BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|187 | 188 |189 |

all the morning since your last wetbed confession? I advise you1
to conceal yourself, my little friend, as I have said a moment2
ago and put your hands in my hands and have a nightslong3
homely little confiteor about things. Let me see. It is looking4
pretty black against you, we suggest, Sheem avick. You will5
need all the elements in the river to clean you over it all and a6
fortifine popespriestpower bull of attender to booth.7
    Let us pry. We thought, would and did. Cur, quicquid, ubi,8
quando, quomodo, quoties, quibus auxiliis? You were bred, fed,9
fostered and fattened from holy childhood up in this two easter10
island on the piejaw of hilarious heaven and roaring the other11
place (plunders to night of you, blunders what's left of you, flash12
as flash can!) and now, forsooth, a nogger among the blankards13
of this dastard century, you have become of twosome twiminds14
forenenst gods, hidden and discovered, nay, condemned fool,15
anarch, egoarch, hiresiarch, you have reared your disunited king-16
dom on the vacuum of your own most intensely doubtful soul.17
Do you hold yourself then for some god in the manger, Sheho-18
hem, that you will neither serve not let serve, pray nor let pray?19
And here, pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to pray for the20
loss of selfrespect to equip me for the horrible necessity of scan-21
dalisang (my dear sisters, are you ready?) by sloughing off my22
hope and tremors while we all swin together in the pool of So-23
dom? I shall shiver for my purity while they will weepbig for24
your sins. Away with covered words, new Solemonities for old25
Badsheetbaths! That inharmonious detail, did you name it? Cold26
caldor! Gee! Victory! Now, opprobro of underslung pipes,27
johnjacobs, while yet an adolescent (what do I say?), while28
still puerile in your tubsuit with buttonlegs, you got a hand-29
some present of a selfraising syringe and twin feeders (you know,30
Monsieur Abgott, in your art of arts, to your cost as well as I do31
(and don't try to hide it) the penals lots I am now poking at) and32
the wheeze sort of was you should (if you were as bould a stroke33
now as the curate that christened you, sonny douth-the-candle!)34
repopulate the land of your birth and count up your progeny by35
the hungered head and the angered thousand but you thwarted36