Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 6
— I was just thinkling upon that, swees Mooksey, but, for all the rime on my raisins, if I connow make my submission, I can- nos give you up, the Gripes whimpered from nethermost of his wanhope. Ishallassoboundbewilsothoutoosezit. My tumble, lou- dy bullocker, is my own. My velicity is too fit in one stockend. And my spetial inexshellsis the belowing things ab ove. But I will never be abler to tell Your Honoriousness (here he near lost his limb) though my corked father was bott a pseudowaiter, whose o'cloak you ware. Incredible! Well, hear the inevitable. — Your temple, sus in cribro! Semperexcommunicambiambi- sumers. Tugurios-in-Newrobe or Tukurias-in-Ashies. Novar- ome, my creature, blievend bleives. My building space in lyonine city is always to let to leonlike Men, the Mookse in a most con- sistorous allocution pompifically with immediate jurisdiction constantinently concludded (what a crammer for the shape- wrucked Gripes!). And I regret to proclaim that it is out of my temporal to help you from being killed by inchies, (what a thrust!), as we first met each other newwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!). My side, thank decretals, is as safe as motherour's houses, he continued, and I can seen from my holeydome what it is to be wholly sane. Unionjok and be joined to yok! Parysis, tu sais, crucycrooks, belongs to him who parises himself. And there I must leave you subject for the pressing. I can prove that against you, weight a momentum, mein goot enemy! or Cos- pol's not our star. I bet you this dozen odd. This foluminous dozen odd. Quas primas — but 'tis bitter to compote my know- ledge's fructos of. Tomes.