BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|473 | 474 |475 |

    Lowly, longly, a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the 1
mead of the hillock lay, heartsoul dormant mid shadowed land-2
shape, brief wallet to his side, and arm loose, by his staff of citron3
briar, tradition stick-pass-on. His dream monologue was over,4
of cause, but his drama parapolylogic had yet to be, affact. Most5
distressfully (but, my dear, how successfully!) to wail he did,6
his locks of a lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted,7
those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time, whiles8
ouze of his sidewiseopen mouth the breath of him, evenso9
languishing as the princeliest treble treacle or lichee chewchow10
purse could buy. Yawn in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!)11
what helpings of honeyful swoothead (phew!), which ear-12
piercing dulcitude! As were you suppose to go and push with13
your bluntblank pin in hand upinto his fleshasplush cushionettes14
of some chubby boybold love of an angel. Hwoah!15
    When, as the buzzer brings the light brigade, keeping the 16
home fires burning, so on the churring call themselves came at17
him, from the westborders of the eastmidlands, three kings of18
three suits and a crowner, from all their cardinal parts, along19
the amber way where Brosna's furzy. To lift them they did,20
senators four, by the first quaint skreek of the gloaming and21
they hopped it up the mountainy molehill, traversing climes22
of old times gone by of the days not worth remembering;23
inventing some excusethems, any sort, having a sevenply24