old Luke Tarpey
the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us
and sure now you won't go & leave out old Johnny MacDougall
the four of us and no more of us
and so now pass the fish for Christ' sake amen

"they were... there was... we are the four of us... you won't... now pass"
cf thou-she-you-I?
"grace" has been moved up
VI.B3.138 (Jun?): "right enough" (FDV says "right" was added first?)
"you won't go & leave out" (their characters are undifferentiated, the order of the names is from the Gospels, if one is to be symbolically left to last it has to be Johnny... but why Connacht?)


the way they used to be saying grace before fish for auld lang syne there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to all the kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling & cuddling his colleen the colleen bawn cuddling her and kissing her with his pogue like arrah na Pogue the dear annual they all four remembored how they used to be cuddling and kissing under the mistlethrush and listening

FDV says Joyce deliberately capitalised just "Pogue" here
"under the mistlethrush... under the sycamores"
the play "Arrah na Pogue" was an annual tradition in Dublin (cf annual horseshow)
"remembored" 1st use of this pun [fweet-5]


in the good old bygone days Dion Boucicault in Arrah na Pogue when they knew <the> man on the door in one of those centuries when they were all four collegians in the queen's colleges it brought it all back again as fresh as ever Matt and Marcus and now there he was and his Arrah na Pogue before the four of them and now thank God there were no more of them and he poguing and poguing they were listening with their mouths watering so pass the pogue for Christ sake Amen listening & watering all the four Luke and Johnny MacDougall for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of of kindness yet for four big tumblers of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears and all their mouths making water

"bygone days" sentimental 19thC cliche
"of Arrah" → "in Arrah" ('in' is simpler)
"when they knew man on the door" cf U83: "There's Hornblower standing at the porter's lodge. Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the nod."
"centuries" = sentries? centurians?
"before the four of them" (T&I unwittingly kiss in front of them?)


Ah well sure that's the way up and there up was poor Matt Gregory up and Gregory and up the others and now really & truly they were four dear old heladies and they looked so nice and respectable with their grey half tall hat and tailormade frock coat and then they had their fathom glasses to find out all the fathoms and their tall hats just now like the marquess of Powerscourt only for all the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near that street Thingmote, Essex, Sackville? the statue of Mrs Dan O'Connell behind Trinity College that arranges all the auctions of the valuable houses Smith like the auctioneer Smith or not Smith that sells all the fine houses & mansions James H North [J.P.] Mike James the the jaypee in Hoggin Green going to the horse show with all the people over from England and American visitors all over in his grey half tall hat how do you and his fathom glasses how do you do Mr James to find out all the horses.

"that's the way up and there up" trying to stand? (or hiccuping???)
"marquess" Marcus
"only for all the saltwater" salt stains are also a common problem where road ice is treated with salt
VI.A WRocks (Jan?): "Essex Bridge"
VI.A WRocks (Jan?): "Sackville Street"
the statue of O'Connell is 1200 feet from Trinity
the 'goddesses' Bloom visits are sort of behind Trinity

College Green, the site of the Norwegian Thingmote in Dublin, was called Hoggen Green in 10th century

cf U83 again: "How do you do, Mr Hornblower? How do you do, sir?"
VI.A WRocks (Jan?): "How do you? How do you do"
 

And now that reminds me of poor Marcus Lyons and poor Johnny and the four of us and there they were now listening right enough the four saltwater widowers and all they could remembore long long ago with [Mullaly] Lally when my heart knew no care the landing of Sir Arthur Casement in 1132 and the coronation of Brian by his grace bishop [James H] J.P. Bishop Senior in his shovel hat and then there was the drowning of Pharaoh and they were all drowned in the sea the red sea and then poor Martin Cunningham out of the castle when he was drowned off Dunleary in the red sea and and thank God there are no more of us. Ay, ay. So he was. and then there was the Flemish Armada all scattered and all drowned off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick & St Kevin & Lapoleon our first marents and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet in 1132 landing under general Boche in his grey [tall]{shovel} hat and there he was cuddling and poguing her in Arrahnapogue behind the queen's colleges behind the [man]{century} on the door in alice's street.

"Mullaly" and "Lally" are both common Irish surnames (cf Lully-loving?)
"Long Lally Tobkids" would much later become a primary name for the policeman-siglum, here it seems to be just another mis/nickname for any of the Four
(or could it be a female lover?)

the "St Kevin" vignette was complete by now
VI.B3.106e: "Lapoleon" (Napoleon, linoleum, lap)
VI.B3.130c: "marents" (FDV makes Patrick and Kevin the first first marents)
U48: "The good bishop of Cloyne {Berkeley] took the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat"

shovel hat

"century" = sentry
"alice's street" (where?)


And then they used to give the grandest lectures by the picture postcard under the sycamores in Roman history to all the collegians green & the old Senate in the four trinity colleges Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Kilkelly-on-the-Flure those were the four great history colleges of the Jane Andersdaughter University for auld lang syne all the Roman history of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time all history past and present and present and absent and past and present and future arma virumque romano.

'by picture postcards' was a sort of phrase in the early 20thC, implying cheap impersonal communication
Irish sycamores non-native

could this be a sycamore?

"collegians green" = freshmen?
Trinity has its own senate
VI.A Mother (Jul?) "Janesdaughter" (cf Johnson, John Anderson?)
Elizabeth Anderson: one of the first woman physicians
Hegel: The Philosophy of History: 'History in general is therefore the development of Spirit in Time, as Nature is the development of the Idea in Space'


Ah dearo dear how it all came back to them to hear him there kissing her & cuddling her in the Roman arms by Cornelius Nepo. Nepos. [Roman] Mnepos. Anumque. [epos. Man]umque {umque}. Queh? ah dearo dear it was so sorry for the four of us and [Mallaly] Lally. And that reminds me of Tim Tom Tarpey & Lapoule and the four widowers the four waves in their tall shovel hat in Chichester College and thank God they were all summarily divorced by their dear poor shehusbands in dear bygone days but still they parted on the best of terms. And so they parted. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. ay, ay. by decree absolute well they could remembore Mrs [?Daddy ?Dowager] Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig & beard in 1132 at the Married Male Auctioneers' Court in Arrahnapogue.

"arms" in names of pubs and hotels originally referred to coats-of-arms in their signs; also there used to be a Roman Arms Pub in London

Cornelius Nepos: Roman historian and letter writer
Latin nepos: grandson, nephew
VI.B3.41e: "nepos" (from Fitzpatrick: Ireland and the Making of Britain 222: 'St. Hilda was the daughter of Hereric, the nepos of King Aedwine')
Latin anumque: and the old woman
Latin numquam: never

VI.B3.064f: "Tim Tom Tracy (whiskey Tracy)"
'la poule' = the hen
"four widowers" (not just 'grass' widowers now?)
Chichester Theological College (UK) founded 1839
"And so they parted." cf? ROC1 "after they were all of them gone"

maybe? VI.A Painful (July?): "Daddy De Wyer, bag of broth" (FW398.02 "by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth")

full bottom wig

Poor Johnny MacDougall & the four masters because he was so slow at backscratching all divorced by ?their dear faithful and poor Marcus Powerscourt persecuted by everybody he was by decree absolute because he made wind & water and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old paper [to]{and} hereby make a request to herself in writing on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then there was poor Dion Boucicault all drowned too poor Dion before the world & her husband because he attempted to well he was a bit bad in his heath he said with shingles falling on them he ah well now sure we won't be too hard on him as a presbyterian & he well he went to confession to Mother Evangelist Sweeney well he ah now there were faults on both sides well he attempted some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea and sure he was deadseasick{abed} in the hospice for the dying [he]{ah} the poor fellow & trying to [...] the nurse's hand & dying ah dearo dearo dear and where do you leave Matt they were all so sorry for poor Matt in his saltwater hat too big for [him]{it} and his overalls all falling over him in folds sure enough he hadn't the energy to pull them old [Matt] the [old] matriarch that queenly man sitting there with his head to the west in sight of the poorhouse with his can of tea & two bits of [bacon]{brown loaf [& ???]} & dilisk waiting for the end to come God of Heaven when you think of it all divorced by woman squelch and all on account of the dull brown loaf of his mouth watering by act of parliament. So now pass the face for Christ' sake. Amen. and so. And all. [Poor Martin Cunningham!] {Ah God be good to us. Poor Martin Cunningham.} Ay. Ay.

"with shingles falling on them" (cf Pyrrhus?)
VI.B3.051f: "faults on both sides (T & I)"
VI.A Exiles2 (Aug?): "T lovesick, seasick, deadsick"
VI.A Oxen (July?) "hold Nurse's hand"

Boston brown bread

dilisk bread

And still and all they were always up thinking of the [old]{auld} man syne and up their four masters that were four up beautiful sisters and there they were always counting the lovely periwinkle buttons in the front part of their dresses [& one & two & five & two]  {up one up two up five up four} and there she was the beautiful four sisters and that was her name and they used to be getting up and looking everywhere in all the fathoms when they couldn't sleep [with] changing beds

"when they couldn't sleep changing beds" (and bedpartners? or exchanging worse bed for better? or so rich several were available?)


and then they had their tentacles and they used to be all night hanging around all the waists of the ships the steamships and their bottlegreen eyes peering in through the steaming windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadory and the saloon ladies toilet apartments and rubbing off the salty cataract off the windows listening to see all the [humnimooners]{hunnishmooners} and all the toilet ladies and their familiarities saying their grace before steamadory pass the [pot] jool for Christ sake Amen and watering and there they used to be all trembling and shaking & counting all their peributtons to remember her beautiful name in his dreams Doug & poor Greg the four sisters and there she was now the lovely lady asthore as in days of yore of planxty Gregory they used to be always singing round the wet fire with their feet asleep in their blankets and shawls and bowls of stale bread & milk{y} waiting for poor [Tarp]{Mucus} to pass the teeth for [Christ]{chokus} sake amenschtrek when they had the phlegmish hooping cough from eating bad cramps and with a farthing dip reading [all]{a word or two} about the lakes of Killarney through their green & spentacles and so now they started singing the [steamadory]{steamadorion} and old Luke for auld luke syne and she wail a cupboar koiner set on the praze savole shanghai..

humidor?
'dory' = small boat


Hear, Isolde la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!

T&I's sole appearance in the separated Mmlj

the following song was added last, Sept-Oct 1923. in the published text it closes Book II. Joyce annotated it for HSW and assigns the verses to MMLJ, in gospel sequence, but they suddenly have strong distinct personalities and are sexually competitive with Tristan and Mark!?

Hear, Isolde la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear! 

Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine pound sterling in the black bowels of the bank of Ulster
Braw pennies, my ?girlee, and bright pounds, by God, 'll deck thee finely
And no damn lout 'll come courting thee or by the Holy Ghost there'll be murder

Ulster = Ulster/Matt (AE???)

"no damn lout 'll come courting thee" (this sounds much more like her father speaking, than her husband or lover-- if she's already spoken for you couldn't call it 'courting', could you?)

'instead of lamenting over lost love, each of the four fantasises about Iseult. Each verse shows a different male attitude to the female: Matt claims ownership of Iseult; Marcus places her on a romantic pedestal; Luke offers her domestic companionship and practical help; and Johnny boasts that she's one of his sexual conquests.' [cite] FW140 repeats the themes c1927.

O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to see Brinabride a riding
In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her
[Bride of the brine she is and will be] {Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jilting jig}
Yerra, why would she bride with sloomysides [of the ?Corn] or the gogram grey barnacle gander?

Dingle = Munster/Mark (Lyster?)

"Com"?

Chrisp argues that (Sir) Sloomysides in the published version must be Tristan while the gander is Mark, and that Marcus sees himself as an improvement on either...but in this draft "sloomysides" could be the gander (is Tristan ever as sloomy-dull as Mark? he's sometimes gloomy-- but isn't this aspect more Shem than Shaun?)


You'll not be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank is gone for a soldier
Nor ?shake in winter, widow machree, for you'll have my old surtout.
Wisha, won't you agree to take me in as your old nursetender
Ten million men died ten in a ditch. Who lives for you?

Leinster (Eglinton???)

combined military WW1 deathtoll: 9.7 million


I, Dougall, in Aran saw
Black iron night

Aran Islands = Connaught

Joyce on Aran in 1912 [etext]



revised:

Anno Domini: nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine pound sterling in the black bowels of the bank of Ulster
Braw pennies, my girleen, and bright gold pounds, by God, 'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!



O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride from Sybil ariding
In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bride with sir Sloomysides or the gogram grey barnacle gander?

VI.A Words (July?) "gloomy sides"


You'll not be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank is the worse for his soldiering and his steel.
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, for you'll have my old Balbriggan surtout
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me for nothing at all as your own nursetender?
A power of fine fellons died game right enough. but Who lives for you?



I, Dougall, on Aran Saw
Iron night

April 1924: Mamalujo (transatlantic review, corrected)

And there they were too listening in as hard as they could to the solans and sycamores and the wild geese and gannets and the migratories and mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening.

They were the big four, the four master waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us: and sure now you wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow, and old Johnny Mac Dougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish repeating itself for auld lang syne. And so there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn, the hero, that was very wrong and most improper and cuddling her and kissing her with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four remembored who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar era cuddling and kiddling her from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-pogue in one of the farback, pitchblack centuries when who made the world when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and peeping tom boys, with their slates and satchels playing Florian's fables in the queen's Ultonian colleges with another fellow. Ah ho! It brought the dear prehistoric scenes all back again as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, and after that now there he was and his Arrah-na-poghue before the four of them so shocking and scandalous and now thank God there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing and there they were listening, as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering along with the other fellow so pass the poghue for Christ' sake Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering all the four, the old connubial men of the sea, Luke and Johnny Mac Dougall and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water.

Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat just now like the old marquess of Powerscourt, the determined old despot, only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges. Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the emancipated statues and powerscourts, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green going to the horse show before the flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters from the Curragh and confusionaries and the authorities over from England and American cattleraiders (so they say) all over in his grey half a tall hat (how do you do, jaypee?) and his gallowglasses to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? get out of my way!) and all the horsepowers. But now that reminds me of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times Momonian and Lally when my heart knew no care and after that then there was the official landing of Lady James Casement in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S. and the christening of Queen Battersby the Fourth according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J.P. Bishop, Senior, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Martin Cunningham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay! And so he was.

Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada all scattered and all officially drowned there and then on a lovely morning after the universal flood at about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick the anabaptist and Saint Kevin the lacustrian and Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon the equestrian, and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet round about the year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so landing from under Madam general Bonaboche in his half a grey traditional hat and after that there he was, so terrestrial, poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, in single combat, under the sycamores and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-Poghue, so silvestrious, near the queen's colleges in 1132 Bride street behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest universal lectures (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard in the Latimer Roman history of Latimer repeating himself (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and sages and the Plymouth brethren nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots round their twelve tables in the four trinity colleges of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Jane Andersdaughter universary for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady lived to a great age at or in or about No. 1132 or No. 1169 bis Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias repeating herself of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny Mac Dougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! How it all came back to them to hear him there kissling and cuddling her so nefarious before the four of us in his Roman catholic arms by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos, Anumque, Umque.

Queh? Quos?

Ah, dearo dearo dear! It was so sorry for all the whole twice two four of us and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and repeating himself and telling him now to forget the past and contradicting all about Lally and his old fellow the Lagener and all the old drakes ever he had up in the bohereen and the old folks at home and Duignan and Lapole and the grand confarreation and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers. And now that reminds me not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their half a Roman hat with an ancient Greek gloss on it in Chichester college auction and thank God they were all summarily divorced four years before, so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands in dear byword days and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, on the best of terms and be forgot which was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim song As I was going to Ballymacarett we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.

Lucas. And O so well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig and beard, in or aring or around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1798 Y.W.C.A. at the Married Male Familyman's Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of Dougals, the poor Scotsman, dinna forget, so frightened on account of her fullbottom and the four masters because he was so slow grooming her ladyship instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper like any old methodist, and all divorced according to their dear faithful. Ah now, it was too bad! And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted by everybody by decree absolute because he forgot himself making wind and water and made a mess of all of himself and because he forgot to remember to sign an old morning proxy paper, a request in writing to herself on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb all drowned too before the world and her husband, because it was most improper and most wrong when he attempted to— well, he was shocking bad in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him— because he— ah, well now, we won't be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that he made his last will and went to confession on his two bare marrowbones to Mother Evangelist Sweeney and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootbutton in the hansom cab and now, tell the truth, there were faults on both sides— well, he attempted (or so they say)— ah, now, forget and forgive, and sure he was only funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him— well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red ocean and sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the hospice for the dying and trying to hold the nursetender's hand, (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and dying to remembore who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!

And where do you leave Matt? They were all so sorry for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat that she grew all out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and his overalls all falling over her in folds— sure, he hadn't the heart in her to pull them up— poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man, sitting there, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone with her face to the wall in sight of the poorhouse, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, with her ivyclad hat and gripping an old pair of curling tongs belonging to Mrs Dana O'Connell to blow his brains with, with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come— God of heaven, when you think of it! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlourmen laudabiliter of woman squelch and all on account of the smell of Shackleton and scratchman and his mouth watering and so now pass the loaf for Christ sake, Amen. And so. And all.

Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Ay! Ay!

And still and all at that time they were always thinking (up) and not forgetting about auld lang syne (up) their four hosenbands that were four (up) beautful sister masters, now happily married, and there they were always counting and contradicting every night the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was in the end, the deary, the beautfour sisters and that was her modern republican name right enough and they used to be getting up from under at the kookaburra bell ringing all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lazy louts!) so frightened, at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, when nobody wouldn't even let them rest and getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown bed they used to sleep under and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, look all round the stool, walk everwhere for a jool to break fire to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bath slipper and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be flapping and cycling around the waists of the ships, as tired as they were, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally and Roe and he telling him before he forgot that one about a goose a love a goldeny egg and Johnny Mac Gory, dear mister John, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing ocean ladies' foursome and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' modern toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening, the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies enfamillias and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet under all their familarities, forgetting to say their grace before chambadory so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all hee hee hee quaking, so fright, and shee shee shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.

And then after that they used to be so forgetful counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu modern maiden name by the dream. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn asthore as for days galore of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.

But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be at the end of it all at that time (up) always, tired and all, over their singing (up) the top of the voice of Mamalujo sitting round two by two, the four confederates, (up) the wet air register in Old Man's House with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds fast asleep and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and clots for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of eat a lovely munkybown and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to pass the teeth for choke sake Amensch when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after eat a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and their farthing dip and read a letter or two every night before going to sleep in the twilight, a capitaletter for further auspices on their old one page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor by Mrs Shemans, final buff lunch edition, and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good they did in their time for Roe and O'Mulconry a Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty Mac Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, and one by one and sing a mamalujo.

And after that now in the future please God all start repeating ourselves and all now united sansfamillias say oremus prayer for auld acquaintance to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants at peregrinantibus in all the old and imperial sea and sing a lovasteamadorion in her doaty ducky little blue and roll a hoop and how she ran we never never shall forget and old Luke and Senchus Mor and another more for auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole shanghai.

Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!

Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound sterling in the blueblack bowels of the bank of Ulster.
Braw bawbees and good gold pounds, galore, my girleen, a Sunday'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!
O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride queen from Sybil surfriding
In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her.
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bide with Sir Sloomysides or the grogram grey barnacle gander?
You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, but snore snug in my old Balbriggan surtout.
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing, (what?) as your own nursetender?
A power of highsteppers died game right enough — but who, acushla, 'll beg coppers for you?
I tossed that one long before anyone.
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm given now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed picnic to follow.
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight from under me, Mick whatever your name is, you're the most likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore.

And there they were too listening in as hard as they could to the solans and sycamores and the wild geese and gannets and the migratories and mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening.

insertion sequence: to the solans and all the birds →
to the solans and sycamores and the mistlethrushes and all the birds →
to the solans and sycamores and the wild geese and gannets and the migratories and mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the sea


They were the big four, the four master waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us: and sure now you wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow, and old Johnny Mac Dougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish repeating itself for auld lang syne.



And so there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn, the hero, that was very wrong and most improper and cuddling her and kissing her with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four remembored who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar era cuddling and kiddling her from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-pogue in one of the farback, pitchblack centuries when who made the world when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and peeping tom boys, with their slates and satchels playing Florian's fables in the queen's Ultonian colleges with another fellow. Ah ho!



It brought the dear prehistoric scenes all back again as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, and after that now there he was and his Arrah-na-poghue before the four of them so shocking and scandalous and now thank God there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing and there they were listening, as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering along with the other fellow so pass the poghue for Christ' sake Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering all the four, the old connubial men of the sea, Luke and Johnny Mac Dougall and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water.



Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat just now like the old marquess of Powerscourt, the determined old despot, only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges. Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the emancipated statues and powerscourts, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green going to the horse show before the flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters from the Curragh and confusionaries and the authorities over from England and American cattleraiders (so they say) all over in his grey half a tall hat (how do you do, jaypee?) and his gallowglasses to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? get out of my way!) and all the horsepowers.

Tickell family


FW2: "they were four dear old heladies and really they looked awfully pretty and so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat, just now like the old Merquus of Pawerschoof... only for the extrusion of the saltwater or the auctioneer there... going to the tailturn horseshow"


But now that reminds me of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times Momonian and Lally when my heart knew no care and after that then there was the official landing of Lady James Casement in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S. and the christening of Queen Battersby the Fourth according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J.P. Bishop, Senior, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Martin Cunningham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay! And so he was.

FW2: "and then there was the drowning of Pharoah... into the sea, the red sea"


Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada all scattered and all officially drowned there and then on a lovely morning after the universal flood at about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick the anabaptist and Saint Kevin the lacustrian and Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon the equestrian, and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet round about the year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so landing from under Madam general Bonaboche in his half a grey traditional hat and after that there he was, so terrestrial, poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, in single combat, under the sycamores and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-Poghue, so silvestrious, near the queen's colleges in 1132 Bride street behind the century man on the door.

FW2: "the official landing of Lady Jales Casemate, in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S., and the christening of Queen Baltersby... and then poor Merkin Cornyngwham... when he was completely drowned... the Flemish armada, all scattered... at about eleven thirtytwo... off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick... and then there was the Frankish floot... under Motham-general Bonaboche..."


And then again they used to give the grandest universal lectures (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard in the Latimer Roman history of Latimer repeating himself (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and sages and the Plymouth brethren nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots round their twelve tables in the four trinity colleges of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Jane Andersdaughter universary for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady lived to a great age at or in or about No. 1132 or No. 1169 bis Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias repeating herself of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny Mac Dougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! How it all came back to them to hear him there kissling and cuddling her so nefarious before the four of us in his Roman catholic arms by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos, Anumque, Umque.


FW2: "the Flemish armada, all scattered... at about eleven thirtytwo... off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick... and then there was the Frankish floot... under Motham-general Bonaboche... in his half a grey traditional hat... And then again they used to give the... lectures... in the four... grandest colleges... of Erryn, of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure... the past and present... and present and absent and past and present and perfect... Ah, dearo dear! ...How it did but all come eddaying back to them... before the four of us, in his Roman Catholic arms"


Queh? Quos?



Ah, dearo dearo dear! It was so sorry for all the whole twice two four of us and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and repeating himself and telling him now to forget the past and contradicting all about Lally and his old fellow the Lagener and all the old drakes ever he had up in the bohereen and the old folks at home and Duignan and Lapole and the grand confarreation and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers. And now that reminds me not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their half a Roman hat with an ancient Greek gloss on it in Chichester college auction and thank God they were all summarily divorced four years before, so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands in dear byword days and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, on the best of terms and be forgot which was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim song As I was going to Ballymacarett we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.



Lucas. And O so well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig and beard, in or aring or around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1798 Y.W.C.A. at the Married Male Familyman's Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of Dougals, the poor Scotsman, dinna forget, so frightened on account of her fullbottom and the four masters because he was so slow grooming her ladyship instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper like any old methodist, and all divorced according to their dear faithful. Ah now, it was too bad!

FW2: "they were all summarily divorced, four years before, or so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands... but still they parted... on the best of terms... By decree absolute... Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman... at the Married Male Familyman's Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny... because he was so slow to borstel her schoon for her... instead of backscratching her... proper... And poor Mark... because he forgot himself, making wind and water... and because he forgot to remembore to sign... a writing in request to hersute herself, on stamped brownanoleum... and too there was poor Dion... because... he attempted... some hunnish familiarities, after eten... a bad crab..."


And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted by everybody by decree absolute because he forgot himself making wind and water and made a mess of all of himself and because he forgot to remember to sign an old morning proxy paper, a request in writing to herself on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb all drowned too before the world and her husband, because it was most improper and most wrong when he attempted to— well, he was shocking bad in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him— because he— ah, well now, we won't be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that he made his last will and went to confession on his two bare marrowbones to Mother Evangelist Sweeney and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootbutton in the hansom cab and now, tell the truth, there were faults on both sides— well, he attempted (or so they say)— ah, now, forget and forgive, and sure he was only funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him— well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red ocean and sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the hospice for the dying and trying to hold the nursetender's hand, (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and dying to remembore who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!



And where do you leave Matt? They were all so sorry for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat that she grew all out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and his overalls all falling over her in folds— sure, he hadn't the heart in her to pull them up— poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man, sitting there, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone with her face to the wall in sight of the poorhouse, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, with her ivyclad hat and gripping an old pair of curling tongs belonging to Mrs Dana O'Connell to blow his brains with, with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come— God of heaven, when you think of it! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlourmen laudabiliter of woman squelch and all on account of the smell of Shackleton and scratchman and his mouth watering and so now pass the loaf for Christ sake, Amen. And so. And all.



Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Ay! Ay!



And still and all at that time they were always thinking (up) and not forgetting about auld lang syne (up) their four hosenbands that were four (up) beautful sister masters, now happily married, and there they were always counting and contradicting every night the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was in the end, the deary, the beautfour sisters and that was her modern republican name right enough and they used to be getting up from under at the kookaburra bell ringing all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lazy louts!) so frightened, at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, when nobody wouldn't even let them rest and getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown bed they used to sleep under and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, look all round the stool, walk everwhere for a jool to break fire to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bath slipper and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker.

FW2: "four (up) beautful sister misters... and there they were always counting... the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons, according to the lapper part of their anachronism... and after that there now she was... the beautfour sisters, and that was her mudhen republican name... and they used to be getting up from under"


And after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be flapping and cycling around the waists of the ships, as tired as they were, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally and Roe and he telling him before he forgot that one about a goose a love a goldeny egg and Johnny Mac Gory, dear mister John, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing ocean ladies' foursome and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' modern toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening, the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies enfamillias and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet under all their familarities, forgetting to say their grace before chambadory so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all hee hee hee quaking, so fright, and shee shee shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.

FW2: "they had their night tentacles and there they used to be... around the waists of the ships... the steamships and the women-o'-war... and their pair of green eyes and peering in... through the steamy windows, into the honeymoon cabins... and the saloon ladies' madorn toilet chambers... and rub off the salty catara off a windows and... listening... to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies..."


And then after that they used to be so forgetful counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu modern maiden name by the dream. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn asthore as for days galore of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.



But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be at the end of it all at that time (up) always, tired and all, over their singing (up) the top of the voice of Mamalujo sitting round two by two, the four confederates, (up) the wet air register in Old Man's House with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds fast asleep and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and clots for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of eat a lovely munkybown and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to pass the teeth for choke sake Amensch

VI.B10.107i: "sit round hot air register"


when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after eat a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and their farthing dip and read a letter or two every night before going to sleep in the twilight, a capitaletter for further auspices on their old one page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor by Mrs Shemans, final buff lunch edition, and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good they did in their time for Roe and O'Mulconry a Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty Mac Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, and one by one and sing a mamalujo.

cf U40: "Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? ...Books you were going to write with letters for titles"

VI.A Painful (July?): "Daddy De Wyer, bag of broth"


And after that now in the future please God all start repeating ourselves and all now united sansfamillias say oremus prayer for auld acquaintance to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants at peregrinantibus in all the old and imperial sea and sing a lovasteamadorion in her doaty ducky little blue and roll a hoop and how she ran we never never shall forget and old Luke and Senchus Mor and another more for auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole shanghai.



Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!



Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound sterling in the blueblack bowels of the bank of Ulster.
Braw bawbees and good gold pounds, galore, my girleen, a Sunday'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!
O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride queen from Sybil surfriding
In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her.
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bide with Sir Sloomysides or the grogram grey barnacle gander?
You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, but snore snug in my old Balbriggan surtout.
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing, (what?) as your own nursetender?
A power of highsteppers died game right enough — but who, acushla, 'll beg coppers for you?
I tossed that one long before anyone.
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm given now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed picnic to follow.
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight from under me, Mick whatever your name is, you're the most likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore.

March? 1923: Kevin level one

St Kevin born on the Island of Ireland goes to lough glendalough to live on an Island in the the lake and as there is a pond on the Island and a little island in the pond he builds his hut on the islet and then scoops out the floor to a dept of one foot after which he goes to the brink of the pond and fills his tub with water which he emptys time after time into a cavity of his hut thereby forming a pool having done which he half fills the tub sets it in the middle of the pool, pulls up his frock and seats himself in the tub and mediates with burning zeal the sacrament of baptism or regeneration by water [cite] [from notebook VI.B3.43 (Apr-May?) mid-March?]

[An attack of conjunctivitis in March abated after about a week, and on April 4 six or seven decayed teeth were extracted, the rest a few days later. Joyce stayed in a maison de sante for two weeks recovering. The loss of the teeth did not greatly bother him; he remarked to his son, 'They were no good anyway.' But the seventeen extractions were painful, and made speaking and eating difficult. Then in stages, on April 3, 15, and 26, with this source of infection removed, Borsch performed the sphincterectomy. A month later Joyce felt none of the improvement Borsch had predicted, but by June 10 he was able to read a little, and Borsch assured him that his eye would recover its health fully in a few months. Meanwhile the dentist had finished his new plates, and when these had been inserted on June 10, Joyce and his family left for a holiday in England. In spite of the rigors of the last few months he was feeling better, and had no serious eye trouble for the rest of the year.]


asperger's/autism spectrum
cf Joyce himself: "One day in a wood near Malahide a labourer had marvelled to see a boy of fifteen [1897] praying in an ecstasy of Oriental posture." [PoA04]


St Kevin born on the Island of Ireland goes to lough glendalough to live on an Island in the the lake

Kevin was historical, supposedly 498-618

Ireland is 175 by 300 miles. Lough Glendalough is 30mi south of Dublin, 10mi inland, 2mi long (E-W) and ¼mi wide (N-S) [map] GoogleMaps shows one tiny 'island' about 50ft across at the eastern end of the lake, and another long skinny sort-of island 1500ft long and 100ft across along the northern shore, but these aren't plausible.

Kevin lived at the far end, on the right

St Kevin's Bed

FW2: "Kevin... Procreated on the ultimate ysland of Yreland in the encyclical Yrish archipelago... came... to our own midmost Glendalough-le-Vert... where... on this one of eithers lone navigable lake piously Kevin..."


and as there is a pond on the Island and a little island in the pond

pure fiction, geologically bizarre, to reach 9 layers total [closest real]

FW2: "to its supreem epicentric lake ysle... whereon... Kevin came to where its centre is... an enysled lakelet yslanding a lacustrine yslet"


he builds his hut on the islet and then scoops out the floor to a dept of one foot

hut: sticks, stones, or mud?
measurement motif

FW2: "whereupon... holy Kevin bided... but to build a rubric penitential honeybeehivehut whereof the arenary floor most holy Kevin excavated as deep as to a depth of a seventh part of one full fathom"

after which he goes to the brink of the pond and fills his tub with water which he emptys time after time into a cavity of his hut thereby forming a pool

"a cavity"?
a puddle, more like

FW2: "which excavated, venerable Kevin... proceeded towards the lakeside... collected Gregorian water sevenfold and... as many times receded carrying the lustral domination... which severally seven times into the cavity excavated... most venerable Kevin then effused, thereby letting there be water where was theretofore dry land"


having done which he half fills the tub sets it in the middle of the pool,

FW2: "now... blessed Kevin, exorcised his holy sister water... so that, well understanding, she should fill to midheight his tubbathaltar which hand-bathtub most blessed Kevin ninthly enthroned in the interconcentric centre of the translated water"


pulls up his frock and seats himself in the tub and mediates with burning zeal the sacrament of baptism or regeneration by water

"burning" = fire
the viconian word "regeneration" survives to the last: Kevin ponders regeneration but doesn't necessarily achieve it

FW2: "whereamid... Saint Kevin Hydrophilos, having girded his sable cappa magna as high as to his cherubical loins... sat in... that hipbathtub, whereverafter... he meditated continuously with seraphic ardour the primal sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of all man by affusion of water."

the alternating layers suggest an electrical device like a capacitor or battery

May 1923? Kevin level two

?E Kevin born on the island of Ireland in the Irish ocean goes to Lough Glendalough where pious Kevin lives alone on an isle in the lake on which isle is a pond in which is an islet whereon holy Kevin builds a beehive hut the floor of which most holy Kevin excavates to a depth of one foot which done venerable Kevin goes to the lakeside and fills time after time a tub with water which time after time most venerable Kevin empties into the cavity of his hut thereof creating a pool having done which blessed Kevin half fills the tub once with water which tub then most blessed Kevin sets in the centre of the pool after which Saint Kevins pulls up his frock to his loins and seats himself, blessed S. Kevin, in his hiptubbath where, doctor solitarius, he meditates with ardour the sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of man by water [cite] [FDV]

1. ?E Kevin
2. pious Kevin
3. holy Kevin
4. most holy Kevin
5. venerable Kevin
6. most venerable Kevin
7. blessed Kevin
8. most blessed Kevin
9. Saint Kevins
10. blessed S. Kevin
11. doctor solitarius

stages of canonization in Catholic Church: Servant of God → Venerable → Blessed → Saint [wiki]

VI.B25.153: "Kevineen (9 names)"



?E Kevin born on the island of Ireland in the Irish ocean goes to Lough Glendalough where pious Kevin lives alone on an isle in the lake on which isle is a pond in which is an islet

"the Irish ocean" the north Atlantic (the Irish Sea is just between Ireland and England)
"alone" his historical retreat was apparently unaccompanied

FW2: "Kevin... Procreated on the ultimate ysland of Yreland in the encyclical Yrish archipelago [...] came... to our own midmost Glendalough-le-Vert... where... on this one of eithers lone navigable lake piously Kevin... to its supreem epicentric lake ysle, Inis Kevin, whereof its lake is the centrifugal principality, whereon by prime, powerful in knowledge, Kevin came to where its centre is... an enysled lakelet yslanding a lacustrine yslet"


whereon holy Kevin builds a beehive hut the floor of which most holy Kevin excavates to a depth of one foot which done venerable Kevin goes to the lakeside and fills time after time a tub with water which time after time most venerable Kevin empties into the cavity of his hut thereof creating a pool having done which blessed Kevin half fills the tub once with water

VI.B3.11: "first beehive huts" Flood: Ireland, Its Saints and Scholars 115: 'The first Christian architecture in Ireland... missionaries adopted the same style of building that was practised by the natives... They built their small oratories and bee-hive huts within the boundaries of the stone fort or cashel'

he fills his tub full "time after time", then half-full just once

FW2: "whereupon... holy Kevin bided... but to build a rubric penitential honeybeehivehut... whereof the arenary floor most holy Kevin excavated as deep as to a depth of a seventh part of one full fathom, which excavated, venerable Kevin... proceeded towards the lakeside... whereat seven several times he... collected Gregorian water sevenfold and... as many times receded carrying the lustral domination... which severally seven times into the cavity excavated... most venerable Kevin then effused, thereby letting there be water where was theretofore dry land, by him so concreated, who now... blessed Kevin, exorcised his holy sister water... so that, well understanding, she should fill to midheight his tubbathaltar"


which tub then most blessed Kevin sets in the centre of the pool after which Saint Kevins pulls up his frock to his loins and seats himself, blessed S. Kevin, in his hiptubbath where, doctor solitarius, he meditates with ardour the sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of man by water

"tub... tub... hiptubbath"
VI.B3.80 (May?) "S Kevin - hip bath"
"doctor solitarius" a teacher with no students? "solitarius" is good Latin, adopted as one poet's penname

FW2: "which hand-bathtub most blessed Kevin ninthly enthroned in the interconcentric centre of the translated water whereamid... Saint Kevin Hydrophilos, having girded his sable cappa magna as high as to his cherubical loins, at solemn compline sat in his sate of wisdom, that hipbathtub, whereverafter, recreated doctor insularis... he meditated continuously with seraphic ardour the primal sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of all man by affusion of water."

July 1923? Kevin level four

Of Kevin, of God the servant, the miracles, death and life are these......

Born on the island of Ireland in the Irish ocean, come his feast of holy angels, Kevin, having been granted the privilege of a priest's portable altare cum bath, came to midmost Glendalough by archangelical guidance where amiddle of the river Slaney and the Liffey river on this lone lake piously Kevin amidships of his conducible altar super bath centripetally rafted servant diaconal of orders Hibernian, to its lake isle, whereof its lake is principality, whereon, powerful in knowledge, Kevin came to where its centre is among the circumfluent watercourses of Ishgagrana and Ishgacarrara a lakelet islanding an islet whereupon with beached raft subdiaconal bath propter altar, with oil anointed, accompanied by prayer, holy Kevin bided but to build a honey beehivehut wherein to live in fortitude, acolyte of virtues, whereof the floor most holy Kevin excavates as deep as a depth of a seventh of a full fathom which excavated venerable Kevin, taking counsel, proceeds to the lakeside of the isletshore whereat seven several times he fills with Gregorian water and with eucharistic joy of heart recedes carrying the lustral domination contained within his most portable privileged altar unacumque bath which severally seven times, a lector of water levels, most venerable Kevin effuses into the cavity excavated thereby letting there be water where before there was dry land having created which, confirmed a strong and perfect Christian, blessed Kevin exorcises holy water so that understanding it may fill to midheight his tubbath altar which handbathtub most blessed Kevin enthrones in the intercentre of the translated water whereamid saint Kevin, having girded his frock to his cherubical loins, solemnly seats himself in his seat of wisdom, that hiptubbath, whereverafter, doctor solitarius, keeper of the door of meditation, he meditates with seraphic ardour the initial sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of man by water. [cite]

most of the additions at this level are clever/showoff-y Catholic patterns, mechanical rather than expressive



Of Kevin, of God the servant, the miracles, death and life are these......

Browning's 'The Ring and the Book' includes the palindromic lines: 'The Life, Death, Miracles of Saint Somebody, / Saint Somebody Else, his Miracles, Death and Life' [ebook]


Born on the island of Ireland in the Irish ocean, come his feast of holy angels, Kevin, having been granted the privilege of a priest's portable altare cum bath,

"feast of holy angels" October 2
"granted the privilege" by a king?
"priest's" (does this imply he's not yet a priest?)
St Patrick used a portable altar
"portable altare cum bath" using the altar as a bathtub would presumably require extra-special permission

VI.B10.13: "Fr Bern. Vaughan granted privilege of portable altar" Irish Times 1 Nov 1922, 5/3: 'As a mark of special favour in 1916 Father Vaughan received a letter from Pope Benedict XV, congratulating him upon his jubilee in the priesthood and granting him the privilege of a portable altar' ie, not restricted to one location

Joyce embeds nine levels of angelic hierarchy in descending order: Angels Archangels Principalities Powers Virtues Dominions Thrones Cherubim Seraphim

Joyce embeds seven levels of ecclesiastical hierarchy, also in descending order: priest deacon [diaconal] subdeacon acolyte exorcist lector doorkeeper (but he'll swap exorcist and lector)

the descending orders suggest that his self-isolation is impoverishing him spiritually

FW2: "Of Kevin, of Increate God the servant... the miracles, death and life are these... Procreated on the ultimate ysland of Yreland in the encyclical Yrish archipelago, come their feast of precreated holy whiteclad angels... Kevin, having been graunted the praviloge of a priest's postcreated portable altare cum balneo..."


headwaters of Slaney and Liffey

came to midmost Glendalough by archangelical guidance where amiddle of the river Slaney and the Liffey river on this lone lake piously Kevin amidships of his conducible altar super bath centripetally rafted servant diaconal of orders Hibernian,

past tense
"midmost... amiddle... amidships... centripetally" (vs ROC's centrifugal repulsion?)
"by archangelical guidance"
"lone lake" (not true-- other lakes are equally amiddle)
"amidships" meaningless, given its tiny size
"conducible altar super bath" conducible = useful? super
Ancient Order of Hibernians (Irish Catholic fraternal organisation) [wiki]

Joyce embeds the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost in reverse order: fear-of-the-Lord piety knowledge fortitude counsel understanding wisdom

Joyce embeds the seven sacraments in semi-reverse order: matrimony holy-orders extreme-unction penance eucharist confirmation baptism

FW2: "came... to our own midmost Glendalough-le-Vert by archangelical guidance where amiddle of meeting waters of river Yssia and Essia river on this one of eithers lone navigable lake piously Kevin... amidships of his conducible altar super bath rafted centripetally, diaconal servent of orders Hibernian"


to its lake isle, whereof its lake is principality, whereon, powerful in knowledge, Kevin came to where its centre is among the circumfluent watercourses of Ishgagrana and Ishgacarrara a lakelet islanding an islet whereupon with beached raft subdiaconal bath propter altar, with oil anointed, accompanied by prayer, holy Kevin bided but to build a honey beehivehut wherein to live in fortitude, acolyte of virtues,

Yeats: The Lake Isle of Innisfree (poem about retreat)
past tense
"Ishgagrana and Ishgacarrara" ishga ?= uisce = water
grana/carrara??? (changed to wild/clear)
Carrara = province of Italy?
"beached" changed from on-water to on-land
Latin propter: beside


FW2: "to its supreem epicentric lake ysle, Inis Kevin, whereof its lake is the centrifugal principality, whereon by prime, powerful in knowledge, Kevin came to where its centre is among the circumfluent watercourses of Yshgafiena and Yshgafiuna, an enysled lakelet yslanding a lacustrine yslet, whereupon with beached raft subdiaconal bath propter altar, with oil extremely anointed, accompanied by prayer, holy Kevin bided... but to build a rubric penitential honeybeehivehut in whose enclosure to live in fortitude, acolyte of cardinal virtues"


whereof the floor most holy Kevin excavates as deep as a depth of a seventh of a full fathom which excavated venerable Kevin, taking counsel, proceeds to the lakeside of the isletshore whereat seven several times he fills with Gregorian water and with eucharistic joy of heart recedes carrying the lustral domination contained within his most portable privileged altar unacumque bath

present tense (revised to past)
"proceeds... recedes"
"Gregorian water" a holy water recipe attributed to Pope Gregory
Latin una cumque: one, however

FW2: "whereof the arenary floor most holy Kevin excavated as deep as to a depth of a seventh part of one full fathom, which excavated, venerable Kevin, anchorite, taking counsel, proceeded towards the lakeside of the ysletshore whereat seven several times he... collected Gregorian water sevenfold and with Ambrosian eucharistic joy of heart as many times receded carrying the lustral domination contained within his most portable previliged altar unacumque bath"


which severally seven times, a lector of water levels, most venerable Kevin effuses into the cavity excavated thereby letting there be water where before there was dry land having created which, confirmed a strong and perfect Christian, blessed Kevin exorcises holy water so that understanding it may fill to midheight his tubbath altar

present tense (revised to past)
Genesis 1:9: 'Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear' 

FW2: "which severally seven times into the cavity excavated, a lector of water levels, most venerable Kevin then effused, thereby letting there be water where was theretofore dry land, by him so concreated, who now, confirmed a strong and perfect Christian, blessed Kevin, exorcised his holy sister water... so that, well understanding, she should fill to midheight his tubbathaltar"


which handbathtub most blessed Kevin enthrones in the intercentre of the translated water whereamid saint Kevin, having girded his frock to his cherubical loins, solemnly seats himself in his seat of wisdom, that hiptubbath, whereverafter, doctor solitarius, keeper of the door of meditation, he meditates with seraphic ardour the initial sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of man by water.

present tense (revised to past)
Latin translatus: carried across 
Litany of Blessed Virgin Mary: 'Seat of wisdom' (Angelical salutation)

FW2: "which hand-bathtub most blessed Kevin ninthly enthroned in the interconcentric centre of the translated water whereamid... Saint Kevin Hydrophilos, having girded his sable cappa magna as high as to his cherubical loins, at solemn compline sat in his sate of wisdom, that hipbathtub, whereverafter, recreated doctor insularis of the universal church, keeper of the door of meditation... he meditated continuously with seraphic ardour the primal sacrament of baptism or the regeneration of all man by affusion of water."

July 1923: Berkeley level one

The archdruid then explained the illusion of the colourful world, its furniture, animal, vegetable and mineral, appearing to fallen men under but one reflection of the several iridal gradations of solar light, that one which it had been unable to absorb while for the seer beholding reality, the thing as in itself it is, all objects showed themselves in their true colours, resplendent with the sextuple glory of the light actually contained within them. To eyes so unsealed King Leary's fiery locks appeared of the colour of sorrel green, His Majesty's saffron kilt of the hue of brewed spinach, the royal golden breasttorc of the tint of curly cabbage, the verdant mantle of the monarch as of the green of laurel boughs, the commanding azure eyes of a thyme and parsley aspect, the enamelled gem of the ruler's ring as a rich lentil, the violet contusions of the prince's feature tinged uniformly as with an infusion of sennacassia. [cite] [FDV]

does the king lose status as his costume is fathomed, or are these equal synonyms?
King Leary
His Majesty
royal
the monarch
commanding
the ruler
the prince


The archdruid then explained the illusion of the colourful world, its furniture, animal, vegetable and mineral,

it will later be made clear he's explaining it to St Patrick [eg]


appearing to fallen men under but one [reflected] reflection of the several iridal gradations of solar light, that one which it had been unable to absorb

"fallen men" ie, since Eve and Adam?
"iridal" = pertaining to a rainbow
things absorb six of seven colors, reflect one


while for the seer beholding reality, the thing as in itself it is,

"the seer beholding reality" should we read this as Joyce citing his heroes (eg Blake), or AE/Yeats spouting gibberish?

cf Tristan: "Isolde, O Isolde, when theeupon I oculise my most inmost Ego most vaguely senses the profundity of multimathematical immaterialities whereby in the pancosmic urge the Allimmanence of That Which Is Itself exteriorates on this here our plane of disunited solid liquid and gaseous bodies in pearlwhite passionpanting intuitions of reunited Selfhood in the higher dimensional Selflessness."


all objects showed themselves in their true colours, resplendent with the sextuple glory of the light actually contained within them.

"sextuple" implies the other six colors


To eyes so unsealed King Leary's fiery locks appeared of the colour of sorrel green,

"unsealed" suggests madness?

His Majesty's saffron kilt of the hue of brewed spinach,

cf Isolde's rethinking of King Mark's trousers?


the royal golden breasttorc of the tint of curly cabbage,

the verdant mantle of the monarch as of the green of laurel boughs,

John Buchan published a bestselling sequel to "The 39 Steps" in 1916, called "Greenmantle"

the commanding azure eyes of a thyme and parsley aspect,

thyme

parsley

does this hint he's also a sage?


the enamelled gem of the ruler's ring as a rich lentil,

everything is bilaterally symmetric except this one

Alfred's enamel gem

the violet contusions of the prince's feature tinged uniformly as with an infusion of sennacassia.

"violet contusions of the prince's feature" = erect cock? (Hayman sees 'features')
"contusions... uniformly" seems contradictory
the image of a beaten-up king also fits ROC

senna cassia

laxative

the seer sees through the king's rainbow dazzle to the humble vegetable stew below