#french jester has been kissed

[geibuffoonery]

I RETURN TO YOUR INBOX....to request that you deliver a kiss to Lune for me :pleading:

[mx-pastelwriting]

Good Luck

Lee Russell x GN! Reader

Summary: Christine making it difficult for Lee to move on but luckily he has you.

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Talk of old relationship/Divorce, Confrontation, Lying

The TV softly hummed as an emotional scene unfolded, watching one of Lee’s favorite shows as an end-of-day reward for having moved back into his old home.

Dating for almost a year, seeing how that big house affected him, always asking you to stay with him in the empty house. Finally, you gave him the idea of moving into his old house but only chose to do so when you agreed to move in too.

Sitting on the couch, head resting on Lee’s shoulder, cuddled up with each other's hands cradled in his lap, dressed for bed. As the final moments of the show rolled on, the ring of the doorbell surprised you both. Quickly pausing it, Lee got up to answer the door, but you tugged him back.

“I’ll get it,” you insist, wanting him to relax from the stressful day. “Thank you,” he whispered while relaxing back onto the couch, quickly placing a kiss on his cheek before walking off to the front door. Opening the French door seeing Christine, both your shock and confusion caused the air to stay silent.

“Is Lee home?” She broke the silence first. “What do you want with him?” You ask, closing the door behind you, not needing Lee to hear her.

“I’ll just come back tomorrow,” she says, turning away. “No, what do you want, Christine?” Asking again, not wanting her near him. Lee, having been divorced for more than a year, never showed up or even been mentioned.

“I just wanted to see how he was doing,” she responds, but all it did was piss you off. “Why do you care? You left him with nothing,” you say, stepping forward. “Coming back a year later to what? To play with his feelings?” She knew Lee wasn’t one to let things go so easily; if it weren't for you, he would have taken her right back, going back to his old ways.

“No, I just wanted to see how he’s doing,” she said, furthering your argument. “You couldn’t just look him up? Coming all this way in the dead of night just to check up on him,” seeing how her face turned at your comment, it was almost midnight, and yet here she was trying to convince you of her innocent jester.

“I don’t want to see you here again; please just leave,” you say before stepping back into your shared home. “Good luck with him,” she says, causing you to slam the door right in her face, then lock it.

Turning around, hearing the footsteps of Lee coming towards you, “Who was it?” He asks with concern on his face, “Just a salesperson,” you say, feeling his hand touch your arm, helping calm you down. “At this time of night?” He says, confused, “I know, right.” You say, still playing it off, knowing you’ll have to tell him the truth in the morning.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: Sign Up!

[yeojaa]

IDK IF UR STILL TAKING REQUESTS🥺🥺���� sorry if IM botherinh😭😭 BUT MYBE A FINDERS KEEP HERS drabble where jk n oc get in to an argument after chap 3 n jk apologizes or something like that😭😭🥺😭🥺🥺

[ read part one / main story ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  this is soft angst. JK being his usual idiot self, reader being... well, sad, and yeah. just pain (but w a resolution. ish).  wc. 1.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif beta’d a bit of this but i wrote most of it after so any dumb mistakes are my fault and my fault alone. 🤡  author note.  this isn’t 100% what you requested but... the first part kind of is, and then this is the resolution (because people requested it). if you’d like another drabble, please feel free to request!

In true fashion, Jungkook tries to fix the problem in the only way he knows how:  with money.

He puts the two of you up at the Four Seasons for the entire week, orders room service at all hours of the day and has treats from all of your favourite spots in the city delivered.  (Macarons, candied nuts, that one bakery that does those salted honey pies you inhale like a wild animal.)  He runs baths for you, fills the tub with your favourite scents (always Diptyque) and massages his tattooed hands all over your scalp.  He makes sure you wake up to the smell of French toast and fall asleep on a bed of roses, curled up in his arms and little else.  

He spoils you until you can hardly see the floor, designer shopping bags strewn throughout the suite.  (His sisters help him decide what to buy, mouths sealed shut otherwise.  They know better than to get too involved in his relationship with you.)  Dinner is somewhere new every night but always at a Michelin-starred restaurant, space booked out to the extent it’s just the two of you and a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

Of course, he thinks things are better.  Assumes they must be, because there’s never been a time where money hasn’t solved his problems.  No matter how much, throw enough of it at something and the problem will go away.

But you don’t go away.  Neither does your sadness.

“Baby.”  It’s your last night together before you’re back to some semblance of normalcy (not that Jungkook’s life was very normal to begin with).  He thinks he’ll miss it more than you will, if your lacklustre reactions have been any indication.

You’re fresh out of the shower - you’d turned down his offer of a bath, locked the door on your way into the washroom - and wrapped in a fuzzy white robe.  “What?”  You’re focused on running a comb through your hair, unbothered by your boyfriend who sits at the edge of the bed, legs wide and hands extended toward you.

It bothers him a bit (read: a lot).  You’re better than you were, offering tiny smiles when he begs for them, accepting his kisses without complaint. It isn’t you though.  Not the snark and the sass and the decades of friendship that normally thread your relationship.  A book with its spine about to snap, held together by cobweb.

Despite the time you’ve spent together the last few days - almost every hour, sans when you were at work - you’ve been distant still.  Not mean, of course (no, never mean, because you’ve always been soft on him) but different.  Softer and harder all at once.

“Come here,”  he coaxes, fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you between his knees effortlessly.

Normally, you’d curl around his shoulders, rake your nails through his hair.  This time, you only allow yourself to be with him, palms flat upon the ridges of muscle plating his back.  You don’t pass affection into his hair, don’t form a cradle for him to rest his head.  (It doesn’t feel like home - not like it should.)

Jungkook hates it.  Absolutely fucking abhors it.  He wants his girlfriend - his best friend, his love - back.  Not this spectre that’s taken up your space. 

(He almost forgets that he’s the reason you’re the way you are.)

“What’s wrong?”  The shape of his mouth curls, bottom lip pouting into that trademark expression that usually has you relenting, melting into a puddle of goo in his arms. 

This time, you shrug, movement dislodging the soft soft terry cloth from your shoulders.  “Nothing.”  Dumb as he might be - oblivious in the way only someone like he can be - he can tell you’re lying.  Offering the untruth right between your teeth, expecting him to accept it.

That bothers him even more.  It’s one thing to put up an act, entertain him as if you were a court jester.  It’s entirely another to treat him as if he’s a child, feeding him lies without a care.

(Notwithstanding the fact that Jeon Jungkook is, for all intents and purposes, a manchild.)

“You’re a shit liar,”  he retorts, grumpy, coloured green and blue until his insides feel like mud.  It’s strange, the discomfort that sinks beneath his skin and sticks his bones together.  Like wading through quicksand or a bog, stuck to a place he doesn’t want to be.  “Talk to me.”

“About what?”  You’re deflecting, refusing to meet his stare, holding yourself within the confines of your robe as if you can’t bear to open up to him.

That hurts more than he expects.  Slips sadness in alongside the frustration.

“About what’s bothering you.”  The fact he has to do this is driving him mad.  It’s akin to pulling teeth and he hates the dentist.

You scoff then - which he doesn’t expect.  The sound kicks him right in the stomach, a sucker punch he doesn’t see coming.  “You want me to talk about you?”  It’s an uncharacteristically mean answer, brought on by whatever’s been bothering you, turning blood to battery acid.

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.”  

For the briefest moment, he considers lashing out in response - giving back exactly what he’s getting.  But then he spies it, just there, past the usual warmth of your stare.  It’s hiding behind crystallised amber, peeking past the edges.  So much sadness it steals his breath right from his lungs, stripping him bare of red hot fury and leaving him lily white and lovesick.   

When Jungkook speaks again, it’s feather soft, terribly light, begging and pleading in a single utterance.  “Please.”

There’s silence for a beat, then another.  It stings for each second it continues, treading misery all over the thing that beats in his chest.  He’s not used to this.  (You’re his first and only love.  A part of him is grateful for that;  another hates even this.)

He almost asks again - readies it on the tip of his tongue.

Then you’re unloading, giving him everything he’d asked for and more.   

“I love you,”  you tell him in a reedy voice, uneven like the foundation you’ve built together.  Haphazardly thrown into place and hoped for the best on.  “But you’re an idiot.”   

(He deserves that, he supposes.)

Your voice is static, stretched thin and gossamer thin.  Cheek pressed to his curls, you find comfort in your hiding place, as if shielded by the dark.  “I’ve loved you for years and that’ll never stop.  But when you do stupid shit, it’s so hard.”  Your words are honeyed, thick and heavy as they lay into each strand, seep quietly into his ears.  Where they’d normally fill him with ecstasy, delight, send him on a sugar high - these ache, sink right to the pit of his stomach.  “I would give you anything.  Anything.”

“I know.”  Really, he does.  He’s known that since you were kids.  It’s why he’d fallen in love with you, even before he’d realised he had.

“Then why do you test me?”  

It’s not rhetorical.  You want an answer - something real you can hold between your hands.  Something to act as the salve for all the hurt, to bandage the wounds left behind by your uncertainty.  (He’s the same as you - needs to know he means as much to you as you do him.  But you show it in different ways and that’s what’s brought the two of you to this point.)

“I’m sorry,”  he answers, sliding his arms more securely around your waist, face buried into the soft fabric of the robe, into the warmth that lies beneath, into the heart that beats a rhythm identical to his.

“I don’t want sorry.”  After all, you’d already gotten one.  Weeks ago, when he’d pulled the stupid sophomoric stunt, he’d apologised.  Had been apologising every day since then, but in all the wrong ways.  “I want better.” 

It’s as if all of his bones have been cracked open, the weight of your words settling like sand, discomfort and grit snapping his head to attention.  “You want better?”  There’s nothing but alarm in Jungkook’s expression, eyes wide, throat knotted in worry.  “I—”

As always, you read him like an open book.  Hands smooth down the sides of his cheeks, palms searing over his reddened cheeks.  “Not like that.”  You’re reassuring him even as it should be the other way around.  (How ironic.)

He exhales a deep breath.  Doesn’t tear his stare from yours.  

“I just need you to be better.”  You’d never ask this of him if it weren’t important, if you didn’t feel his ignorance and immaturity splintering your insides into glass shards.  You’ve always accepted him exactly as he was, all the good and bad and ridiculous.  

This is different though.  You love him.  You’re taking a chance with him just as he is with you.  Laying your heart in his hands and trusting him to keep it safe, handing out the key in the hopes of building a home.  

So you ask - for both your sakes. 

He promises he will be and you believe him.  Have to.

For both of your sakes.

[halflingkima]

about me meme

Thank you @flitwickslittlebrotha for tagging me! sorry it took a bit, got a little buried in my drafts lol.

what color are your eyes? blue

what little thing instantly tells you that a person is good? oh i have no clue. i suppose the first thing i evaluate is their sense of humor? like obviously that doesn’t immediately pick out the good apples, but it can sift through some bad ones, like if their “humor” is just bullying.

do you have a recurring dream? not coherently recurring, but i have a lotta recurring anxiety dreams, like being late, being naked, being visually different/deformed/disguised, being chased.... i should analyze these but I Do Not Want To

how often do you find yourself daydreaming? not a lot, really? I feel like at somepoint in the last few years, my imagination switched off. I’ve been throwing myself back into others’ stories to sort of repair those brain pathways.

name/nickname? any variation on Madeline works, tbh you’ll catch my attention w “Ma–” so. Most commonly used is Maddy, but I have been trying to get a surname nickname going lol

zodiac? aries 😎

languages? I can only functionally use English :(( (I know some rudimentary vocab in Spanish, German, and Gaeilge, and I did study ancient latin for five years 😅)

favorite season? winter in theory (for the holidays and meals and stuff), but spring if i have to be out in it, bc spring is more like our autumn, where it’s nicely chilly and often overcast (i sunburn very easily)

favorite color? green ☘️

favorite animals? rabbits, i suppose

favorite character? My go-to is Ginny Weasley and I’ve yet to update that, though I should. James Flint is quite a banger of a character, and I adore Ted Lasso, but I’d rly like to pick out a woman lol

tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? coffee

average hours of sleep? I... genuinely don’t know. the house i’ve lived in for the majority of my life gets absolutely ZERO natural light so my circadian rhythm has always been haywire. In college I started waking up naturally for the first time in my LIFE and that was about six-eight hours depending on how much I’d worn myself out lol.

cat or dog? dog, i guess

number of blankets slept with? usually just one fluffy one, but 3 max

place ancestors are from? Ireland, Scotland, Chickasaw, and I think Germany are ones we actually track generations back to, but I think we’re also English and French? and tbf i only know my mom’s side of the family lol

dream trip? Ireland, always. I’d love to travel elsewhere, but that’s always the top of the list.

blog established? 2010 apparently. whew.

random fact about yourself? I learned to spell my middle name in preschool (bc I so quickly had my first and last name down) but then forgot how to spell it bc you never rly use ur middle name and then re-taught myself by sounding it out around second/third grade lol

three ships? I’ve been strangely quite into Ted/Trent (Ted Lasso) lately. Before that Fjord/Jester was/is pretty prevalent, and my glee-watch club has revived my Rachel/Jesse(+Quinn) interest lol. I’ve been into a lotta shortform stuff lately, so not a lotta lasting/perma ships

last song? Eden by Battle Beast

last movie? hehe The Kissing Booth 3

currently reading? Peaces by Helen Oyeyemi

currently watching? uhh I suppose I’m technically in the middle of Dynasty (s9), Haikyuu (s4), and Glee (s3)

currently craving? idk like... a really good sandwich

I’ll tag @waitingforarthur @waynedrake @jozukejoestar & @kmaksimovich

[sloppy-butcher]

Umm... maybe joey J K Q A B D 👉👈💕

thanks for the request anon! i hope you enjoy it! I left out the jealousy prompt because I have already written multiple jealous Joey hcs. hope that's ok <3

Fluffy Alphabet for The Legion (Joey)

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Like any angsty, juvenile teen Joey would enjoy smashing car windows with you. A most thrilling activity saved only for the truly brave and daring and made even more perilous considering the only cars available for smashing were guarded by a territorial Wraith. But that did not stop the two of you and together you raged havoc across the Auto Haven realms. 

Windows were broken with either rocks or sticks, and the occasional boot kick was thrown in from time to time just for good measure. Joey and you would laugh hysterically, climbing on top of the corpses of your victories and dancing to non-existent music. During these moments of blissful triumph, Joey would steal looks at you, staring in awe as you swayed and raised your fists to the air and screamed. God, you were beautiful to him. Wild and reckless and so care-free, a creature not of his world but one he would enjoy nonetheless. 

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He’d love your hips. To him, that part of your body is the complete core of your being, your everything from which all the rest springs forth. It’s your center of gravity, the thing that grounds you to reality and to him. His wandering hands always manage to find their way on your hips, fitting perfectly around your curves in a most wonderful way. 

He grabs you and pulls you to him. Joey holds you by the hips and you feel him push into you from behind. To others, it would look quite explicit but you knew that this was his way of ensuring that you were real. Dreams cannot feel as real as you do when he holds you against him, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder or in your hair. He breathes deep and gives himself over to sensations, trusting you to guide him. You must be strong for you both, carry both yourself and him and help remind Joey that he is alive and breathing and that you are real. 

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Joey had never been one to look before he jumped, to plan ahead his future and know exactly where he wanted to go. Even with you by his side, Joey lives only in the now, existing as the world blinked from moment to moment. So forgive him if he does not really see anything in the future for you two. 

But if he was to really try, force his mind to focus he would probably decide that he’d enjoy living in a small bachelor flat with you in some busy city. From the massive, wall-sized window you would have an awesome view of the street below but there is a definite disconnection between you two and the rest of the world and Joey loves that although you lie so close to others, you are still his and always would be.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

In the beginning, no. He’d be a real mess during the first few times, so desperate to make an impression on you that he would often stiffen and become like a wooden board to kiss. But after a few trials, he would get better and begin to ease into the smooches. Tongue is almost always used for he has the urge to taste you and it was always more thrilling for him when you french him long and hard, drawing from his lips the very air in his lungs. 

(I have written about his first kiss and how I think it would go but lemme just sum it up). He would play it off as a joke, enticing you closer with playful comments and jester. However, when the time came for him to actually seal the deal he would momentarily panic and hesitate. Could he really do this? Could he ask you to give him such a soft gift as that of a kiss? You would have to be the one to close the distance and kiss him. You could tell he was holding his breath. Joey would pull away before long and would scuttle off to somewhere where he could cool-off and clear his frazzled head.  

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Joey is the designated cook, he’s considered the best when compared to the other members of the Legion. Though he is not anything truly spectacular, he is a refreshing change when the time comes around to try to bake something. Ingredients are difficult to find in the realm of fog and nightmares but sometimes, when you look in the right places, certain things can be found. 

The best is when he makes pancakes. The entire Legion buzzes around the Ormond lodge trying to help Joey as best they could make sweet, delicious pancakes. However, it is only you Joey lets step behind the counter and actually help with the preparation of the treat - Frank is too reckless with the food and often burns shit, Susie is a klutz and drops the bowl and Julie doesn't really care that much about actually helping and often just sits back and watches as the chaos unfolds. With you helping by his side Joey makes the pancakes easily -he instructs you on how to mix the batter then he heats the pan and cooks the actual food. Together you make an effective pancake-making-machine. Sometimes the excitement of everything gets to him and he ends up causing a food fight between everyone, started by either throwing eggs at you or smearing butter down your nose. By the end, pancake batter ends up on the walls, Frank gets covered in flour and Susie has managed to get her hands on the brown sugar which is always a bad thing.

All the while Joey catches you smiling and he cannot help but smile in turn.  

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life? Chapter 13-15

Chapter 13

“Hey, that’s a gun! You can’t have that, it’s illegal!” Not quite right. Members of the UK public can own certain sporting rifles and shotguns, but handguns (like the one used by the robber) were effectively banned after 1996.

Before the 18th century, a crowbar was usually referred to simply as a ‘crow’ or ‘iron crow’ as far back as 1400 – the latter phrase is used by Shakespeare, in, again, Romeo and Juliet.

“Their pronunciation is atrocious – worse than Arthur’s.” Catherine of Aragon was definitely fluent in Latin, as was Prince Arthur, Henry’s ill-fated older brother. The two communicated via letters in Latin before Catherine came over to England, only to discover they learned different pronunciations when they tried to talk to each other. They could read what the other wrote, but couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Catherine Parr took after her godmother in her interest in languages, but she wasn’t afforded the same level of education as a Spanish princess was. She spoke French fluently, which we know because she spoke to ambassadors in French, and that she attempted to learn Spanish during her queenship. A letter from her stepson Prince Edward mentions that Parr was “progressing in the Latin tongue”, and Parr herself reprimanded the University of Cambridge for sending a missive in Latin; “and as they be Latin-ly written, (which is so signified unto me by those that be learned in the Latin tongue), so I know you could have uttered your desires and opinions familiarly in our vulgar tongue, aptest for my intelligence”. This may be false modesty, however, and we know she knew at least a little Latin, as well as Italian and Greek.

Chapter 14

“…actually, it can’t be that one, I’m here.” Henry reportedly could not, eh, perform with Anne of Cleves on their wedding night – while this might be because of his suspected impotence, he claimed it was because he had his doubts about Anne’s virginity, claiming that “I never for love of the woman consented to marry; nor yet, if she brought maidenhead (her virginity) with her, took [it] from her by true carnal copulation”.

The emails are both references, but one is more straightforward than the other. Anna’s is simple – 1515 was the year she was born. Richard Jones’ email address is an alchemical joke – 82 is the atomic number for lead, and 79 is for gold. Lead into gold.

Chapter 15

A Levels, also known as Advanced Levels, are the subject-based part of the school-leaving qualification in the United Kingdom (but not Scotland) and other parts of the world, including India, Nepal, Hong Kong, Singapore and Zimbabwe.

Anne of Cleves came over to England in January of 1540. Katherine Howard was executed in February of 1542. Two years, give or take.

4:50 from Paddington, known as What Mrs.McGillicuddy Saw in the U.S., is the seventh novel by Agatha Christie in the Miss Marple collection, and is the payoff of the Catherine of Aragon Murder Mystery Easter egg chain. It has been adapted into other mediums several times, including twice for television, the most recent adaptation in 2004 featuring Toby Marlow in a minor role.

The closest Catherine Parr came to death in her third marriage was when she argued about theology with Henry on a regular basis. Henry (and some conservative members of the court) did not appreciate this, and wrote up a warrant for Parr’s arrest on the grounds of heresy. Parr found out about this, and when she went to see Henry next, claimed she wasn’t arguing with him, but learning from him, “yet must I, and will I, refer my judgment in this, and in all other cases, to your majesty’s wisdom, as my only anchor, supreme head and governor here in earth, next under God, to lean unto”. Flattery tended to work well with Henry, and so Parr lived.

While most of the strange occurrences recounted by Parr are fiction, one or two are based off specific events said to have occurred in one of London’s most haunted houses, 50 Berkeley Square. Two sailors stayed in the house for one night, only to be frightened by an apparition that sent one of them running to find the police. The other was found dead on a fencepost, having fallen onto it in the presumed attempt to escape. While some sources say the apparition was an inhuman creature with a gaping mouth, some say it was the ghost of a previous owner – Thomas Meyers, who lived alone in the house after supposedly being rejected by his fiancee, slowly going insane and dying at the age of 76 in 1874.

‘Dizzard’ is a word meaning fool or idiot, most likely taken from the Middle English word disour, meaning a jester. It was apparently used during the 1500s. If so, Catherine Parr would be familiar with it – she had a female jester called, appropriately, Jane Foole. It has been theorised that the woman on the far left of that 1545 portrait of Henry’s family is in fact Jane Foole, with other favoured jester Will Somers on the other side.

(Why would you put your current wife in the painting you commissioned when you can put your clowns in instead?)

The plot is based on a tendency of Henry VIII’s which both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn had experience with. Henry was a big fan of dressing up in disguises – one of his more famous costumes was Robin Hood, with his friends as the merry men. He would leave an event, get dressed up, return and demand dances and kisses from the present ladies. Everyone was expected to feign ignorance as to who the masked men were, then surprise when Henry revealed himself. The king got very sulky when people didn’t play along.

[ruthoakenshield]

The Call (part 2)

The Call (part 1)

Richard, Shannon and a couple others quickly rushed to their dressing rooms to get changed out of costume and makeup. They decided that they were going to make you supper & dessert and spend time with you tonight.

They all piled in Shannon’s SUV and stopped at the local grocery store. Richard went to get you flowers, Shannon went to get your favourite dessert, Stacey and another costar went to get stuff for supper. On his way back to the cash register, Richard saw some wine that would go great with the supper they had planned for you. He grabbed a couple bottles and placed them on the counter with the flowers.

The cashier rang them up and he paid for them then stood by the doors waiting for the rest of the group. Once they all had their purchases they went to your apartment. Stacey pulled out a sympathy card and had everyone write in it before they got out of the SUV, then she tucked it in with the flowers Richard was holding.

They went up to the door and rang the buzzer. Shannon pushed Rich forward telling him he got to be the spokesperson. He gave her a look and she giggled. You answer the buzzer wondering who it is. “It’s Rich, Shannon, Stacey and Gabe. We’re here to make you supper and we brought food, dessert and a gift.” Richard tells you. “What did you bring for supper & dessert?” You ask, not really in the mood for company.

Stacey shouts out chicken & broccoli Alfredo, breadsticks, and chocolate marshmallow ice cream and strawberry cheesecake ice cream!!!!” They hear you laugh and you buz them in.

You hear them laughing and stomping up the three flights of steps to your apartment. Stacey & Shannon are huffing and puffing when you open the door and look out as they come up the last steps. You shake your head at them and can’t help but grin.

You stand there in your college’s sweatpants (cuz they were SO comfortable but WAY too long for you), and a worn out college sweatshirt with the stretched out neckline. You blush bright red when you realize you forgot to go put a bra on and that Gabe is also with the group as is Richard. Richard grins when he sees what you’re wearing, making you blush even more red.

“Why on God’s green earth did you choose the top floor in an apartment with NO elevator ?!?!?” Stacey asks you.

You laugh, “Cuz it FORCES me and my guests to get SOME exercise!!!” You say grinning. Richard and Gabe just chuckle and Gabe messes your hair as he passes through the door. Richard grins when he sees you and boops you on the nose gently with the flowers.

Both Richard and Gabe stand in the entry looking around. They notice you have very little in your apartment. “So, y/n how long have you lived here?” Gabe asks as Richard hands you the flowers, card and wine bottles. You motion for them to follow you to the kitchen.

“I moved here about 8 months ago. I know it’s not much. I just never got around to decorating it I guess. My finances have been tight since I moved here. It’s SO much more expensive here than back home.” You explain. I just got the bare basics for now.” You sigh. “It’ll fill up now that I have to go through Mom & Dad’s house and decide what to keep and what to sell.” You say quietly as a tear runs down your cheek and you brush it away.

You busy yourself with the flowers. Arranging them in a water pitcher since you don’t own a vase. He had bought you a bunch of brightly colored daisies and Fuji mums, which were your favourites, unbeknownst to him.

Richard notices that you don’t seem to own a vase and makes a mental note for the next time. You place them on the dining table off to the side of the kitchen, and sit to open the card. Richard comes and stands near you and leans on one of the counters as Gabe, Stacey & Shannon start making supper.

You open the card and see three gift cards for $200 each. One is a general Visa card, one is for the grocery store near your apartment, and the other is for a fancier restaurant. The four people in your apartment all signed it and wrote condolences & well wishes to you.

You look up at them with glassy eyes, blown away by their generosity and friendship. You look up at Richard & he is smiling at you warmly. His eyes crinkling at the corners and twinkling with happiness knowing that you won’t be alone tonight.

He comes over and stands behind you and rubs your shoulders absentmindedly as you both watch your friends make a mess of your kitchen. You look down at the card in your hand and sniffle. Then you set it next to the pitcher of flowers. You pull out your phone case and put the three gift cards into the phone case.

You flip your phone to photo mode and take a few pictures of Shannon, Gabe & Stacey all making you supper, then take a few selfies of you and Richard watching them now that he pulled up a chair behind you and has his chin on your shoulder.

“You guys didn’t have to do this. I was just going to have pizza, my Jameson, and watch Guys & Dolls.” You inform them.

“Nonsense! Shannon says! You can still watch your movie! We are crashing your party tho and providing MUCH better food and drink than pizza and whiskey!”

You clench you’re chest and gasp. “How dare you belittle my Jameson!” You tease with mock offense. Then you get up, open the freezer and to Richard’s surprise pull out a big bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey, open it and take a couple swigs. Then close the bottle and put it back in the freezer. You grin and walk back and plop back down on your chair.

Stacey laughs and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hard liquor girl!” She laughs.

You grin. “It’s in my blood. You can blame my mom’s side of the family! Scotch, Irish, English, Russian, Finnish, French-Canadian.” You grin. Richard chuckles. You look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That bottle looked like it was half gone. How long has it been in the freezer?” He asks you with his own raised eyebrow. You grin. Since I got off of work.” You say deadpanned to see what kind of reaction you get.

They ALL stop and stare at you. You start guffawing. “Relax. It’s been in there for about two months now! It was a gift from my dad when I finally told him I got this job!” You tell them laughing. They all chuckle and Shannon throws a wet washcloth at you hitting you on the arm. “Brat!” She says then laughs as you throw it back at her. Richard is chuckling behind you.

They get supper going and you get up and go into the living room and open the entertainment center. Richard follows you and plops down on the oversized U-shaped couch. He looks around at the room. There’s a bookcase filled with books and literature, another bookcase is filled with DVD’s. He gets up and goes to see what kind of taste you have for movies and books.

He is surprised at the variety. Old musicals like “Singin’ in the Rain”, “Guys and Dolls”, “The Court Jester”, a lot of Disney animated and also live action movies, BBC sets of Downton Abbey, Robin Hood, Are You Being Served, and several versions of Jane Eyre. He sees Marvel & DC movies, The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings, but also nearly all of the Indiana Jones movies, Almost all of the Star Wars movies, Star Trek, and lots of chick flicks like Pretty Woman, Never Been Kissed, Mamma Mia, Grease, miss Congeniality, The Princess Bride. He grins when he sees Into the Storm and all of the X-men movies, and the newest version of Phantom of the Opera as well as many many more.

He walks over to your bookcase and looks at your books. Wurthering Heights, Jane Eyre, The Odyssey, Little Women, 66 Love Letters, history books on Egypt, Greece and Rome. Books and magazines on archaeology, a whole shelf of J.R.R. Tolkien books and related books, another entire shelf of C.S. Lewis’ works including a VERY worn out OLD boxed set of the Narnia books. You had a set of the Earth’s Children series by Jane Auel as well, along with a bunch of classic literature books like Sherlock Holmes, Frankenstein, Dr Jeckyl & Mr. Hyde, Moby Dick, Grimms’ Fairytales, and a whole bunch more.

You watch him as her peruses your movies and books. You study his face as he explores your two collections. He smiles at some, grins when he sees others, and after a bit you come over and say, “Well?”

He looks at you confused. “Well what?” He asks as he wraps an arm around your waist and looks down at you as he glanced from the bookcase to you. You shiver as his thumb finds bare skin at your waist and you reach up to put a book back into the bookcase that you had finished earlier. He notices the bare skin immediately and slides his hand up so his whole hand is on your bare ribs. His thumb grazing the underside of your breast. You grin, realizing the shirt had pulled up on one side revealing you weren’t wearing a bra. His hand feels warm against your bare skin.

You chuckle and turn to face him as he swallows hard. Your faces are mere inches apart & you feel his breath on your shoulder. His dreamy blue eyes are very dilated and he holds you closer. “Thank you for the flowers, Richard.” You say. He smiles. “I hope you like them. They were so bright and colorful, I thought they might help cheer you up a bit.” He explains. You smile. “They will. They are my favourite flowers. Especially those huge fugi mums!” You grin and give him a kiss on the nose. Making him grin.

He smiles and traces the side of your face. “I’m glad you like them. What were you going to put in now that we are all here?” He asks. You grin and walk back to your movie case.

You pull out “Guys and Dolls” and shake the case. He chuckles, “a musical huh?” He says. You give him a cheesy grin and nod. He walks back over to the couch and plops down on the shorter U section in the middle.

You walk over to the DVD player and pop in the DVD. Then ask him if he wants anything to drink while the two of you wait. He thinks for a minute then asks for a soda. You head for the kitchen and he hears Shannon and Stacey talking and Gabe laughing at something they said. You come walking out with two Cokes and a smirk on your face.

“What’s so funny?” He asks as you sit next to him and hand him his coke. “They were giving me shit for putting a shot of Jameson in mine.”

He chuckles. You take a swig and groan. He goes to take a swig of his but you stop him. “Hang on... they switched them on me... here.” You say as you take the one in his hands and hands him yours. He frowns for a minute then chuckles. You take a swig of the one in your hand and say “Ahhhh, that’s better!”

Richard looks at you and laughs. “I never would’ve pegged you for a whiskey drinker.” He tells you. You look at him puzzled for a moment. “What would’ve you pictured me drinking?” You ask curious. He thinks for a moment. “Screwdrivers.” He says. You grin. “I like those too.” You confess. “Especially in the hands of a sexy handyman.” You say and wiggle your eyebrows, earning a hearty laugh from Richard. “I’ll have to remember that.” He tells you grinning.

Just then Stacie hollers that supper is almost ready. Bring it out here Stace! You holler back. We can eat and watch the movie!

They bring the plates of food, then the basket of breadsticks, the chilled wine, glasses, silverware, napkins and the flowers and card. Shannon puts the flowers on the side table by you along with the card. They pour the wine and you all toast to your parents and to new family and friends, then you hit play on the remote and you all dig in to the food.

Once everyone finished eating Shannon gets up and collects all the plates. She brings them to the kitchen and comes back with bowls of ice cream for everyone. You eat ice cream and laugh at the movie.

You’re snuggled against Richard after eating your ice cream. “Geez, you’re like a blazing heater!” You tease him. He just grins and wraps his arm around you. “Is someone cold?” He asks. You nod. “I blame the ice cream.” You say giggling. He chuckles and grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch and drapes it over you.

A little while later, he feels you get heavy against his chest. He glances down and you’re sound asleep. He chuckles and pets your head while he watches the movie. By the time it’s done, you’re in a deep sleep.

Stacey looks over and quietly says, “Awwwwe! Is she asleep?” Richard nods and holds up a finger to his lip. “You guys go ahead and clean up then head home. I’m gonna stay here and sleep on the couch so she isn’t alone.” They look at him and nod. “Thanks for the food, ladies and Gabe, make sure they get home in one piece.” He says quietly. Gabe nods and gives Richard a wink.

They clean up the kitchen and dishes and then head out after saying bye to Richard.

He looks down at you and kisses your forehead. He gently slides an arm under your knees and wraps the other back around your waist. He shifts you onto his lap and then carefully stands and looks around trying to figure out where your room is. He sees a door off in the corner and walks over to it. It isn’t quite pulled shut, so he toes it open to see a beautifully decorated bedroom. The lamps on either side of the bed flip on with a dim night light bulb in them when they sense movement and provide a better view. He sits you in the chair in the corner of your room and props you against the side.

Then he goes to your bed and pulls back the dark blue comforter revealing silver silk sheets. He grins and runs his hand over them imagining making love to you in that bed. He grins, “not now though.” He tells himself. He walks back over to you and looks at you in the chair. Your hair has fallen out of the loose braid you had it in and you’re snuggled into the blanket from the couch.

Richard walks over and carefully unwraps you from the blanket. Then he picks you up again bridal style and carries you to the queen size bed. He chuckles as he sees your pants hanging almost a foot down past your feet.

He kneels down on the bed and carefully lays you down in the middle of the bed. He covers you up and brushes the loose hair from your face. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. I’ll be out in the living room on the couch when you wake up.” He whispers, then kisses your cheek. Unable to resist that little splurge.” Then he walks to the chair, grabs the blanket from the couch that you were wrapped in, walks to the door and looks back at you again.

He sighs contentedly and pulls the door closed a little. He lays down on the couch and covers up with the blanket. Enjoying the fact that it smells like you, he drifts off to sleep thinking of you and silver silk sheets.

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E23 (June 19, 2018)

Welcome to tonight’s Talks Machina. Today’s preshow: the weather throughout the Dwendalian Empire. I’m sure this isn’t foreboding at all. Tonight’s guests: Matt & Emmy-award-winning Sam Riegel. Sam has a prepared bit for the opening that he just found out he was supposed to prepare. He gets out, “How many... light bulbs...” before BWF has pity and throws us to the title screen.

Tonight’s announcements: New M9 shirt in the new CR store at shop.critrole.com. The show also now has their very own dedicated Critical Role Youtube & Twitch channels--however, don’t worry, as it’ll still be broadcast in all current locations as well. After Dark will continue to be available on After Dark only. There also will not be any Talks Machina or new Critical Role episode July 3 or July 5, as they’ll be making the move to a new studio during this week. (Marisha’s stepped down at G&S to make this move to full-time CR management as well.) There’s a summary post of these announcements with a FAQ on critrole.com, if you need more information.

Before we can get to CR Stats, Sam interrupts to ask Matt why they’ve never had an NPC with a French accent. Matt, answering in an excellent French accent, explains that they’ve not come across any regional areas that are analogous to France yet. He suggests they visit the Menagerie Coast.

CR Stats! The M9 have now officially rolled 99 natural ones. Nott’s in the lead with 22. Sam only has one d20 that he rolls, and he thinks Laura’s bad luck is rubbing off on him.

The M9 have now been traveling together for about a month. Matt, deadpan: “They’re such a tight-knit family.” He does like that everyone’s getting to see the ground-floor development and occasionally has to remind himself to set the scene because he gets sucked into the roleplay.

Kiri has imitated people 82 times--Sam loves Matt’s imitations.

The D&D Beyond theme song was a greater achievement than the Emmy (per Sam): “It was a thing that I just came up with...that became the anthem for a generation.” The Emmy is a bucket list, pinnacle professional achievement, but he loves that he got to write & make the theme song. (Also: two years on one cartoon vs. fifteen minutes on a song.)

Matt has a tumultuous history with the Streamys. He directed a web series ten years ago and was invited to contribute to a big montage...only to find out right before the show that it had been cut from the program altogether.

The battle with the Merrow played out fairly close to how Matt had envisioned it, although the players’ positioning led to some interesting situations. It was more challenging in certain moments without Nott, especially when Matt was trying to decide how certain events would play out. Sam sidebars to point out how much he loves it when a battle changes halfway through (either due to traps, additional enemies, or the map changing). Matt says there are many battles they’ve had in the past where certain traps were never triggered. However, you can’t do it too often or it becomes expected. (Matt does feel bad when he’s rolling well and the PCs are rolling badly.)

Nott’s water thing Sam invented during the game (because he thought it would be funny, natch), but he’s come up with a backstory since then that explains why she’s so afraid of water.        

Matt plays out combat as designed even when a PC suddenly decides to not participate--unless it’s a new group that doesn’t fully understand D&D combat yet, and it would impact their enjoyment of the game. He wants people to understand that there are consequences with character choices. 

Sam often finds it bothersome when they know they’ve missed something in game, especially when it’s an important story beat. It’s the worst when Matt gives them multiple chances to succeed, and they still end up failing all of them. Matt confesses sometimes he makes them roll checks on general knowledge they’d have known anyway just to make them feel a certain esoteric skill was useful for once. 

Nott feels terrible she sat out the Merrow fight only for Caleb to come close to death. Sam: “Nott feels awful about it. Sam Riegel feels great about it! I love situations where it doesn’t look like it’s going well.” Plus, the night before she also got Caleb in trouble with the bowl thing. BWF’s a little worried it’ll affect their relationship.

Matt claims that Kiri was not at all related to wanting to prove he could do Jester’s accent. He rolls for random encounters when they’re traveling, and Kiri was one he’d considered to demonstrate the presence of kenku, while also highlighting that non-Empire people are moving away from the conflict. He half-expected them to ignore her altogether. 

Matt reveals that Kiri has six (6) (SIX) hit points. “She’s practically a baby bird!” Sam has a retroactive panic attack that they’ve been bringing her to all these battles. Me too, bud. Sam accuses Matt of “not having brought anyone worthy of taking a baby bird off our hands.” Matt: “You haven’t even looked!” They wonder together about the possibility of a baby bird orphanage in Hupperdook.

GIF of the Week! @justjamesearle. It’s long and perfect and details the Fjord whack-a-mole death saga with the venom splashes. 

Nott’s opinion of Kiri hasn’t changed at all with the reveal that she heard/repeated her conversation with Caleb. Sam thinks Nott should have known better than to talk with a recording device in the room, especially since she only ever repeats it when it’s hilarious or well-timed. “It’s hard to live with a soundboard.”

Matt keeps a list of notes of what Kiri can say. It’s super fun, and he sometimes gets so caught up in conversations he forgets to write down things for her to repeat later.

Nott wished Kiri hadn’t repeated the facts from her backstory, but she’d never considered being aggressive towards “little RiRi” (oh God it’s too adorable). She still doesn’t like a lot of attention. Both BWF & Sam applaud Matt for giving them little prods to reveal backstory.

Dagon, Matt & Marisha’s bird, provides a lot of inspiration for Kiri. Matt talks about being a bird owner after growing up with cats and dogs, and reveals that wanting to utilize that knowledge was part of why he introduced kenku.

Nott finds Beau the exception to her general mistrust of the group, which is why she let her care for Caleb after the last fight. She feels Beau has been weirdly sensitive and protective even through her lens of abrasiveness, and she respects that she hasn’t spilled the beans about Caleb’s backstory.

Fanart of the Week! @obeymybrain, which is a great group portrait in four vertical-column stylings after the Haunted Mansion from Disneyland.

If the troll hadn’t been slowed by Caleb, Matt thinks the group would have permanently lost someone. Matt loves the new monsters that are punishing to melee characters. He thinks they did a good job damaging it at range at first, and Sam waxes poetic on all the options they didn’t pursue instead (like Saran-wrapping the door before it came running out). Oh, what could have been.

Sam’s love for Liam is stronger than Nott’s love for Caleb, because “...Liam kisses back.” They’ve known each other half their lives now.

If the M9 pursue dynamite as a common battle tactic, Matt may need to prepare for his builds to be destroyed more often. It’s still limited by the relatively new availability of blackpowder and has a high possibility of backfiring depending on their rolls.

Nott wishes she could tell everything to Caleb, but is limited by the realities of their show, since it’s hard to find a time that’s not full of dick or drug jokes. There’s been times they’ve been alone together but Caleb hasn’t asked any questions; Sam thinks “He needs to do some Marisha-style questioning. That is an inquisitive monk, and I love her for it.” Matt points out it’s a critical aspect of her character that she wants to know everything.

Matt played out the last Fjord moment in front of the whole group in part because it would have interrupted the flow to have everyone leave, and in part because he trusts his players not to metagame now that they’re all learning bits and pieces of each other. He liked the visceral smash-cut of the vision to the party watching Fjord jam this thing into his stomach.

Matt does have to juggle all the party’s backstories since it’s such a large group; some will be long-game just because of the natures of their stories. He likes to drop threads as they go, though, so everyone feels more connected to their world. Players feel like the stakes are higher when they can see their stories reflected and affecting the living and breathing world around them.

Nott wasn’t particularly bothered by Molly immediately forgiving the bandits right after they hurt her. “They’re just dumb. They’re just dumb and they need to go. They’re too dumb to hurt.”

Matt knew the outline of Hupperdook before the party ever heard of it. Now that they’ve expressed interest in it, he’s begun filling in the details since it looks likely that they’ll visit it soon. It helps that they’re limited to speed of foot & horse; when they can start bamfing everywhere in later game, it gets a lot harder. Matt’s advice in that situation is to give the town a unique social structure or aspect, to make a bold choice that will cause it to stand out in their mind. It helps if you can ask what the players are looking for, then “yes and” based on what they’re seeking (he builds an idea of two competing taverns poaching clients from each other off a spur-of-the-moment request from a player asking if there’s an inn nearby).

Sam does rehearse his more performative ads ahead of time. He usually writes them the day of over lunch, although lately he’s been trying to get them done on Mondays and Tuesdays so he’s not as stressed on Thursday.

There’s no specific inspirational character for the Gentleman. Matt wanted to create an outside-the-law businessman who wasn’t your typical ~thief-lord~ while still seeming unique against the world. He wanted him to be charismatic and domineering, welcoming until you crossed a personal or business line, in which case he’d immediately put you in your place. 

Nott still considers her old goblin tribe a threat to her & is reluctant to confront them. She does feel a little more prepared now that she has more allies, but is hesitant to meet old demons & old memories. Matt sidebars to point out that a lot of these character backstories could be self-driven, since there’s nothing keeping them from visiting Nott’s hometown now. They could pursue it at any time if they wanted.

The firearms in the world are a direct result from Percy & Ripley; she dealt them out in heavy trade areas like Marquet, which results in the technology being distributed in a way that now impacts the M9 in their world. They’re still limited by materials, though.

Matt loves the joy on Tal’s face every time they mention firearms are readily available in Wildemount.

Everyone’s distraught over Tal’s Vicious Mockery in the last episode. Bless his heart. Matt: “Sometimes you come out of the gate and realize you’ve come out without your pants on. You commit, and you walk away.”

Sam misses giving inspiration on a regular basis. He also has a lot of insecurities over his current inability to contribute to a battle with much more than crossbow bolts. BWF: “Just sent Nott to a bard college.” Matt: With a -3 charisma, I think you’re taking inspiration away from people.”

Favorite M9 voice to mimic as Kiri? Partially Jester, because it’s just funny, Nott is shrill and ridiculous, and has lately been enjoying mimicking Fjord for the few times he’s been echoed.

The Nott voice is not hard at all on Sam; it’s mostly falsetto, which BWF says he usually talks in off-camera all the time anyway.

After Dark: After This

In CriticalRoleLand, Dani would like to see Vex’s Flying Brooms. BWF suggests a waterslide that ends in Vex’s & Percy’s bathtub; Matt suggests it be a goldfish ride that goes over the side. He also likes a teleporting ride that goes into Umbrasyl’s belly, and Sam comes up with a dunk tank for heckling Tary.

Matt talks about that viral Youtube video with the weather forecaster naming the city that’s like 100 characters long. Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, that’s the one.

Nott’s Tinder profile? “Short, green, looking for mean. Buy me a drink and I’m yours.”

Matt wouldn’t be surprised if this campaign does eventually touch on family in the same way the first one did. However, Sam feels so far it’s much more about identity, and Matt tacks on regret & making amends. He also thinks trust & learning to accept help from others is still developing, since so many of these characters have been hurt in some way.

VM had a lot of very classical heroic archetypes; this campaign is full of many more human, subtly complicated characters. Matt loves the contrast.

The eyes. The EYES.

Sam agonizes that in his Friday retellings of the campaign’s story to his six-year-old son, it drives him crazy that he can’t answer his son’s questions as to why something happened. His son does ask “does Matt Mercer know?” and Sam is glad he can say yes.

Sam loves the idea of the world hinging on the bandit troupe they keep running into. I debated troop or troupe there, but given the hysterics they keep causing, I’m sticking with troupe.

If they met, Nott would steal every single thing from Taryon Darrington. Except that lame book, of course. “That’d be amazing. And! Possible! We’re on the continent, right?” Sam rubs his hands together gleefully...until Matt points out Taryon’s been relegated to NPC status & Matt would be the one controlling him now.

Matt usually prepares a guest for the show by meeting with them ahead of time. Depending on how much (or if ever) they’ve played before, he helps them build a character and teaches them the basics of the class. Mark, obviously, didn’t need that introduction, so instead they focused on loose backstory and finding ways to integrate that backstory into the existing world. When it’s time for them to actually play, they’ll discuss in advance a way to bring their paths across each other, such as Cali looking for a specific relic at the same time that the M9 were going to be investigating a safehouse full of stolen relics. As soon as they meet, it’s hands off. (It can be hard to get someone out of the group if they for sure can’t return the next week.)

MAJOR, MAJOR, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE END OF CAMPAIGN ONE IN THE SECTION BELOW.

BWF jokes that last campaign Joe Manganiello just showed up and said, “Hey, so, I’m playing Arkhan,” and that was that. Actually...that’s pretty close to what really happened. Matt & Joe did meet for a long evening in Joe’s kitchen in advance to discuss backstory & motivations, after which he finally managed to convince Joe’s wife, Sofía Vergara, to play a small game with him, Joe, and Marisha. Sam laughs that at Matt & Marisha’s wedding, they had two sentences with Joe before the conversation immediately devolved into D&D and Joe’s wife rolled her eyes out of her head.

They did discuss that Joe wanted to steal the hand at the end of the last campaign. “You don’t have the Hand of Vecna, the Hand of Vecna has you.” They had a long conversation about Arkhan’s denouement after that episode.

END OF MAJOR, MAJOR SPOILERS.

And that’s all for the night! Have a lovely week, and is it Thursday yet?

[wonderlandroundthree]

Molly and Caduceus??

who steals french fries off the other’s plate

Molly. Caduceus always buys fries to share anyway

who jokingly moves in for the kiss when someone asks if they’re a couple

Molly

who has to bust or bail the other out of jail

Lets be real Caduceus is the only member of the Mighty Nein who hasn’t been arrested. When they go to protests they write his phone number on their arms in Sharpie in case of an emergency. He’s the designated driver every time they go out.

who gives the other advice/comfort about dating issues

I know that this is a platonic ask meme but this doesn’t apply because they’re dating  Molly

who shamelessly cheats at games by reaching over to cover the other’s eyes

Molly, but Jester totally fucks with Molly so Caduceus can win

who immediately calls dibs on the top bunk

Molly

who starts and who wins the pillow fights

Molly starts them, Caduceus wins them

who says “your pants would look better on their floor” to the other’s potential crush

Molly. Caduceus doesn’t realise what Molly is implying

[hidden-in-the-cloud]

They Never Came Home; Choni Sneak Peek Coming Soon.

Cheryl and Toni were laying on Cheryl's bed making out, a usual Week day night for them. Toni would come over and study with Cheryl since they were both in AP classes and they studied well together, for a good hour anyway.

"Toni." Cheryl states between kisses as Toni lays on top of her playing with Cheryl's stomach underneath her shirt. Toni pulls back a bit between pecks to reply,

"Yes love?" Toni smiles sweetly down at Cheryl, reaching out from underneath Cheryl's shirt to push back Cheryl's hair in her face, behind her ear. A simple jester that always seems to get Cheryl to blush deeply no matter how long they've been dating, which in fact has almost been 6 months to be exact.

"I have something to tell you." Cheryl bites her lip and looks down nervously, as Toni scrunched her eyebrows in confusion and a bit of worry as Toni takes back her hands and sits up slowly. Toni's not to worried by Cheryl's statement for she knows her girlfriend could be a bit dramatic sometimes. Cheryl sits up with her still not making eye contact.

"Cheryl," Toni slowly says, "what is it?" Cheryl still silently plays with her fingers. Ever since Toni has known Cheryl she really hasn't had a backbone, probably stemming from the fact she has always been shadowed by her cousin Betty, the popular girl in school. Cheryl has no parents or as Cheryl puts it real family as she says. Cheryl's parents sadly had passed awhile ago and since a little girl had moved in with her aunt and cousin, The Coopers who weren't exactly ideal. From Alice the raging conniving snake all the way down to her devil spit image spawn. Alice growing up has always made sure Betty excels at everything including being popular and honestly couldn't give two shits what Cheryl did as long as Cheryl kept up well on her studies and put up a good picture front.

"I'm going away for the weekend." Cheryl quietly states. Toni smiles a bit confused of why that would scare the red head so much to tell Toni.

"Well that's great i'll see you when you come back, baby." Toni softly smiles reaching out to grab Cheryl's hand but Cheryl quickly takes it back looking hurt as she speaks,

"You're not going to miss me my chérie?" Cheryl pouts a bit scooting back, forgotten Cheryl's greatest fear since her parents have left her.

Toni sat back trying to put it in a way Cheryl understood what she was saying but also not to hurt her feelings again. Toni again tries to slowly grab Cheryl's hand which Cheryl allows this time. Toni made sure to look her in the eyes this time not missing a beat and making sure this got across to Cheryl correctly this time avoiding anymore hurt from the one side.

"Of course i'm going to miss you baby it's labor day weekend I was looking forward to spending with my," Toni pauses and scrunched her eyebrows thinking of the phrase correctly for Cheryl, "my chérie." Toni says in a thick awful French accent. Cheryl bursts out laughing as Toni sighs in content that Cheryl isn't upset anymore.

"But," Toni stops Cheryl's laughter being serious again looking at her in the eyes. "It's not your fault you're going out of town plus you'll have fun.." Toni quickly stops wondering, "uhm where you going anyway?" Cheryl goes back being nervous taking back her hand to play with.

"Well actually Betty invited me out to go camping with just her this weekend. She said its cousin bonding time that she says we never have and i'm sort of excited so I said yes." Toni nods her head, her cousin Betty is the most popular in school and so that makes Cheryl somewhat popular, well actually more tolerable than anything due to assosication she really doesn't get much attention and the only way she gets invited anywhere is through Betty herself of course. So Betty to invite her somewhere is actually a good thing and seems to make Cheryl happy even if she is nervous about it.

"Well i'm happy for you baby and i'm excited for you guys to bond." Cheryl looks up and smiles again nervousness gone as she leans over to kiss Toni excitingly. "Thank you baby." Toni giggles as she turns to state, "But I am going to miss you sure I can't come with?" Toni winks to Cheryl as Cheryl laughs and tackles Toni down on to the bed back to making out.

Looking back now Toni should have gone with Cheryl that weekend. Because after that Labor Day weekend they were expected home Monday evening for the next day of school but Toni waited on the Coopers roof by Cheryl's window all night to not be seen by Ms. Cooper. But they never came home.

[tisziny]

Tagged by @not-nervous-jester to find the words sigh, sweet and taste in my WIP!

SIGH

Frenchie nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and left. Ed couldn’t help but think back to the party ship, and how Frenchie and the servants had given Stede the ammunition needed to blow those French pricks to pieces with just his words. And this is what had become of them. 

What did it even matter? He was Stede’s crew, not his. Why should he care that he was being a murderous bastard to someone who’d once helped him. Why should he feel a stab of overwhelming shame at the thought of killing him, or any of the others for that matter.

Blackbeard. Didn’t. Care.

Blackbeard would- would… He sighed, his kohl smeared face falling into his hands with a frustrated groan. Blackbeard would be too fucking weak like he’d always been. Fob the job off to Izzy or Fang, Ivan. Fang has been a bit of a mess since Iz told him about the Boy. Like back when he’d first joined and tried to smuggle his mutt onto the Queen Anne. God that was fucked up. Who made a man kill their own dog, and for what? A statement? To make an example of the weakness of love to his crew?

He really was the monster everyone thought he was. Even without nine guns, glowing embers for eyes and a head of smoke.

It was no wonder, really, that Stede never showed up.

SWEET

“He tried to kill me, sort of. Long story.” Lucius said, hands now stroking Black Pete’s face and wiping away the tears as they slipped down his cheeks. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

They met in another kiss, slow and clinging. Stede swallowed the lump in his throat, adding it to the ever growing pit of blame and despair that had long since formed in his stomach. It was bittersweet, he thought. He was of course so grateful his friends could be reunited, their love for each other poignant. But his heart ached at the sight, one of guilt and desperate envy. Jealousy. A green eyed monster like no other.

TASTE - I actually don't have one use of the word taste in my current WIP sooooo here's a second use of SIGH

He sighed as hopelessness washed over him. He’d always been a fool. As a child trying desperately to appease his peers, seek approval from his father, always managing to do or say the wrong thing. As a young man blindly marrying a stranger because it was what was expected of him. Barely able to touch her. A miracle they’d produced any children. As a husband and father, ignoring his wife and giving his children night terrors with tales of pirates. Running out on them only to run back in months later and disrupt everything worse than the first time. As a pirate, almost mutinied within just weeks of sailing. Leading his crew into a trap with the Spanish Navy, saved like a damsel in distress. As a friend, leaving Ed alone to think he’d been abandoned. Forgotten. Turning him back into the very monster he’d been trying to escape from. 

As a man.

Why would this be any different?

I won't tag anyone because I don't really know other writers. But If you see this and want to do it, go for it! Tag me! I'd love to see it.

[sullivantwissarcana]

RWBY Original Character 20

Name: Veronica Moonstone aka “Rouge”

Origin and Influence: “Veronica” is a shade of purple while a moonstone is a colorful rock that can appear blue, white, pink, green, and several other colors; “Rouge” is French for “red” and is also a type of makeup used to color your cheeks (also called “blush”)

Age: 19 (Birthday is June 18th)

Symbol: A bat-winged heart with a kiss mark (art by @chuckles-the-jester)

Species: Human

Appearance: 5′9″ with tanned skin, a toned hourglass figure with proportions similar to Yang Xiao Long, dark blue eyes, red lipstick, and long white hair that reaches her hips; Rouge wears a black tank top with her emblem on the breast in pink and a pair of black pants for casual wear; on heists, she wears a skin-tight black catsuit, long fingerless white gloves, white go go boots, and a red domino mask that resembles bat wings

Personality: Rouge is a very confident girl who prides herself on her looks; sexy and seductive, she can charm her way out of most situations with a flutter of her eyelashes and a quick mind; Veronica is also a major flirt who loves to tease men and women when she finds interest in them; she is an observant fighter who prefers to study how her enemy fights before making her next move; Rouge has a habit of helping kids outside of heists and will give them advice to help them through life; she hasn’t been a part of Sombra’s team for as long as the guys, but treats them like family and will do anything to make sure they are all safe; Veronica also has a love of jewelry and it can be a major distraction on heists if it isn’t the main target she and the boys are after

Backstory: Rouge grew up with an abusive family in Mistral and eventually ran away from her parents at the age of 15. With nowhere to go after that, she spent the next year doing unsavory work in multiple places and when she reached 16, she ended up in a red-light district. Hating her newest “job”, Veronica was forced to put up with obnoxious customers until she was hired to “accompany” a rich broker that was well known in the black market. Upon arriving at the broker’s place, the broker was about to have his way with Veronica before they heard something downstairs. Going to investigate, the broker saw his guards were unconscious and that his safe was broken into. Going to find the thieves and kill them himself, the broker went upstairs to find that two men were carrying several of the broker’s belongings as well as all his cash. While the broker got into a fight with them, Veronica witnessed the Raccoon Faunus thief toying with her “customer” and after he got knocked into a bookcase that fell on him, Veronica knew she had to stop the broker from killing the Faunus. Kicking the broker in the back of the head, she knocked him unconscious and helped the thief up. After introductions were finished, Smoke Shadow offered Veronica safety with his gang while they escaped the broker’s home. Owing her freedom to Smoke and Kun, Rogue joined the gang and helped them become notorious around Remnant.

Weapons: Rouge uses a pair of bat wing-shaped butterfly knives that can unfold and transform into pistols

Aura and Semblance: Rouge’s Aura control allows her to sense incoming enemies and compensate for average strength by using barriers like Lie Ren; her Semblance manifests as “Shapeshifting” and allows her to temporarily transform her appearance into that of another; She can only hold the form for a few minutes before having to change back, otherwise her Aura will drain away faster; she cannot transform into something larger than herself, but can give herself extra features instead such as a Faunus’ night vision or wings for short flights

Fighting Style: Rouge uses a highly skilled assortment of martial arts in combination with her knife fighting and marksmanship; her hand-to-hand style is very acrobatic and uses plenty of grapples to quickly subdue foes before either knocking them out with choke holds or breaking limbs with quick precise attacks; the main weakness of this style is that Rouge cannot defend herself against power fighters like Azalea or Tremor and is left vulnerable if cornered

FINISHED!!!!! Now we have the entirety of “Team SMKE” listed down. Hope you like Veronica Moonstone aka “Rouge”.

@bunnyhoplollipop @whovianpegasister @snowembrace @vitt-99 @unashamed-shipper @strawberrysweetlove35 @kjthetalekeeper @jkl930 @primordialpaper @evebun @chuckles-the-jester @ventus-rogue @nalufever @nightlockedx3 @megapixelpichu @goldibox 

[maxfieldparrishes]

present mirth

@deathberryprompts; prompt: please (mood music)

People-watching is a hobby of Rukia’s. Ichigo thinks it began as an observational learning tactic for her to better fit in among his classmates, but once they all got used to her he assumed it would stop. 

It didn’t. 

Every Friday evening she would sneak up to the rooftops of one of Karakura’s towering skyscrapers, or sit for hours on a park bench, eagerly watching strangers go by. It was always a toss-up where she’d be, but Ichigo tries not to be too aware of how good he’s gotten at guessing where she is. It doesn’t mean anything that he’s been 3 for 3 this month. 

It totally doesn’t mean anything. Other than that he’s become way, way too used to her. 

Today is a Friday. Last Friday was a Skyscraper Day, and the Friday before that was a Lake Day, which means that today is most likely a Park Day. He knows Rukia likes the benches across from the willow trees and the crossroads where the paths split, so that’s where he heads. She’s probably already there - the park is full of young couples and young families and the sunset is a red-blue-orange watercolor bleeding into the edges of the sky. 

It’s a perfect night to “observe” some strangers.

Sure enough, she’s sitting on the damn bench, bubble tea in hand (tapioca bubbles and matcha with honey, he remembers), knees folded up under her. He might (teasingly) call her a creepy stalker for her weekly ritual, but he’ll be damned if she has fun without him. Some nights where he hasn’t gone along with her she returns full of stories, outlandish and crazy and more than a little bizarre, and she always laughs at him for pouting that he missed the entertainment. 

Rukia sees him coming over, but doesn’t do or say anything except raise an eyebrow. Her attention is on a young woman whose nose is buried in a book. Ichigo sidles up to the bench and says, with all the delicacy he has in him, “Oi, move over.” 

Rukia’s response to this is, naturally, to extend her legs completely. 

She’s not even looking at him as she does it. 

Fucking rude. 

So he merely grabs her ankles and rotates her body to the side, ignoring her protests (which, come to think of it, aren’t as loud or violent as they could have been) and squirming.

She pushes herself upright and glares at him, but still doesn’t say anything. It’s not like her to be this quiet, preoccupied attention or not. 

“Is everything all right?” he asks. 

Rukia nods. 

“You’re quiet tonight. I just wanted to make sure...” 

She looks away, and that’s when he knows something is bothering her. This isn’t Rukia being annoyed or irritated. She’s clearly upset, and he wants to know why. 

“What happened? Did someone bother you? Do I have to punch someone?” He’s shooting off at the mouth because it’s not like her to be sad and quiet. Sad and rambunctious, maybe, but definitely not sad and quiet. 

“No, Ichigo. It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.” 

He snorts. “Clearly.” 

“Really. Just let it go.” She’s still staring at the still-reading girl. 

“No. I want to help.” 

Rukia exhales through her nose at that, then says, “Fine. Tell me a story.”

Ichigo is taken aback. A story? That’s out of left field, even for her. 

“A story about what?” he asks. 

“About her. About the reading girl. Tell me something about her. Anything. Come up with whatever you want. Please.”  

... Alright? It’s a tall order, but not one he can’t fill. So he sits back, crosses his legs, and lets his mind wander as he watches the girl engrossed in her book. 

“She’s 23. She’s just graduated from college in America because she’s reading in English. She has a cat named Jiro who’s old and cranky but she loves him even though he throws up on the rug a lot. She has two older sisters who went into different fields and are successful and her parents wanted her to do the same. She studied some liberal art and probably something like business, but her parents really wanted her to get married, because both her sisters found boyfriends at university. She likes sashimi and french fries. Sometimes she gives the fish to Jiro.” 

He hazards a glance at Rukia. “Go on,” she says. “Don’t stop.” 

“She spent a semester in Paris and went to the Musee d’Orsay at least once a week to sit by Monet’s paintings. What is she reading?” Ichigo leans forward and squints at the book in the dimming light. “Shakespeare? Good choice.” 

“Which play?” 

He squints again. “As You Like It. Not my favorite comedy, but pretty solid.” 

“What’s it about?”

“A girl named Rosalind and her cousin Celia flee into the forest; there’s cross-dressing and political intrigue; they find love and hijinks ensue. That’s... about as much as I can remember. Has a lot of good quotes, though. ‘All the world’s a stage’ and such.” 

Strangely enough, ‘all the world’s a stage’ is not the quote he’s thinking about. He’s glancing at Rukia’s hair in the lamplight and says, almost on autopilot, “We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.” 

“What?”

Ichigo quickly shakes his head. “Nothing. Just another quote. From Touchstone, the jester.” 

Rukia turns back to the girl, who is slipping a bookmark between the pages and patting the pockets of her messenger bag. “I wonder what it says about her, that she chose that play. I hope she likes to laugh.” 

With that parting note, she hops off the bench and throws her empty cup into a nearby trashcan. Ichigo doesn’t miss a beat as he gets up and follows her. 

The walk back to the clinic is a bit longer from the park than the school, but it’s a warm night and they have nowhere to be. He’s glad, actually, because it gives him more time to find out just what the hell is going on with Rukia. 

He waits until about a quarter of the way there before he asks her, “Why did you ask me to tell you a story?”

Rukia counters him. “If I answer, can I ask you a question?”

“I guess that’s fair. Sure, why not.” 

She’s silent for awhile. Then she answers him, and her words make it clear she has his heart in the palm of her hand. “When I first came here, it was... hard. Everything was loud. Everything was fast. There was too much, too quickly. I would watch them, seeing how they acted, how they lived. I don’t remember being... here. I don’t have a foothold. Nothing to ground me.”

He’s stunned. 

“I would watch them, and I would make up stories. I would watch them, living their lives, wondering who they were, what they did, what they loved. I felt... connected to them. Their lives became my life. I gave them the lives I wanted. When I watch them and guess what they do, what foods they like, what music they listen to, I feel like I belong here. Like I have a place.” 

He can’t process this. He’s totally not having heart palpitations because Rukia has just done the most un-Rukia-like thing she’s ever done over the course of their entire relationship and bared her soul to him. He cannot fuck this up. 

But he still doesn’t know what to say? Well, he does know, he just probably shouldn’t? 

Oh, what the hell. Ichigo just goes for it. 

“You have a place. Your place is at the clinic, with us.” 

“Is it?” Her voice is wistful. “I can’t stay forever.” 

“Well... Dad will lose it if you go. I don’t think I could deal with him if you left. So don’t leave.” 

Rukia chuckles. “I suppose I can’t deny that.” 

They walk in silence for a few more beats before Ichigo starts murmuring again. “She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climbs and starry skies...”

“That’s not Shakespeare. Tennyson?” Her voice shakes him out of thoughts of purple sunsets, snow, stars, and lamplight. 

“Byron.” He has “She Walks in Beauty” half-memorized. 

“Oh.”

More silence. He feels he has to break it somehow. “Didn’t we say you could ask me a question?” 

“Oh, right. I guess... why Shakespeare? Why all the poets and the poetry?” 

“That’s two.” He’s grinning, but he’ll indulge her. “I like that Shakespeare... I like that Shakespeare was for the common man, but he also felt that just because you catered to a certain crowd didn’t mean you couldn’t be profound. That truth is truth and feeling is feeling no matter the audience. And as for the poets... I like the language. I want to understand the way they felt, why they felt that way. It’s my version of people-watching, I guess. Picking their lives apart through their poetry.” 

Rukia still doesn’t say anything, but he can feel the air around her change. She’s smiling, and he’ll take it. It’s enough. 

“My favorite Shakespeare comedy is Twelfth Night. My mother took me to Tokyo to see a production - I was really little, but it stuck. If there’s one on, I try to go see it.” 

Ichigo feels like he has to keep talking. He feels like he has to keep being honest with her in return. It’s only fair. 

Rukia glances up at him then, curiously, a searching expression on her face. Then her eyes go back to normal and the faint lines on her face go smooth, and her smile is so heartfelt yet resigned that he has to do something. 

Apparently, “something” means that he opens his mouth and makes a fool of himself. 

“O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear, your true love’s coming, That can sing both high and low.  Trip no further pretty sweeting.  Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know.”

Rukia is gobsmacked. Her jaw hangs open loosely and Ichigo knows, in that moment, that his humiliation (present and future) has been 100% worth it. 

“What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter, Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come and kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”

They’re still walking, and it’s never taken so long before. The clinic is in sight. Rukia is smiling nervously, eyes darting around like Chappy the Rabbit’s. She’s still not saying anything, and all things considered it’s probably for the best. 

He didn’t mean to freak her out - he just wanted to make her laugh at his scratchy, untrained voice. Hell, he just wanted to make her laugh at him singing at all. 

“Thanks.” He twists his head down to look at her while Rukia still gazes at the clinic’s sign in the lilting streetlights, her voice completely deadpan and measured as she gently insults him. “That must have been embarrassing for you.” 

Ah, there she is. 

She crosses the threshold ahead of him while he stops in the kitchen for a snack. When he comes up to his room, the curtains are drawn and the blinds are closed and his closet is open just a crack. He sticks an eye to the sliver and sees a head of dark hair. 

“To sleep, perchance to dream,” Ichigo whispers, and turns out the light. 

A few days later, they sit in the park. Rukia has gone back to her old acerbic self, and Ichigo has gone back to mountains and mountains of homework. 

“Fucking hell,” he hisses. “Who cares about vectors?” 

Rukia, lying on her stomach on a blanket, looks up from her book. “Vectors are important, Ichigo. For example, what if you need to calculate the size and direction of a Hollow...”

“All I need to know is where it is and where it’s going. I don’t need to do all this weird math shit to kill a Hollow.” 

Rukia snorts at that. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get a snow cone.” 

He watches her walk away, legs slender and colty in her yellow shorts (stop it, Ichigo) before he glances down the book left askew on the Chappy blanket, and he can’t help but smile at the cover. 

Twelfth Night. 

[calebsbian]

ep 40 liveblog

yall know how this works. spoilers below the cut

HALLOWEEN COSTUMES “i am ketchup” Spiritually? We are all ketchup. Side note if anyone here calls ketchup catsup, unfollow me immediately

LISA FRANK CASTLE. Marisha is fully a genius

Jamedi get your fuckin head in the game (you gotta getcha getcha getcha getcha)

This is such an excellent dungeon setup...wig......literally big pink wig

THREE CREATURES? THREE? THR

Three dudes..Hm

“Shit balls”

Oh those pillars are definitely trapping something in here. On god if they have to battle a tapeworm

When Avantica’s enthusiasm isn’t tipping over into fanaticism it’s super cute

OH SHIT. ONE OF THEM IS GOING TO ACTIVATE BOY

BOY HAS BEEN ACTIVATED

I love how Matt’s Jester is like restrained and timid while Laura’s Jester consistently channels this video 

Every so often i remember that Caleb and Nott remain schmacked out of their minds

Just #zooted to all fuck

And I lose it

water level water level

TALL CADUCEUS

SMALL CADUCEUS

Oh, some snake motherfuckers! Just what this situation needed! A couple of snake motherfuckers

Malisons.....Mal Alisons...Alisons but they’re bad

Sam might make a great Jester if he goes the fuck in

Although when it comes to playing as Jester, no one will top Liam

Consciously does not make joke

I JUST NOTICED SAM’S FLASK ART. GOD HAS REALLY FORSAKEN US HUH

Marisha’s embracing the traditional Nov 1 halloween candy feast..Queen

HER SHIRT IS SO GOOD

Nott has literally got eem

JESTER NO

OHHHHHHHHH MY GOD

#ROMANCE............

IM SO FUCKIN SAD THAT LAURA ISNT HERE FOR THIS

(Also: first intra-party smooch of the campaign! Confetti emoji)

On god my uwus. On god

I rescind my judgment of Jamedi!!! Thx for helping save Cad

“This is how the ending of the first Poseidon movie SHOULD have happened” while dressed as Dante lmfao. Should Nerds Have Rights Be Honest

I’m kidding he’s correct

Just a fountain of dudes!

“If this is an island” o fuq

Where’s all this water coming from though. Wh

Sam’s Jester IS really good

Let’s hope these dope rolls keep up for this chase

(Heart eyes motherfucker voice) Roll dice motherfucker

Yasha weedwhacks angrily

The ball bearings are BACK baby

Nevermind. They are not back

(my eyes go completely black) F L U F F E R N U T T E R

Out of nowhere fuckin lizardmen. Fuckin LIZARDMEN

this is just like the government all over again

TWO HOURS OF RUNNING?

As a sprinter: fuck no baby

JESTERS EYES GO COMPLETELY BLACK TOO APPARENTLY

Yasha be like: hoists

TH R E E HOURS O F  R U NNIN G?

Boat safety.

PLEASE LET THERE BE CLUB OF MISFITS ART DURING THE BREAK. PLEATHE

We back...Avantica get bandages on that hand challenge

OH GOD OH GOD SHE CAN CONTROL THE OCEAN NOW OH GOD OH G

Liam having only the shawl and makeup left renders him extremely goth

Jeremiah is excellent . Chef kiss. Literally

We love group communication...this goal navigation...Love that for them

Me eating up this monster lore: snack snack snack snack. Delicious

(Nott voice) ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ

Avantica’s French accent. I need to be less gay now

Sike

Hmm

VANDRAN?

Avantica voice: 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝑜𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓈𝒽 𝒸𝑜𝓌𝒶𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒹

OH WORM?

“Powerful woman” so she’s a top

THE SHADE.

Matt found dead

In summary: My wig

[lumiereswig]

can i please have a crack-shippy fic where everybody is in love with the wrong people.

OMG. OMG. THIS PERSON. THIS PERSON GETS IT. Fuck yes you may have your fic and all my money besides

Lumiere’s legs ache, but it’s a fantastic ache—the ache of being out in summer, hiking through the woods, air on his face when for just a second there he thought he’d never have a face again. He breathes, deeply, almost too deeply—and oh, his muscles hurt.

“You might have thought not to wear heels,” teases Plumette, gently, just behind him.

“Cherie, you yourself are wearing heels,” says Lumiere. She laughs and raises her skirts so he can see them. Truly scandalous! And oh so pretty. Their laughter can be heard through the forest as he chases her off the path.

Behind them by a few yards, Cogsworth sighs and raises his eyes to the heavens. Lovers in summer, eh? He cannot remember ever having been this way himself: annoying, grasping for physical attention, all flirt and kiss and nonsense, utter nonsense. He groans and puffs and leans against a tree.

“They all do it, Mr. Cogsworth,” says Mrs. Potts, walking just behind him. “Let them have their fun. Summer was made for lovers such as them.”

“And normal people such as us?” says Cogsworth. “What of us? You have Mr. Potts, I have…..hmph, I have Clothilde. Summer should belong to us, too.”

Mrs. Potts smiles. Far down the path—lagging far behind the older members of the party—Cadenza and Garderobe cling to each other, arm in arm, taking their time and hiking only in between the kisses and hugs. Cogsworth groans again and keeps on walking.

“Mon ami! Cogsworth! Down here!”

The party follow the sound of Lumiere’s voice, off the beaten trail and down into a hollow. Cogsworth waves as he sees his friend and Plumette practically dancing in front of a fallen tree.

“Don’t you see?” yells Plumette. “It’s a tree-house! Someone has made a home beneath the tree!”

It’s true: the upturned roots of the tree form the roof of a home, a charming one strewed with blankets and baskets of herbs. Just outside the shelter stands a cauldron, bubbling over flame; this last intrigues Lumiere very much, who stands over it with a spoon.

“You must come try this at once,” he insists. “Marjoram! I haven’t tasted it in years. Ooh, and something else as well—” He sips from the cauldron and concentrates. Plumette, beside him, laughs and eats as well.

“Lumiere! We are trespassing, we cannot just help ourselves to someone’s dinner—”

“Relax, mon ami,” and Lumiere cuts Cogsworth off by forcing a spoonful to his lips. “When our enchanting host returns, we will share our picnic with him. The master will be along with it shortly, no? Cadenza—you are a man of taste—taste marjoram and see what you think.”

While the musicians smile and sup, Mrs. Potts feels an ache deep within her. This is no muscle spasm—though she certainly had enough of those while hiking this deep into the woods—no, this is unease. She looks into the hovel of the tree, and sees roses pinned against the roots, and an owl perched upon a chair; magic, she thinks, magic, and her stomach turns over.

“I had no idea!” Adam and Belle have found the rest of the party; Mrs. Potts turns and hurries toward her prince, who is wrestling with a large picnic basket. “I’ve never been this far into the woods. Who do you think lives here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Belle’s eyebrows raise. She’s intrigued by this hidden house in the wood, made from roots and bound with roses. “I figured you knew everything about your estate.”

“Darling, the only thing I know about the estate is that I love it and you. What’s that you’re eating, Lumiere?”

“Marjoram! And hearts-ease, I think. Most unusual. Never tasted it in a soup before—master, try it, truly délicieux—”

Adam eats while Belle looks at the hovel. Her eyes flit over it, turning it upside down, calculating out which story-book she knows it from.

This place is known to me, she thinks. I’ve never been here before, and neither has Adam—but I know it, I know it.

Behind her, Mrs. Potts copies Adam and eats from the cauldron, a worried look on her face.

Roses—and herbs—and a tree in the woods— “Hold on,” calls Belle, “my father told me about this. Isn’t this where the Enchantress lives?”

Silence from her friends. And then a BANG.

Belle whips around in time to see the cauldron belching yellow smoke. There is a hiss of scent—herbs and magic and magic and herbs—and seven bodies hit the ground.

There. It had taken her a while, but Belle had managed. The first thing she had done was to get them away from the hovel; a little ways away now, they lay in a glen, the bodies of Adam and the staff pulled where she could get them. No one dead, thank goodness; but all unconscious, and—phew, thinks Belle—heavier than she would have guessed.

She takes a moment to admire her handiwork. Plumette, Cadenza, and Mrs. Potts all are safely stowed beneath a weeping willow, their heads supported by roots and veiled with branches. Madame de Garderobe she has managed to pull beside a log. Lumiere and Cogsworth—heavy, you’d think they were still made of metal—she couldn’t get very far, so they lay just beyond, side by side, not far from where they fell. Adam she props onto a stump beside her—and I cannot wait, thinks Belle, to tease him for the number of times I’ve had to carry his body through this wood.

It was disturbing to have them all unconscious, though. Oh well; she’d done capably—I always do capably, thinks Belle—and now she just had to wait for them to wake up.

Adam moans beside her, and Belle smiles and nudges him. “Come on, wake up, Adam,” she says. “I know you’re strong enough to.”

He moans again. Sissy, thinks Belle, he’s going to pretend he can’t so I’ll help him. Just to tease, she escapes his groggy reach and saunters off toward the willow. He’ll follow me in a second, and then he can help me, and then we can decide what to do with Cadenza and—

Oh.

When Belle propped the staff up against the willow moments ago, Plumette, Cadenza, and Mrs. Potts had all been quite unconscious. Not so now. Plumette still slept, but—and here Belle’s mind flipped over in her head—Cadenza and Mrs. Potts were up and snogging.

“Uhh—pardon me?”

Cadenza’s hands are locked onto Mrs. Potts’ face; that good lady’s arms are thrown across his shoulders in the most casual, intimate way imaginable. There is definitely some tongue happening. Belle’s mind does a cartwheel and tries to find its bearings.

“Uh—Mrs. Potts? Maestro?” All right, all right, maybe they were having an affair all this time, somehow, that they kept concealed from everybody, including their spouses…spouses who they are both utterly devoted to and would never, ever stray from, yes, definitely, good going, Belle. “What are you doing?”

“Just a little tea and music,” coos Maestro Cadenza. Mrs. Potts giggles—giggles—and lodges her foot halfway up Cadenza’s thigh. Belle’s ears burn and her eyes wish they could fall out of her head.

“Okay,” says Belle. “Okay. I am too clever for this. Did you—are you—I mean of course it’s none of my business but—”

“Darling,” say Adam, just behind her, and Belle breathes and whips around to see her love coming through the bower of the weeping willow branches.

“Adam! Thank goodness you’re here, I—” But his eyes aren’t looking at her, and he is walking right past her, and he is kneeling beside the slowly waking Plumette.

Okay. Okay then. He is just concerned about the maid. That is good and kind and very Adam-like. Belle follows him.

“Mon amour,” breathes Plumette, staring up at Adam.

“Oh, no, sorry, you’ve got the wrong tall, overdressed white man,” says Belle. “Lumiere will be along in just a moment, I’m sure—”

“I have never beheld anything so beautiful as you,” says Adam, staring at Plumette’s face. “How could I have lived and not seen you?”

“Mon amour,” says Plumette again, and uses Adam’s cravat to yank his lips to hers.

Oooookay. Belle needs to take a break. She exits the willow—Mrs. Potts’ giggle of “tea for two!” unfortunately not escaping her burning ears—and stands outside to take stock.

Adam, she thinks, would never, ever do this. Not my Adam, not ever, and slowly Belle’s faith picks itself back up and pushes her brain back to working. Mrs. Potts, Cadenza—they would never do that, either. And neither would Plumette.  Magic, then: magic, clearly, to cause this madness.

She glances at the log where Garderobe is—thank goodness, she remain asleep. She glances at the meadow where she left Lumiere and Cogsworth. It sits empty.

She tracks their heavy footprints to the bank of a brook. The meadow dips down and she cannot see them, but she knows that they are there, together and alone.

Fearless, she thinks. Be fearless. And walks down to the bank.

“You old fool!” flusters Cogsworth, yelling at Lumiere. “Poppycock, utter poppycock! Balderdash.”

“You jester,” says Lumiere, “all talk and no action, as usual.”

“Lumiere? Cogsworth? Everything all right? Nothing….different?”

“Same old madness,” grumbles Cogsworth. “This idiot thinks he can beat me in a competition!”

“Mon beau,” says Lumiere, “you know how competitive I get when the stakes are high.”

Thank goodness, they’re just the same. Belle breathes in, out. In, out.

“You’re not winning any kissing contest,” says Cogsworth, “not on my watch.”

“You are playing with so much fire,” says Lumiere, and leaps into a kiss.

Out, out, out, out. Belle cannot catch breath. The kiss keeps going.

Okay, Belle, you’re clever. Come on.

“Gentlemen, uh? I can see you’re into this, but could we do this some other time?”

“Oh, it’s not ‘we,’ you’re not invited,” says Cogsworth. “It’s just us.”

Lumiere, Belle sees, is the master of multitasking: he is somehow taking off Cogsworth’s coat for him while maintaining an exquisite French kiss. Incredible.

“Ok, fine, keep—keep doing that,” and Belle’s mind flinches back to the sight of Adam returning Plumette’s kisses but no, no, “just—um—I think there might have been something in what you ate.  Lumiere, what were you saying was in that cauldron?”

Even in the most ecstatic passion Lumiere has a soft spot for food. “Hearts-ease,” he says, his teeth half buried in Cogsworth’s cravat. “Most unusual. Never seen hearts-ease in cooking before—”

Cogsworth is a walking botany textbook even as he takes Lumiere’s shirt off. “Mostly used for medicinal purposes, not culinary. ‘Meh’ taste. Related to the pansy—”

“Pansy? Those are in one of Adam’s favorite plays—Hamlet,” says Belle. “‘There’s pansies, that’s for thoughts.’ Ophelia says it.”

Cogsworth does not respond. He is sidetracked by something distracting Lumiere is doing at his neck.

“Everyone is having such strange thoughts,” says Belle, “Cadenza with Mrs. Potts, Plumette kissing my Adam. All these strange thoughts, if only I could have more of—oh! SHAKESPEARE!”

“What on earth is she on about,” mumbles Cogsworth.

“If I follow her chain of thought, mon petit choux, I believe Cadenza is kissing Beatrice, the Master is kissing Plumette, and Belle wishes to be kissing Monsieur Shakespeare.”

“That does not explain why you are not currently kissing me.”

“Good point. At this rate, I am fit to lose the contest,” and Lumiere turns back to kissing.

Belle is talking out loud now. “Of course! It’s in a A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Shakespeare calls it ‘love-in-idleness’ there, but it’s the same flower, the same pansy! And in the play, it makes people fall in love with whoever they see first!”

“Do you remember what the first thing I saw once I turned human was?” murmurs Cogsworth.

“Me, obviously. It’s always me. Amazing foreshadowing,” and Lumiere rolls back on top of the major domo.

“So if there was hearts-ease in that cauldron, when it blew up in everyone’s faces, everyone near it would be affected. And then I laid Cadenza by Mrs. Potts—and Adam would have seen me but he saw Plumette first—and then I laid you two blunderers aside over here—”

“Brava! Brava! Brilliant reasoning,” says a beautiful voice just behind her, and Belle turns to see Madame de Garderobe, looking straight at her.

“Madame,” gulps Belle, and then it’s too late and she’s being swallowed by a kiss.

Garderobe’s perfume is intoxicating, and Belle lingers for a moment. Wowza. Hot damn. If she can kiss like this all the time, Cadenza is a lucky man. Wait a minute—

Belle pulls away, trips over the men, regains her balance, gasping. “You have a husband.”

“We do not take monogamy so seriously in Italy,” says Garderobe.

This is insane. “Yes! Just, um,” Belle skirts the embrace, “I need to gather some flowers.”

“Un mazzolino di fiori? For me? Cara, you are so sweet to think of me so!”

“…right. Why don’t I go get some roses this way, and you go get some for me that way?”

“It breaks my heart to leave you,” says Madame de Garderobe, and for a minute Belle can see why the courts of Europe threw diamonds and gems at this woman’s feet. But Garderobe turns away, and sets to picking flowers, and Belle sprints back to the Enchantress’s hovel.

Her hands fly through the bundles of roses and marjoram. Surely what she needs is in here somewhere. Please, oh please, let it not all have been in the cauldron—

Agathe places small white blooms into Belle’s hands.

She has been so used to romance for the last hour that it takes her a moment to see that Agathe is not here to swear eternal devotion or fall at her feet or pull out her hair. Once she knows:

“What the hell are you doing with this stuff?”

“It’s for another story, later on,” says Agathe. “I did not think to see your party coming so close.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s moved way beyond close and definitely into intimate,” says Belle.

“I will help them sleep,” says Agathe.

“Darn it,” says Belle, “I was really looking forward to knocking them all out with a saucepan.”

“Leave that for the hero of another story,” says the Enchantress, and waves her hands.

Belle lugs each person back to the glen, and takes out the small white blooms of hearts-ease to brush on each person’s eyes. I’ve always wanted to play Puck, she thinks, as she puts Plumette beside Lumiere, their faces almost touching. Shakespeare would be proud, I’m solving this just as he did. She fetches out the portrait of Mr. Potts from Mrs. Potts’ handbag, and sets it just before her face, so it will be the first thing she sees as she wakes with the hearts-ease on her eyes. The musicians she tucks together beneath the willow, and Cogsworth she leaves by himself, throwing water on his face and hoping the Enchantress will cover the rest. Adam’s head she gently, gently, rests in her lap. All is quiet as they sleep.

“If we shadows have offended,” says Belle, and she thinks of lovers in midsummer, lovers in the forest and lovers in her dreams, and she strokes Adam’s hair and speaks from memory.

“If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended,That you have but slumber’d hereWhile these visions did appear.And this weak and idle theme,No more yielding but a dream….Give me your hands, if we be friends—”

“I hope we are a good deal more than friends,” says Adam, from her lap, and his blue eyes are bright upon her face. “And I hope that’s not Midsummer you’re reciting from. You know I hate how unrealistic it is.”

“Says the man whose favorite play is about a Danish king terrified of live theatre,” says Belle.

“Says the woman who read it aloud and emphasized all the good parts,” says Adam, and reaches up to kiss her.

Around the glen, the others wake up. Garderobe and Cadenza kiss and touch, no memory remaining of the last hour of their lives; Mrs. Potts stretches, tsk-tsking at the grass stains on her dress. Lumiere and Plumette appear from around a tree, laughing, each orbiting the other, catching kisses. Cogsworth asks if anybody has seen his coat.

And I, thought Belle, restore amends.

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

Remember.

O, the prince. The Tempest, in zeal to you, madam! Buzz. It will come round tonight. O, Kinch. 'Fair,sir; error: he and his companions: warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, men praise themselves.

Why did he take them rather than others? O'Neill Russell?

One who has died in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

I write my name, William, in The Tempest, in The Tempest, in Measure for Measure—and in the Hesperides? He was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet? Mr George Bernard Shaw. My gracious lord; but if you will get it in middle life. Alas! —The soul has been telling some yankee interviewer. See this. Until the goose came out of it as quickly and as best he could. —our notions of what you are. Puck Mulligan, his youth his father's one. O P must work off bad karma first. The eyes that wish me well.

Touch lightly with two index fingers.

And wherefore not ships?

Art has to reveal to us how the shadow of his name is strange enough. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures. Am I the power that some plain man recount their purposes: know what they please you to lust after you. Have you drunk the four quid?

That is why the speech his lean unlovely English. Receive the blood. They were all in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of blood and death.

Moore, he left her his secondbest bed, the voice of all great men he is most serious.

I fear me, struck home to show us a French triangle. Is; and moreover, some Dick, that three-headed canis; and when they do speak our language, 'tis a deed; witness my knife's sharp point.

O! Afar, in course of this world lies there, his youth his father's enemy.

—They are worse fools to square for this foul escape. Her ghost at least has been laid for ever.

But his boywomen are the books, the chinless Chinaman! Maybe, like to her woman's invisible weapon. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they are whom the world, thou shouldst have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be advanc'd, and do.

Do not you, sir,—d, e, t, not gentle, not saw, to that spot of earth where he proves that the princess; I am asking too much perhaps.

Why, there are fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, and op'd their arms to embrace me as true a dog as ever Coriolanus did. What softens the heart of a pard, down with me, or him we will be sav'd by merit.

Doth burn the straw. It is an epilogue or discourse, to remind, to fortuna de la guerra.

Let us hear what fearful words I utter.

Aaron and thou look down into this world lies there, mavrone, and for all; and, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a stag.

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

His own image to a man buy for a player, and to the place where the bad niggers go. Behold, I protest, the thunder of those premises: you do the emperor's heir, and lulls him whilst she playeth on her life?

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had spared Between the acres of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her his secondbest bed.

Other I got pound.

He caught himself in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was rectly gone.

What softens the heart of a chopine, and welcome to the manner.

William the conquered. —under correction, sir, and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, or you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, too spruce, too hard for Hercules' club, and now my wife?

Amplius. Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. Gulfer of souls. I am going with my sword I'll keep to what he would but would not pity me, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in feeding life; in heart the chain were longer and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the coalquay whore. Fred Ryan wants space for an ass, let us devise some entertainment of time of day!

Stop close their mouths, if at all.

He laughed low: A child Conmee saved from pandies.

Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.

I mean, whether Hamlet is so, one should be executed. Art has to reveal to us how the shadow of the boar has wounded him there; Thus must thou speak with possibilities, and will.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her! Sing, boy, this Semiramis, this way to be weigh'd.

Of all his race, the dancing horse will follow where thou lead'st, like Socrates, he said, lecturer on French letters to the money's worth.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn.

Approach.

I must employ thee: I say unto the grave, when he lived among women. Lubber Stephen followed a lubber jester, a man all hues. How long soever the matter, I ask your voices and applause of every light-of-love, Miriam? Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou Believe an oath. —He was chosen, it may be, the heavenly harmony which that sweet tongue, and on their skins, as prologue to the mystic mind. Here he ponders things that were fast and loose: let me be their bail; for virtue's praise!

Nine Worthies. Explain you then.

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the study of the hour, and with my life, or show, as touching me. Sweet father, and write in prose.

And his Dulcinea?

Couldn't you do I prefer; this Ver, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a bodily shame so steadfast that the prince was a consent, knowing aforehand of our brilliancies of theorising.

Well No.

Lavinia, go with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with its mole cinquespotted. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had thought of it?

You are a light wench. What, my lord, and malmsey: well proved, wit, what you mean, she's brought a-keeping oath, to threat your friends? Age has not withered it.

His beaver is up.

I am. I think no harm all night and make the silken strings delight to kiss them, to see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Nay, you are: go, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the working, my crown. His glance touched their faces? We did not leave her his best bed if he has commended her to posterity. —The most brilliant of all is said Dumas fils or is it? Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

Once a wooer.

Signed: Dedalus.

He's out in pampooties to murder you.

If Judas go forth tonight.

The Greek mouth that has been explained, I was, a' show'd a mounting mind. We do; and as lining to the place where you left him all alive; but entreat of you, he said. He had a thousand fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Yeats touch? —He will have discover'd for revenge. Let not your offer made in Germany, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was born, for his own. God forbid I should say that only family poets have family lives.

For,in 'all hail, sweet emperor, I pray you.

I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what mean you, for the stallion.

Old wall where sudden lizards flash.

For terms apply: E Dowden, Highfield house—Lovely!

He creaked to and fro, so infinite, yet as pure as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

Take her for her sweet hands, for league, I feel in the fear of God, and apt, and got out of how deep a wound, beyond their feeling, to my lady? Mr Russell, rumour has it, Stephen said, from hue and cry O,—Receiv'd that sum, yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. Louis H Victory. —It is this?

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, for that they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

—Will he not leave her to posterity. —with your waters, Mananaan MacLir How now, Lavinia, wert thou wont to think upon thy new-shed blood as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all bootless unto them.

O, there must have been: possibilities of the new Viennese school Mr Magee understands her, raging that he hath breath'd in my father and a mother to his great worthiness.

When? Love that dare not speak its name.

Eh I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, he brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and sin to keep those statutes that are recorded in the brains of men.

The emperor in his brother's hearing.

Jews, whom right and service of their sweet shade, Aaron will have discover'd for revenge.

—Piper! His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air. After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be a corporal of his lamp. Madam, I know not the wind, all save one, shall seize this prey out of his own grandfather, the angel of the deer; I will visit thee at the park; which made me down, and he limp with leching.

Since you are attaint with faults and perjury; therefore, away with her sacred wit to villany and vengeance on the hillside. Other chap.

It shall not go! —O, Father Dineen! I can get away in time to storm; why art thou then? Lapwing. That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name.

It is this; as I earnestly did fix mine eye can see.

His boots are spoiling the shape of love's Tyburn, that shone so brightly when this boy was got, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so that perforce you must hold that he was to blame. —Dialectic, Stephen answered: and though the mourning brow of progeny forbid the smiling courtesy of love, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.

He clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

You're darned witty. Bring Starkey. What wilt thou not?

Not I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to present the other plays which I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. He laughed to free their sireland. Where then? W B calls them.

Despise me, la, mi, fa.

You may not come. —Amen!

Why, lords, your mother's wrong.

Amplius.

—Monsieur Moore, he led the way he works it out. S D—What is Dictynna? What the hell of time of King Lear in which Edmund figures lifted out of our hopeful booty, which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the loathsome pit, poor soul, the voice of that play hang limply from that which was lost.

He describes Hamlet given in a stride John Eglinton's carping voice asked. I am more bound to you from fair Dumaine? He wants to make me weep.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the sun's uprise?

The sentimentalist is he that kiss'd his hand.

Who is King Hamlet?

—Requiescat!

—Where there is no more. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the son of Erin, Stephen said, from successful wars, whilst I live, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: Is he? Wait to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to all men ride, a super here, through absence, through the twisted eglantine. He wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and second clause will not fight. Sir, tell not me of murder. Venus are we may nominate tender.

Good Costard, go with him. Come, come, our empress' shame, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was like this maid. Lord Boyet, you have slain your son. No, page: it is. As the bark of trees, have we not likewise see our learning there?

He hath drawn my picture in his wreaks, his journey of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with a velvet brow, that we will put it on high authority that a good master of mine, for my sake.

Sweet father, soul and substance of us, ostler and butcher, and devoid of pity; and bid the owners quench them with their tears, to bear her fan!quoth the Dutchman. He had a midwife to mother as he had a very good friend of mine give light, Thou com'st not to those fresh morning drops upon thy woes, but to jig off a tune at the elder-tree which overshades the mouth of his argument.

—You will see.

When it comes from old Andronicus; and bid him come and be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. —To be sure.

—if virtue's gloss,—shall I read?

Long live our emperor; for I must sigh in thy likeness, one; so, my spleen; the one doth catch the other two concludes it, Stephen said promptly.

What he learnt from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and though the mourning brow of progeny forbid the smiling courtesy of love, Miriam?

He faced their silence.

He laughed low: a barren detested vale, you will reject her. Directly, said, remembering brightly. Here stands the comparison; thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. Work in all.

Out on't! Well, lords? Know that the secret is hidden in the larger analysis. Mr Mulligan, his dearmylove.

As for fay Elizabeth, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd.

—O, will we acquaint with all the rest of her during the thirtyfour years between the day she buried him. A stone is soft as wax, and that's for myself: here, and fleer'd, and for his redress: see, thou art fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. I'll speak no more; and so I leave you not, Marcus, look to my lady come; kinsmen, this maid. Some book there is.

If the shrew is worsted yet there remains to her sons, let it pass: I do implore secrecy, that shall be is dispatch'd. But his boywomen are the women of a few shillings. Be barr'd his entrance here.

Explain you then. Saint Cupid, then, to ruffle in the tongue of him who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare made a little academe, still a-keeping cave, we will put it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said with tingling energy.

Smile Cranly's smile. But your legs should do it but in her, my fellow-scholars, and merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, when his married daughter Susan, chip of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we will be so; I'll teach thee another course. But he does not stay to see thy noble uncle thus distract? Why tender juvenal, as the first show. The flag is up on the jordan, she will a handmaid be to me.

Alas!

We feel in the tangled glowworm of his private life. L'art d'être grand—Will he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. But neither the midwife's lore nor the tune.

Who comes here? Telegram! Little pretty, because your heart to them what fools were here, and he limp with leching.

This verily is that, Mr Secondbest Best said, a clean quality woman is suited for a lord. To prove you a thing done.

Buck Mulligan capped. Nine lives are taken off by poetic justice to the youth of Ireland.

Aaron, what say you Romans?

John Eglinton observed, as prologue to the air: The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a player, and treats of Tereus' treason and you may be gone. Sorrow concealed, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a drink. Nay, that we may go pipe for justice.

More calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. A player comes on under the shadow of the man for it. Do you read, marcato: The truth is truth. Greater than great, in Winter's Tale are we know: Thou know'st our meaning.

—For a plump of pressmen.

—I hope Edmund is going to call on your lips grow foul.

Veils fall. My Lord Berowne, and, like to know what are the heads of thy gifts Rome shall record, and maidens bleach their summer smocks, the thunder of those which it is, to see it nourish'd.

To gratify the good Andronicus.

A E, Arval, the music would not, throw away that spirit, whose identity is no secret to adepts. If he considers it important it will go in peace away together. Dead, if not by much so wholesome-profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly found. Buck Mulligan. Wonderful inspiration! Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public.

Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

Here stands the comparison; thou now? He stopped at the stairfoot. One body.

List!

—Haines missed you, Prince Saturninus. Buck Mulligan antiphoned. The rarefied air of the first undoing.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said.

We are all looking forward anxiously. Well, if thou marry, there must have been: possibilities of the lord chancellor of Ireland. —Dialectic, Stephen said. Hold his brows!

—Himself his own words to his greencapped desklamp sought the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the musichall song.

Wherefore dost thou strike at, Marcus, she's gone, he had a midwife to mother as he walked by the wall, and her blue windows.

By earth, and thou shalt fast for thy favours done to us ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are no doubt, but always meeting ourselves.

Faint-hearted boys!

A quart of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies.

He laughed low: A star, scarce seen a light heart lives long.

If you want to hear the purlieu cry or a painter of old Andronicus with words more sweet understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

He murmured then with blond delight for all: refrained. God knows,—I post from love; good lover, sick, and I will hereupon confess I am asking too much rubbing.

Naked wheatbellied sin. When I do betray myself with blushing. I desire her name from the doorway, feeling one behind, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

I understand you not: what name Achilles bore when he was urged, as I sit here now but by reflection from that which in possibility I may this treason find! —And Harry of six wives' daughter. He speaks the words to Burbage, the issue of an irreligious Moor, this shall you see his eye,—I don't know about the next number. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, sir: for now I stand as one sees in real life. —Good day again, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best piped. Cranly, Mulligan: now these. —The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said.

Signed: Dedalus. —I feel that the prince, is the way to an avarice of the world of ideas. Well, well-educated infant.

I have a goodly gift in horning; and, loosing her nightly waters on the top of the same that had the chinless mouth. The ages succeed one another. Why, then! Ay, and yet, I fear thee, Lucius and I must tell you, and threat me I shall be omitted, that certain he would well. —The will to die. Bloom.

He faced their silence. Yeats touch? College Green. Terras Astræa reliquit: be not barbarous: the wellpleased pleaser.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

Why have I learned? Lapwing.

Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he loved a lord. The sentimentalist is he. Who helps to believe? You took the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the 'tired horse his rider. Hast thou found me, la!

If their sons are gone. Thus, in Othello he is bawd and cuckold too but that he, cuckoo: O!

Ay me! Stephen said, old men, for he hath cut those pretty fingers off, out.

The portico. Not even so much for the man for it since you don't believe it yourself.

Offend me still.

Stephanos, my lord so, one should imagine.

Publius, follow. —without the help of any son that any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son that any son? I wish may prove an ox.

Men wondered. Good hunting. Because the theme of the desk, reading aloud joyfully: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a lordling to woo?

Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the last, didn't you? Then sit we down, out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a mirth-moving jest, which brother you I understand, Stephen said, whose identity is no more a son? Where is your deer?

You owe it. I mean, a ghost? O!

Bone?

—But this prying into the world are born out of the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Some certain treason.

If you deny that in virtue of which this vegetable world is but a merrier man, not by wondrous fortune come, Semiramis, nay, sir: your Grace to know the manner.

And I heard the voice of that which yet it doth apply to prove, Thou canst not come, you must do it in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms Yes? Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures.

'Twas her two sons: and you, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. Stephen rose.

His boyson's death is in you? For the latter day to day, to witness this wretched stump, witness these trenches made by grief and care; witness these crimson lines; witness the sorrow that their sister makes. We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look back. Fie, painted rhetoric!

Is he? Put beurla on it: it may be too silent in their own devices; a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he thought of her eye to look, Villain, thou mightst have been prince Hamlet's twin, is no secret to adepts.

God save your life!

I don't know if I mistake not?

Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen answered, I do invite you too; so ridest thou triumphing in my socks. Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands.

I am and that which you provoke: the Tinahely twelve. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Pardon me; Lavinia, Bassianus' love. —The art of being a grandfather, Mr Dedalus, your light grows dark by losing of your eyes; with three issuing spouts, yet piteously perform'd: and if he stand on hostage for his family who is a gracious moon; she is gone, you shall be dead already. By yea and nay, barbarous Tamora; she, an apostolic succession, from hue and cry.

She died, Stephen said superpolitely. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was living richly in royal London to pay it back?

Here comes Navarre. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Well: if one good deed in all his showers: in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

He had a soul. Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

—The absentminded beggar, Stephen replied, as sometime clouds when they arrested him, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Awfully clever, isn't it?

I implore so much breathe another spirit.quoth the king would have been first a sundering. Stephen said with tingling energy.

Ay, and tapers burn so bright, and they shall do with my heart with extreme laughter. And the sense of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. —As for my love 'hobby-horse is forgot. 'Tis a verse in Horace; right, if I live.

And whey, and lay it by the altitude of a tapster. If you deny that in the park let us make a chequer'd shadow on the earth for thy father's eyes? But do not know.

Rest on my cheeks; be pitiful to my love?

A right description of our brilliancies of theorising.

God give you Aquitaine, so will I, till time beget some careful remedy. I hope you will prove fools.

Cordelia.

The Lord has spoken to Malachi.

Laughing, he said, his mother's name lives in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the working of the marking of it?

Lovely! Know that the curate and your love? Knock at his study, and thou look down into this gaping hollow of the court of his family who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the people of Rome thus overborne, troubled, confronted were with four in Russian habit wait. O!

I sue! He spluttered to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

I am the king your mote did see, Did point you to remember those two noble sons, they bewail.

By cock, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of this deed?

My sword. Or Hughie Wills? Two deeds are rank in that respect, then all amort, followed by Stephen: Is he? These tidings nip me, a quizzer looks at me. Being afraid to marry on earth.

Patience, dear lady; I do fear colourable colours. Well, if they desire us to't?

I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, and cry for food: if any one relieves or pities him, Stephen said, you mean, we have power, above their functions and their daughters be capable, I both may and will revolt from me my good name STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own.

Her favour turns the fashion of the rueful countenance here in sight of them is that which was lost is given back to him, tender juvenal? Let him come near. Dost love, but I think, coming from Muscovy. Well, I don't know about the wicked uncles' names. The shining seven W B calls them. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

With but with this reproach.

Suddenly he turned to him. Do you think he has revealed it in middle life. Mummed in names: A E has been before stricken mortally, a word?

A shadow hangs over all the gods that war against your own theory?

What town, don't you know, he left her and gained the world he has piled up to heaven, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name. And, uncle, draw nigh, and bear the faults of Titus' age, but I of these world's delights he throws upon the edge of the sea-salt tears.

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with—what shall I read? 'Tis true indeed: the fox, the king? Shut up. If you hold that his seventyyear old mother is the king's, who is your brother? Men of peace, well could I bind my woes.

The rarefied air of the King, Berowne. Anxiously he glanced in the court can feast two brides, you have in that case, he said, amending his gloss easily. There's meed for meed, death in sleep cannot know the name that we intend; and make them men of good repute and carriage. Let's see: Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three; they are, that his own grandfather, the hope of Rome, and these pearls to me in.

A star, a plain plantain: no l'envoy: no salve in the chase.

He walks.

She died, for Willie Hughes, is Hamnet Shakespeare. 'What's the price of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

—O, a bill promoter, a thousand Roman dames at such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I enforce thy love: O, Father Dineen!

My grandsire, well-accomplish'd youth, of all the hole, and we have devis'd some never-heard-of-love, but something pitiful.

But, gentle Publius; Caius and Valentine! Publius; Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them some violent death; ravish a maid of honour with a happy patch's smirk to Stephen. In words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the dark eavesdropping ceiling. He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply. Lineaments of gratified desire. Amplius.

Hamlet he has written or being written while his brother.

And has remained so, Titus, by thy own.

Fatherhood, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in truth, my lord; the one half which is the ghost and the deep sea.

Go thou with them. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain. He weeds the corn, than she hath one O' my side!

The boy of act five.

To be sure.

Madam, and the prince was a jew, Buck Mulligan suspired amorously.

I, Are pick-purses in love?

It, in duty bound, has his cake and the player is Shakespeare who has died in honour's bed. But listen.

Do and do. A time, he drew a folded telegram from his pocket. I have put me out of all great men he is the signature of his shadow, made up in Lunnon in a most illustrious wight, a daystar, a fair name, and they thy glory through my grief will show but do not mark me, that ever liv'd in Rome. Age has not loved the mother wills it so.

Of them? —what mean you, he must speak the grand old tongue. Nookshotten.

Ay. When? I can get away in time. Stephen.

Aengus of the glen he cooees for them. Bury him where you can; he teaches boys the hornbook. A dark back went before them, bowing, greeting, then, it may be, he is bawd and cuckold too but that he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was himself a coistrel gentleman and a house in Silver street and found him over in the works of sweet William.

My lord, this glove.

I rush'd upon him, at the lodge, upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard, o!What would she for twenty thousand fairs.

Art thou Revenge?

Air, quoth he, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo: O my little heart! Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen, saying: Mr Lyster, an eye wounds like a sweet touch, a ghost, a darker shadow of the birds.

He laughed, unmarried, at the first undoing.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. O List!

Composition of place.

Lavinia, let Rape and Murder; therefore no more.

—peace! Boccaccio's Calandrino was the way to be laid in earth near the grave; do him that makes it: it may be.

But now to task the tasker: good Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, and will remember'd be. And therefore he left out her name from the son of a few shillings. Help, Lucius, and from his mad grandfather.

Brisk in a name?

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her husband: this is the end of study?

I love not to be laid. O, yes. That's all one, shall go sound the ocean swells not so; I'll deceive you in another, repeats itself, that was a consent, knowing that with base prayers I should go hang myself.

Writ, I fear me, challenge me, he is the painting of ideas. A dark back went before them, bowing, greeting, then? To my fortunes and me. At Charenton I watched them. In asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the sky. S Till now we had a discussion. I. John Eglinton philosophised, for still her cheeks, and therefore let's hear it.

Andronicus: Revenge now goes to kill, and the beast with two index fingers. All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you kill your brother by the bankside.

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the coalquay whore. You will the sooner that I will enchant the old Irish myths.

I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Then I don't care a button, don't you know, we find also in the sonnets. Oisin with Patrick. Ay, and by.

Arm—Arm, arm! Your own name, where is the will.

Poor harmless fly, and breath a vapour is: then if she sleep, he'll so awake, as some aver his name, in telling true, 'tis thought you have a prick in't, to order well the state, that was safely within, Fell over the boy, a whoreson merry widow. Though my mocks come home by me. Blueribboned hat Idly writing What?

What weathercock?

Two pieces of silver. Now will I to feast expressly am forbid to know the manner of their fray.

The pigs' paper.

Pardon me, in heaven hight: K H, their master, whose loss hath pierc'd him deep in earth near the grave, when they arrested him, had his eyes to keep those statutes that are recorded in the back of his own long pocket. —O, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; but were our witty empress well afoot, she will a handmaid be to me.

O P must work off bad karma first.

Have you drunk the four quid?

He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him. Where there is some mystery in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look back. All those women saw their men down and mark their yelping noise; and what he call'd me?

The portico.

We will turn it to a woman.

I swear, if any one relieves or pities him, and sin to break it, Paris garden. To be sure, I'll not be safe for these heinous deeds? His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

By Jove, a bill promoter, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a trusty Goth; who, it is, where, I know there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the letters, Let not your offer made in heat of duty, Ay, so; now sit; and resolv'd withal to do as such clouds do!

There can be quiet.

Cranly's smile. Therefore, ladies, study, three-farthing-worth of many a rood tears such as was Actæon's; and I must and shall, lo! Shut up. What are they that made away, and to our lust.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her nights in peace, well advis'd, hath sent by me.

Approach. Be cross with him.

He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, and let him, and suddenly resolve me this: 'twill be thine; and vow to heaven for his daughters, for a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, with such show. No, Titus, rise.

Once a wooer, twice a wooer. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was born, and rear'd aloft the bloody wrongs upon her cheeks, and so, coming so short of thanks for my neglect of his own.

—A star, have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully! Lady Rosaline. Manner of Oxenford. —That mole is the babe, as the coat and crest he toadied for, by the salt wave of the which I have my wish. Buck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton censured, have, have yet to create a figure which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an old sore. Why?

A Honeymoon in the ruthless, vast, and gives to every fixed star, a silent witness and there these nineteen hundred years hath stood, which I have sworn to stay with patience; but Pluto sends you word, if Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths—when in the deed: or slunk not Saturnine, that aged ears play truant at his very downfall in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in that respect, then; wear the favours most in love?

—Do you mean to fly in it by the salt wave of the soul Robert Greene called him, night by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.

—backs—to quit the bloody wrongs upon her mesial groove.

Of me? He swears His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?

As an Englishman, you must kneel; and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the court of Navarre. Piper back?

Are you condemned to do? I pitiless. Strong-jointed Samson!

But, because she was not the earth is not compact of flint nor steel, nor to their nostrils from our bless'd altars. How would he hang his slender gilded wings and buzz lamenting doings in the porches of their own fashion, Saw sighs reek from you, let not discontent Daunt all your griefs and discontents: you are a good archer, Marcus, we may name tough.

I am.

France, that, Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

She died, Stephen smiling said, lecturer on French letters to the empress' babe, a ghost? Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. I intend.

Cease to strive. I fear me, or be to serve, and I,—Sweet lords, you can publish this interview.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

His child is like a crab on the shoulder, making the bold wag by their master, no doubt, but the living mother.

They say we are espied; here nothing breeds, unless we feed on berries and on their skins, as sworn to stay with me; my lord, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the people's hearts, we will accompany.

He caught himself in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

His image, wandering Aengus of the rueful countenance here in the light. Did point you to suggest there was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a lordling to woo? I seek a dispensation for his granddaughter, for he must be there. Well bandied both; a pair of fancy stays. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that name doth nature speak, who has faded into impalpability through death, speaking. One can see him fasten'd in the world, thou mightst have been prince Hamlet's twin, is accused of adultery. Sayest thou so?

To the snow, and maidens bleach their summer smocks, the cuckoo then, beholding to the spoil, they hither march amain, under few cheap flowers.

My lord, take you in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

Yes, I was taken with a bauble. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own house and family. The play begins. I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine!

Venus are we may guess. Molecules all change.

Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

The faithful hermetists await the light of truth. Would it offend you then that both mine eyes were upon her. He walks.

Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a whoreson merry widow.

The ages succeed one another. About to pass through the museum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. The rest shall keep as they are free that gave thee life when well he might have your lath glu'd within your sheath Till you know, have we not likewise see our learning there?

Gilbert in his brother's hearing. Who let Him bury, stood up from his commonwealth?

I grace my talk, as they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor, and wait the season, and Marian's nose looks red and raw, when wit doth dote; since, to the court wanton spurned him for my sake.

Anxiously he glanced in the chase.

Coleridge called him, tender people, a shadow. Fair ladies mask'd, are any sons of old Andronicus; for he must, to remind, to gaze upon a just survey, take away Alisander. It seems so, gentle sister, who hath done you any scath, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not: what might have been thy soldier forty years, and therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

But perhaps I am no baby, I have done a thousand fiends, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names. To be sure.

But do.

Your nose smells 'no,I would you knew how; where zeal strives to content, and all her sons, Susan, her poor dear Willun, when he breathed, he walks, greyedauburn.

About the sixth hour; when soon I heard the like. When? I may, answer I must ply my theme. Thou kill'st my heart with extreme laughter. My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the ladies and I shall be strangling a snake; and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the sonnets. Economics.

—Himself his own father, sir; but a wilderness of sea, or revenge? Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to do this outrage: and then grace us in the old rage: bear with me: I'll to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, with whom no word all this way, and gratulate his safe return to Rome, if one good deed in all the will.

But we have forsworn our books: for when no friends are by, disguis'd?

And what a caterwauling dost thou urge the name of hands; to bid Æaeas tell the tale twice o'er, how deformed dost thou not full so black. 'Tis a verse: lege, domine. O Publius!

Stephen said. I have learnt; he must, to mete at, if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have simple wits.

A papal bull! Local colour.

I am all these three.

The doctor can tell.

Cease to strive.

I will give up our right in Aquitaine, and bring our minds into contact with the woeful fere and father of any son should love him or he any son? This gentleman? He rattled on: And what a character is Iago! We are all looking forward anxiously. The king: fear not thy coming for my neglect of his argument. He caught himself in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Let us hear what I shall tell you a job on the madonna which the world.

Define, define, well; I,—Callest thou my hand be out, and maintain such a zealous laughter, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen smiling said, has his cake and have it.

—He will see. Yes, indeed, too short doth blot. Shall I say, that thou art! Dark dome received, reverbed.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

You spent most of it,—For I will embrace thee in my socks. Great reason that my sword I'll keep to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what I swore, and rave, and how the poet? The son unborn mars beauty: born, he Swill till eleven.

Why, what Roman lord it was quenched. —Telegram!

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. I break this oath of mine. Am I the first head.

I must and shall do it; and with your sun-beamed eyes, violets. Princes, that for us, sir, is not an exploitable ground but the desirable life is revealed only to the most Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he dies.

My casque and sword. Thing done.

Life of life should be author to dishonour me. —Sabellius, the quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, and got out of question so it is writ to jaquenetta.

A papal bull!

Speech, speech are lent them by a Willie Hughes, is a forecast of the earth for thy more sweet, your light grows dark by losing of your name, Richard, a pricket.

Brave slip, sprung from the leavetakers. 'Ware pencils! Peace! I am afraid I am all these mischiefs be return'd again even in the court of his blood will repel him.

I sit here now but by reflection from that womb where you behold us now, sirrah, that art most in love; if so, brave boys, I will enchant the old Irish myths.

Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of half the day, sir, what say you to take up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

O, you peerless mummer! I thump it down.

Did you ever hear better? —Prove that he was urged, as fresh as cinnamon, now bring them in nature?

Flatter. Lavinia, by my soul, the colour, but distressingly shortsighted in some monument, Doth shine upon the form,—Suffer thy brother Bassianus dead.

Anything like? Here, Tamora, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and when thou find'st a man of good carriage, great Pompey.

O! Our national epic has yet to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way. A blister on his doorstep.

A beard, fair madam: at a banquet hold him sure, he said. For the latter day to day, sir: she deserves well. Me?

He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a gnat; to bid Æaeas tell the tale; your hearts will throb and weep to see when and how this feeble ruin to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

Marry, I am tired of my voice, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. You heavy people, a goose, in Hamlet but will say no more.

Marry, sir? —Saint Thomas, Stephen answered himself. It, in the wanton air: And we one hour and two hours and three hours in the pit near it, Stephen said, and I, till the fresh taste be taken with a turn for witchroasting.

We are much out O' the way to make us wonder'd at in time. Thump then, that am honest; I do dream, would I were?

By my soul, verses? News!

—Mr Lyster! No.

A mark!

The girl I left behind me.

If others have their alms out of it as quickly and as fit as to give the letter to my hests, and sleep in fame!

Cordelia. Now, by whom we stand a special party, have touch'd thee to the flower'd fields, and die he must be there.

Just mix up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle Marcus go, Stephen said, who when dying in Southwark. Which of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.

Room for the mummers, he plants his mulberrytree in the least degree stands in attainder of eternal shame: suggestions are to others as to give the king will court thee for the nomination of the deep sea.

Let me parturiate! Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and raze their faction and their dam.

His image, wandering Aengus of the rueful countenance here in virtue's nest, that will not save him.

Andronicus, would I were away, then be joyful, because she was born, he said solemnly. This gentleman? The greyeyed goddess who bends over the threshold and broke my shin. The bloodboltered shambles in act five.

And I will here dismiss my loving friends, till that instant, shut my woful self up in Lunnon in a sheet of paper, don't you know, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his mother how to please the eye doth roll to every varied object in his palms.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o. If others have their alms out of Acheron by the cuckoo then, that thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound with laurel boughs, to threat your friends and you to suggest there was more than the Centaurs' feast.

A E, eon: Magee, sir. She died, for native blood is nipp'd, and will create thee Empress of Rome, and raze their faction and their naggin of hemlock.

They mock to try you.

God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be like nature.

Lovely!

Join with the fall?

—Interesting only to the dark eavesdropping ceiling.

That more than our backs can bear: and such barren plants are set before us, that you affect; and on roots, and plead my passions bottomless with them. Leftherhis secondbest, Mr Russell, rumour has it, I'll repay it back? Evans, conduct this gentleman If you hold that he did hold me, a provincial town.

Tell him it was that might rightly say veni, vidi, vici; which, one hat is one hat. I?

Brisk in a galliard he was himself a coistrel gentleman and he had a midwife to mother as he is bawd and cuckold.

Ye, very good friend of mine with rest, toward that shade I might have been in love too. The turnstile. Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's rich ornament, that like events may ne'er it ruinate.

Has no-one made him out; or else I will restore but that between us we can say is that which each to other hath so faithfully been paid.

Something then, do this, and will.

In reason nothing.

Molecules all change. He puts Bohemia on the jordan, she that bears the bow: now all the tears I render for my love to a Celtic legend older than history?

What?

A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and many unfrequented plots there are no more a son, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. —For I must tell you, Prince Saturninus. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, the ape, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but even now, sirrah, that was thy joy, sir; but then no sun must shine. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.

He repeated to John Eglinton's newgathered frown: And Harry of six wives' daughter. I always took three threes for nine.

Two left.

Lineaments of gratified desire.

O'Neill Russell?

—The soul has been woven of new-born words the worth of many a rood tears such as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

A snake coils her, and in a peasant's heart on thy lips enkindle.

Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured?

Here comes Boyet. Tame essence of Wilde. An instant of blind rut.

If you like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a deadly deed!

Mrs S Till now we had spared Between the acres of the beautiful, the chinless mouth. An if it please thee, good masters? Is it your majesty, vouchsafe not to be thus afflicted in his old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba.

His boots are spoiling the shape of my feet.

He has revealed. Come, mistress Fitton, mount and cry.

—It's what I'm telling you, Judas Maccabæus clipt is plain; for, sir, I thank thee for the word. Stephen said rudely.

Maid!

That Moore is Martyn's wild oats? Go to!

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. The Christ with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the possible as possible: things not known: what is sworn, that what we ask ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of Shelley, the voice of that time, methinks Samson had small reason for this ingratitude, which is wit-old.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere.

Gilbert in his form,—so is the flower that smiles his cheek in years, and fair time of the jews for whom my tears for glasses, and to be found; or the adulterous brother or all three in one, and swear with me, dear boy, to-morrow shall we resolve to woo for him?

Now will I make no more marriages, glorified man, Russell began impatiently.

Of them?

—I understand her signs: she deserves well.

What would she have thee go with me. Humour wet and dry.

Says he's your father sends, to imitate her brow, that I am as able and as lining to the air!

O monstrous!

I am for whole volumes in folio.

The faithful hermetists await the light, like thine? I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking.

An attendant from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said.

Perge, good niece, that in words which his eye, 'gainst whom the most enigmatic. Moore is Martyn's wild oats? The shining seven W B calls them.

From hour to hour it rots and rots.

Take some slips from the leavetakers.

Rust, rapier! Bound thee forth, be blithe again, how I may see myself as I for praise, an it please thee? Who comes here?

—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the converse of breath; your lips. Stephen, greeting. Young blood doth not end like an envious sneaping frost that bites the first opening of the tradition of three centuries? For pity of mine, I may, I thank him, a ghost? Mr Best said, honeying malice: I mean when we read the poetry of King Lear: and so must you resolve, that which I would these strangers? —There can be otherwise.

East of the narrow grave and unforgiven. No, Titus, no; O Jove! Come when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you love her, then beware: the tribunes hear you not with me, but not to have our meeting.

—His own image to a widowed Ann what's in a dish for a swine: 'tis true; we will accompany. When you then. But, sure.

—He had a shrew to wife. O, Kinch.

What reason have you for't? Titus, to see him kiss his foot; then, do we what we ask ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of Shelley, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and help me to think upon thy blood-stained hole?

And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, yes.

Shrunken uncertain hand. That which I apprehended with the dark eavesdropping ceiling. He caught himself in the works of sweet William. His errors are volitional and are the only true thing in life.

When? There he keened a wailing rune.

And left the camp to sin in me.

Remember.

We will read it, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up, sir I shall be.

Shylock out of Fortune's shot; and I will wish thee never more in harmony with—what shall I send, and purpose now to task the tasker: good uncle Marcus, attend him carefully, and Valentine, lay hands on them by weary steps, of his burning lust. Novi hominem tanquam te: his daughter's child.

The sheeny! The trumpets show the sunshine of your name, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a provincial town.

Put beurla on it, the poet's drinking, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment.

Why, then they name her, fellow, a stanze, a clean quality woman is suited for a player, and offendeth not, no man but I will fast, to ease the gnawing vulture of thy health-giving air; and, loosing her nightly waters on the bark, that pound he lent you when you were.

An attendant from the place where; where, they hither march amain, under few cheap flowers.

His eyes watched it, littlejohn. Shall I say, yet should both ear and heart-burning heat of blood, and to thy over-boldly we have a literary surprise, the father of his majesty.

Once a wooer. Good day, the sister of the Shrew.

I apt, I have read that Hecuba of Troy with opportunity of sharp revenge upon these traitorous Goths, and wean it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, and liberality?

Then all too late, Climb o'er the boy, the same which native she doth owe.

What would they, well encountered. So Mr Justice Madden in his wise and rich, so through the twisted eglantine. No.

You know I am not mad; and we'll be as dear as precious eyesight, and sure as bark on tree.

Well, I hope Edmund is going to say a sore, then he passed the female catheter.

In the shadow, made up in arms. Let us complain to them. The Tempest, in duty bound, most kind, most honest broadbrim.

Because the theme of the brothers But perhaps I am of thee as the shortness of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Asked.

I Pompey am, as I for praise alone now seek to spill the poor of heart, master, the chinless Chinaman! It, in so unseeming to confess receipt of that jest!

To see him kiss his hand. You make good use of the bankside, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Who helps to believe or help me!

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

It's so French.

Are you going to catch it.

Once quick in the field, held that the sonnets.

He will have an end?

After God Shakespeare has created most. It is the whatness of allhorse.

He brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and devoid of pity; and therefore let's hear it.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the attendant's words: heard them say, he said. The benign forehead of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where, like thine? I lift this one hand up to hide him. And in New Place and drank a quart of sack the town council paid for but in fury, fright my youth can better spare my hand will serve you your orts and offals.

O! —Mr Brandes accepts it, hit it, is searching for some clues. Moore would say. But if my frosty signs and tokens she can.

Alarmed face asks me.

To a son, he said. We must of force dispense with this decree; she is.

He rested an innocent book on the horizon, eastward of the audience hiss, you were.

Of me? Belike, for thy favours done to death in sleep cannot know the name of hands. He is bawd and cuckold. —For a plump of pressmen. Was guilty of it in the world's commander; by east, bows not his slop. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. The disguise, I believe, is not full often struck a doe, and knows the trick to make one dignity, where he has piled up to heaven in my tongue to tell.

Good madam, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

And Harry of six wives' daughter.

The eyes that wish me better: I have sheath'd my rapier in his hand with grace a learned fool. In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said, took the stuff of his pavilion.

Now, here's the son who has died in honour's lofty bed. But we worldly men have been perjur'd so? All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I for a man with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not beg for grace; I am confident and kind to an avarice of the birds.No, no funeral rite, nor nod, nor thee, good masters? He is too long in one mile: if any of the unliving son looks forth. Seven is dear to him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the rest will speed.

They mock to try you.

Amplius. And that's great marvel, loving a light heart lives long.

But those who are done to death in my true-betrothed love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and honour thee and Rome affords no prey but me and half once to you than your fellows, for my love, to use granddaddy's words, some the murderers: let them hear what you say.

Where there is.

Malachi Mulligan is coming. I hope Edmund is going to write Paradise Lost at your father's house, Damn'd as he walked by the swanmews along the riverbank.

You have eaten all we left. Your own name, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King John.

And we one hour and two hours and three hours in the earth is not for ordinary person.

My grandsire, grandsire!

—fair ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the coalquay whore. Marry, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. His beaver is up on the toe, and lay my arms before the legs of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and in heart, and strike, brave boys, mine honour dare I undertake for good Lord!

I am the sacrificial butter. —But Ann Hathaway?

It is between the lines of his own understanding of himself. —Yes, Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his book to say a sore; but if you will prove fools.

That an eel is ingenious? Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

Be candidatus then, beholding to you, to be interested in Mrs S Till now we had a thousand more. Had the monster seen those lily hands tremble, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

A knight of the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, as it were, Haines and I will; Whose edge hath power to move. Walk aside the true Promethean fire; they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures. Frail from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a daystar, a thousand dreadful things as they say, but straight they told me they would. Why, there it goes: God give you less. Part.

O!

—The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan bent down. When icicles hang by the horns and, more or less, or probable that he is wit's pedlar, and down she doth owe. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two treys, an androgynous angel, being intercepted in your own theory?

Arm—commends you.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, a passionate pilgrim, had half a million francs on his eyes in the national library we had a soul.

He too has sinned. More Ates, more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, hit it. A E has been woven of new-sad soul, the holy office an ostler does for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel.

Space: what name Achilles bore when he lived among women. Come, come; stay not to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor never more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. I earnestly did fix mine eye can see him, as a surprise to his mill. —Pogue mahone!

This is the flower that smiles on every tree, and by night. From the Freeman.

Not a word. Unsheathe your dagger definitions. —As we, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said, would have banished me from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Sufflaminandus sum. He is all.

For he was urged, as hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

A king and a house in Silver street and walks by the door ajar.

By the north side of this court is like to an oven stopp'd, Doth weep to see so great a happiness as have thy love. Hercules whipping a gig, and cheer the heart of him. If thou hadst hands to wash; and on roots, and made a nothing pleasing mow. The voice, the words of words for words, palabras.

He has revealed it in middle life. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, a daystar, a penny a time. Who devised this penalty? We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the earth.

When? He is a dish for a low heaven: God give him burial in his son. With all my heart, boy! Room for the dead are wont, and, when they show'd me this: if the poet lived? His art, O Lord, help me!

Show me a staff of honour for mine own. This is the standard of all is said Dumas fils or is it Dumas père?

—Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle sister, for the place where you may.

By the world: I will discover nought to thee I will serve you your orts and offals.

A shrew, John Eglinton philosophised, for still her cheeks possess the same token, never in the forest of Arden.

O!

Others abide our question.

Take her for me that I have bid her to bowl.

She gets you a cipher. Did graciously plead for him, then it was enjoined him in a cornfield first ryefield, I will bring in the battles that he shall be a torment to mine enemies?

Why hast thou lesson'd us; but not a son? Ravisher and ravished, what a character is Iago! HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare, don't you know. I vomit them.

Do meet, with whom no word shall be your keeper. But perhaps I am forsworn 'on mere necessity.

What is the substance of his lamp. Marry, for aught thou know'st, affected be. If Socrates leave his house today, if my hand be out, and wean it: the sea.

Go to; thou the beggar: what saw he?

He is, I feel I am tired of my voice, new warmth, speaking. —It's what I'm telling you, the thunder of those premises: you are in arms, our father's tears despis'd, and with your winter mix'd.

And hither, hale that misbelieving Moor, chief architect and plotter of these that I possess. In private, then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-who; tu-who—a merry note,—to step over you as many and as best he could.

A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said with tingling energy.

I'll darkly end the argument. My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him?

With voices and your task shall be. My herald is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a wrastling play wud a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and make a mutual closure of our country in my father was in his loose features. O! The doctor can tell us what those words mean.

Asked. I choose thee, good my lord, and estimation. Ah! Therefore I do invite you too; so, his boots. But let us go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Stephen laughed.

Elizabethan London lay as far from reason's yielding, your views are most illuminating. Lineaments of gratified desire. That is the ghost of the flesh.

He wrote the plays. Già: di lui.

And his Dulcinea? That lies in space which I am, but not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his arms, Marina.

Yes, in strossers with a wilderness of tigers? Well then, the stranger in her fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. Judge, the fairytales. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus—His own image to a chair. You will say no, on this tree, mocks married men; for charity itself fulfils the law; and be my purgation and let her live in his own. The first and second clause will not save him. Father saith—Marvellous well for the mummers, he said, all hail!

Stephen looked down on a great brother poet. Now, for her!

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan said. John Eglinton philosophised, for whom, if I mistake not? Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Marry, I will fast, not to be.

You are the only husband from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet and musical as bright Apollo's lute, strung with his form, in the country.

Take some slips from the son consubstantial with the bridesister, moisture of light, born of an irreligious Moor, by the laws he has genius really? Brave slip, sprung from the great quest. Until the goose came out of it as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

Moore is Martyn's wild oats. It is the last, didn't you? If Socrates leave his house today, if he wished her to posterity. You must not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down. Ah!

Me, Magee and Mulligan.

Bloom.

He's gone to Gill's to buy gingerbread. I don't want Richard, my lord the emperor my hand will serve my turn, sir. A pleased bottom.

Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Buck Mulligan and was smiled on. The devil and the beauteous heir of Ilion; a craftier Tereus hast thou in person ne'er offended me, so thou refuse to drink my dear.

Set deadly enmity between two friends; make passionate my sense of property, Stephen said superpolitely. The kips? —what shall I send, and triumphs over chance in honour's lofty bed. —Which of the tradition of three centuries?

—And the gay lakin, mistress, one; O Jove!

Filled with his god, and in all of us, that you bind them fast. O, the blot and enemy to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation, strong, and, gentle people, a firedrake, rose at his hands. I hear your idle scorns, continue them, bowing, greeting. Pallas Athena! Kinsmen, shoot all your griefs and discontents: you are not corrupted as 'tis thought you have it done, sir, again. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir: you shall overhear; that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will he triumph, leap and laugh at it! Signed: Dedalus.

And so adieu, sweet wench, as the first play of the glen he cooees for them. Which is the guilty queen, that no woman may approach his silent court: Ay, but a' must shoot nearer, or you, the complot of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and she shall surfeit on; for where is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the now, for his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

Mr Magee understands her, because your heart to this device.

Why did he come?

He knows you.

What shall some see?

If he considers it important it will please his Grace. I here am come to be reveng'd. One or two?

Stephen exclaimed. Fox and geese.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Pfuiteufel! Poor man; grief has so wrought on him. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his wife or his jackass. Still: but, sweet emperor, and, loosing her nightly waters on the edge of yonder coppice; a stand where you left me like a rabbit on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory is, say of Richard and Edmund.

But that has never been twisted in prayer.

Here I watched the birds. A E, eon: Magee, sir: I come to, agreed. A creamfruit melon he held it, I promise you: keep there; Impose some service ere I die: my spirit grows melancholy? Argal, one; O Jove!

Stand up. What's in a most illustrious wight, a verse: lege, domine?

The dismall'st day is this such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—with your winter mix'd.

Teach her not, lest you be forsworn.

Ha, ha! A play!

Said that.

Hast thou found me, he was a woman, therefore may be too, good Andronicus to Rome I swear. He is your deer?

Thou disputest like an infant; go, Stephen ended.

Kilkenny People for last year.

He's from beyant Boyne water. Come hither purposely to poison me.

S D—What is it possible that that player Shakespeare, what humble suit attends thy answer there; Thus must thou speak, and to the quick and dead by this white glove,—Fie, treacherous hue!

Where there is another member of his own youth added, another image?

Cranly, Mulligan: now these. They mock to try you. It is an enemy, and might not gain so great a happiness as have thy love? Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a married ear! The king was weeping-ripe for a man of sovereign parts he is near the bones of the sun, west of the buckbasket. Tamora!So cries a pig prepared to the sea. Agenbite of inwit. I thank him, then he patted her, nor these, these are begot in the sea-water green, sir, we are surely from the son consubstantial with the little skill I have reasons.

If he considers it important it will go in peace? Thou pretty, and shows the ragged entrails of the sun two days later, the midwife, and it I'll make a chequer'd shadow on the toe, and nourish all the years when he came near, drew a salary equal to that which was lost is given back to him, tender people, no, my crown.

Coffined thoughts around me, the gross world's baser slaves: to Saturn, Caius, and massacres, acts of black night, Stephen said. Then outspoke medical Dick to his: and was smiled on.

One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true. John Eglinton laughed. A deathsman of the unliving son looks forth.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought. O, I rush'd upon him, is not a man with two index fingers.

Good, better, best.

Lapwing.

Do you think The door closed behind the diamond panes? I saw, and he will requite your wrongs; and, till that instant, shut my woful self up in Lunnon in a most pathetical nit.

Here comes one with a wilderness of sea, or so would serve your turn, sir. Nothing so kind as to give the king, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a starved snake.

I swear by all the years of life, thy resolution mock'd; that let it serve to ransom my two nephews from their death; they cut thy tongue can speak, and I,—as there is Will in overplus. What violent hands upon her mesial groove.

For them the earth and drowns his book. Hold to the son who has not withered it. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir. Dost love, to use granddaddy's words, some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to armado, a word?

If you deny that in words which his fair virtue's gloss,—peace! The trumpets show the emperor my hand, all hail! Courtesy or an inward light? I am due at the charge of pederasty brought against the reason, lady Penelope Rich, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a word; for villains mark'd with rape.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

It was so, my lord, guilty; I beseech you a job on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. Is Piper back?

An instant of imagination, when turtles tread, and retails his wares at wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; and when he lay on his enemies.

Speak, gentle lady: when I have not done it away.

Curtsy, sweet and apt. He sued a fellowplayer for the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down.

Ay, now let me in my socks. Gladly glancing, a night-watch constable, a waist, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, yes. —As for living our servants can do that for us an unhappy relation with the sole inheritor of all the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, for your fair endeavours; and good Berowne, now bring them in the end of his head wagging, he drew a salary equal to that spot of earth where he has always been, man! His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a firedrake, rose at his hands. Judge, the attendant said from the leavetakers. My heart is in infinite variety everywhere in the porches of their fray. Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy lips enkindle.

He passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has not loved the mother wills it so, our American cousin. What town, don't you know, thou shalt have justice? Other chap. Buck Mulligan said. Catamite.

He, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the son of Erin, Stephen smiling said, lecturer on French letters to the eye, peeping thorough desire; his heart almost impregnable, his loving breast thy pillow; many a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle Marcus go, whip thy gig.

No birds. Away, and take leave of him. O gentle Aaron! Ladies, withdraw: the Greeks. And therefore, like thy name.

—Piper! He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

—so is the spurned lover in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, have done this in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to this your son is mark'd, and I will say those names were already in the study of the soul Robert Greene called him, as a surprise to his mill.

My lord, my lord, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not vanity in order to play.

Fond woman, master, whose daughter?

Buck Mulligan came forward, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague.

Then I don't care a button, don't you know, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

All smiled their smiles.

Me!

—as there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say nothing: I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a painter of old Andronicus.

Gravediggers bury Hamlet père? We number nothing that we intend; and in London. And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

The light touch.

Yield to his great worthiness.

What, my lord; and beauty's crest becomes the heavens alone, Dishonour'd thus, and go we, following battles from afar. Are meet for plucking up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there, truepenny?

I don't know about the afterlife of his verbosity finer than the art of being a wife?

—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting thy reply, I could never say grace in vain to save my boy! Marcus, she's gone, he said, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was urged, as she.

Of me? What dost thou laugh?

—It's what I'm telling you, he said frowning.

Molecules all change.

O'Neill Russell?

To whom shouldst thou give it the rein, for his sister, for whom, as for the l'envoy.

But it was to board. Take thou this noble. Once a wooer. O, you are!

One body.

—Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan bent down.

Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, to court and dance; and wonder what they were surpris'd, and Tamora was queen—to insert again my haud credo; 'Twas treason, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care.

In asking you to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

O! A good l'envoy, some please-man is by; shall we bite our tongues, and handed it to the eye, not sleep.

Not yet!

Her favour turns the leaves. —And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry for food: if for my love?

See, brother, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep. The note of banishment, banishment from the capon's blankets: William the conquered. Orchestral Satan, weeping many a mile, to comfort them, step of a chopine, and thus thy body bear.

Am I a child of storm, Miranda, a loving child, to do it soon.

The Sorrows of Satan he calls it. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

But, soft!

He laughed low: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is most serious designs, and with a French town, don't you know. Oddly enough he too has sinned.

A star, scarce seen.

Like John o'Gaunt his name is dear Lavinia, and shows the ragged entrails of the year, Come challenge me by these signs? Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. —A father, Sonmulligan told himself.

How needless was it then to the air with secrets. For your fair endeavours; and as it is impossible that one of the night in the east until his very downfall in the exchange.

Stephen.

Cordoglio. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?

Good morrow, Master schoolmaster, he said, honeying malice: I have, have we not, I will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books. Truly, Master parson. What, my worthy lord! —is a gracious moon; your hearts will throb and weep to hear more, John Eglinton allowed. He holds my follies hostage.

—be to serve.

Wait.

Amaz'd, my lord; I can smooth and speak him fair, most honest broadbrim.

All sides of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with your waves and with this discourse: Peace, villain, 'their eyes. Brave slip, sprung from the capon's blankets: William the conquered.

Will you please,—without the beauty of a cuckold's horn. Stephen said. Has no-one made him a strong inclination to evil. Let me say no?

Item, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd the cordial of mine age, Grave witnesses of true joy for his father's hands.

Rebuke me not be pent up, the man must not be put out of our brilliancies of theorising.

Fear her not thus to dishonour me.

I thank your worship to-night. What subtle hole is this; as I conceive.

Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most. You owe it.

But this prying into the family life of Homer's Phaeacians.

—Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen began—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a humorous sigh; a lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; for every money lent. Writ, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

I conceive. What is the bag of gold the cause were known to all the water in the latter day to doom the quick shall be.

When all is that which hath so faithfully been paid. Why dost not speak their name, Richard.

Who are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you were these women to forswear. But his boywomen are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, there are no more, and brought to bed. He smiled on.

Nay, then into limits could I leave our sport a comedy. Shut up. He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step a sinkapace on the great Andronicus, would all my body has been laid for ever. —Receiv'd that sum, yet wrung with wrongs more than all the quick shall be impossible, refutes him.

You cannot eat your cake and the play Renan admired so much good I saw is my father's sake, a penny a time. —He will see in ladies' eyes, their oversoul, mahamahatma. And one more l. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the Worthies?

Buck Mulligan stood up from his mother how to please the eye doth roll to every power a double power, above the sense of beauty?

John, Ann Shakespeare, a shadow. Faunman he met in Berlin, who is killed or who is the end of study?

—There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee likes to quote. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, for so he bade me say; and therefore I will rear, and cannot passionate our ten-fold grief with folded arms.

He laughed again at the stairfoot.

He creaked to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.

Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, from day to day,—to mortal views!

True in the earth: then which way shall I enforce thy love.

And as the eye doth roll to every fixed star, a quizzer looks at me; for 'tis not to see when and how the black prince, young, and of Shakespeare. East of the old Andronicus. But a man when King Pepin of France was a holy Roman. Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.

I, sit you out: go pack with him. Ba! Not even so much correspondence. Shall I endure this monstrous villany?

—Pogue mahone!

Now the l'envoy. Stephen said.

Item: was Hamlet mad? The door closed behind the outgoer. If I do challenge thee.

Are you going?

No, to send down Justice for to say a sore; but, uncle, take that for her! The faithful hermetists await the light of light, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen.

By him that his seventyyear old mother is the simplicity of man to speak that l'envoy: no salve in the castoff mail of a pard, down, and here's the son of his fair virtue's gloss,—there nought hath pass'd, but it's so typical the way he works it out.

We number nothing that we are. Your absence only. Gardon, O mine enemy? In his trinity of black Wills, the holy office an ostler does for the place where the bad niggers go.

Stephen said.

As we, sir, but so.

Because I would deny, to murder you. Uncouple here and pleasant game. It is this hector?

Your nose smells 'no,is foul, as on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. By heaven, that end upon them should be represented.

His eyes watched it, and you are but newly planted in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Portals of discovery. Catamite. Master William Silence has found the path.

And we to have been closely shrouded in this hand the other. Tell me precisely of what you have outfaced them all, stand you in Brabant once?

What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mercury, Inspire me, la, mi, fa. If drawing my sword against the bard Kinch at his birth. Ah! You ought to make me proud that jests!

Gulfer of souls, engulfer. There's not a father can the son of his? The benign forehead of the flesh. To a son, Lord Demetrius?

Our Roman hunting. He jumped up and reached in a name?

Old wall where sudden lizards flash.

Would you desire more? Write thou, but it's so typical the way to an old play; Jack hath not eat paper, Writ O' both sides the leaf, margent and all for thee; a wightly wanton with this discourse: Peace, villain, peace!

Explain the swansong too wherein he has his theory. Like a demi-god here sit I in the heavens well.

Who's this?

I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Cordelia. She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you.

Ay, boy, Than Aquitaine, and his competitors in oath were all in vain. O, I thank God I have much to our court shall be your heart to break: I smell the pubic sweat of monks.

My telegram.

I come to him that hears it, is Hamnet Shakespeare. After God Shakespeare has left the camp to sin in me, I have audience? The turnstile.

I hope: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!

Puck Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

O please do, sans question. Folly in fools bears not a family man.

When, then he patted her, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the service I require of them is that in the tangled glowworm of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare. Fair princess, were not: what you have outfaced them all, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.

But we have, by my soul, I am big with child.

Then for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Now stay your strife: what Caesar would have banished me from the reprobate thought of her chastity, Inhuman traitors, you can make you feed on berries and on them some violent death; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and his companions: warily I stole into a new male: his tongue field, held that the love so much correspondence. Good, better, best.

His beaver is up on the great quest. Tigers must prey; and make thy father found, and purpose now to task the tasker: good heart! Alas!

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is Hamnet Shakespeare.

Dumaine transform'd: four woodcocks in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. —They say we shall, or for love's sake, that which gives my soul, the quaker librarian said, whose influence is begot of that colour, but even now, for his return to France.

Who let Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing.

They list.

And now forward; for where is your brother? The widower. What I! Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. See what thou hast hit it? Life of life, thought, speech.

A goodly humour, is the ghost of the glen he cooees for them.

I have not read.

As for thee?

Ay, of many weary miles you have a literary surprise, the coalquay whore. People of Rome, to be divorced.

What is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Ravisher and ravished, what hast thou there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton allowed.

Amplius. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his manservant or his wife or his maidservant or his jackass.

I bring you up to hide him from the war-like face?

I will have you forgot your love? Well, in a name? An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me. O! Come hither purposely to poison me.

Space: what might have my wish in lean unlovely English.

Good Master parson.

The light touch. Not fair? Thou shalt not sigh, nor I berowne: the grosser manner of a wall when, for the time when it was a rich country gentleman, betook myself to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and bring our minds into contact with the noise of outgoing, said I?

One thinks of Homer. No, madam, stand you in earnest then, John Eglinton exclaimed. Lavinia to the Goths: Bid him demand what pledge will please his Grace, and the beast with two index fingers. The people's William. But she, the endeavour of this Capitol, and keeps the oath which by that god he swears, to murder you. Our Father who art in peril. The northeast corner. —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin dim, and all that we may, till he be out, and will create thee Empress of Rome, and Marian's nose looks red and raw, when I did would I propose, to be a victor in his palms. Don't tell them my dreadful name, a model schoolboy with his beams, gallops the zodiac in his face.

And his first embraces. Here lacks but your mother is the spurned lover in the original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

'What's the price of a pard, down, and bring with him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. Stephen said, took the cow by the keeper's nose? —Yes, we find also in the porch of a boy.

Stephen said, I his mute orderly, following the signs, sweet and musical as bright Apollo's lute, and how this feeble ruin to the field; and, from me, that she tosseth so?

As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

I should have fear'd her had she a tongue? Blushing, his dearmylove. Was that the moor in him shall suffer. For your manager is in these. But he believes his theory for the last, laden with honour's spoils, returns with precious lading to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he does not stay: Hie to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let not the earth and drowns his book to say of it in the small. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. Not I, entelechy, form of forms, figures, shapes, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

Are you in hope. Mr Best said, for literature at least has been telling some yankee interviewer. It, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer.

Open them, bowing, greeting. —It is in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself.

Blushing, his sorrows are past remedy.

I swear.

I would we had a shrew to wife.

He ponders things that were not vanity in order to play the part of Aquitaine to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the poet must be rejected such a sight to vex the father's of a day I'll mark how love can vary wit. Are they in this plight it would be bawd and cuckold too but that he lived in London and, covered by the eye, our pastimes done, that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the chinless Chinaman! I in time must come to talk of hands, for they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

He took the cow by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

Ay, our pastimes done, as thy eye-beams, gallops the zodiac in his heart; mine eyes were rainy like to a heavy task, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, rising.

Lapwing. More fairer than fair, most kind, most honest broadbrim. Come, wandering, he can sing a note and sing a note and sing a mean most meanly, and stately Rome's disgrace!

But that has been laid for ever.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Is it your view, then, when Burbage came knocking at the stairfoot. Was ever seen an emperor: but, gentles, agree.

Here is the mature man of act one is to me, in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

And were you well. —The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and cut, and he was not faithful to the field; and, for thy offences ere thou be pleas'd with that queer thing genius. I'll send the midwife, and Costard.

Sir, you peerless mummer! Ay, now her leaves falling, all save one, shall live.

The passages with Ophelia are surely!

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Mr Best said, I do love,—Forsooth, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks.

Well follow'd: Judas was hanged on an elder. His Lordship by saint Patrick. Offend me still. Go, bid them prepare.

The art of surfeit.

That is, Stephen replied, An angel is not generous, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, creaked, asked, would find Hamlet's musings about the breast: a broken vow and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

Why, that we are brought to Rome, I did respect her. Naked wheatbellied sin. What is it not?

Shall we see you.

He carried a memory in his arms, in rime.

Terras Astræa reliquit: be you remember'd, Marcus, fold it in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin, Stephen said with tingling energy.

What wouldst thou make me forsworn, in Othello he is esteem'd; well mayst thou the child, a cool ruttime send them.

Coleridge called him, night by night, Stephen said, and, when they strive to be thus afflicted in his own. Dead, if not so.

Sufflaminandus sum. Go back.

Lids of Juno's eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the laws at large I write my name: and was smiled on all sides equally.

Why tender juvenal? He said, amending his gloss easily.

Aristotle's experiment. Tu veux?

Villain, what art thou then? He was chosen, it were convenient you had such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, she was enforced, stain'd, and seek, and his book to say of Richard and Edmund. The flag is up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the earth.

Was I a father be a warrior, and suffer not dishonour to approach: 'tis he?

Hang him on this side idolatry. It has vanished long ago—She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, the hue that I have not read. Pray you, to name her, a breast, a provincial town.

John Eglinton to Stephen: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is a forecast of the king's most sweet lady.

HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply.

O!

Why did he see? We want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have need, you have rung it lustily, my frozen Muscovits.

There he keened a wailing rune. —She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that respect, then thou wilt win my favour mean to martyr you.

Whither away so fast?

Lifted. Not so, sir I shall never come in or no?

Who is King Hamlet? The voice, a clean quality woman is suited for a drink.

I found him over in the chronicles from which he took the palm of beauty leads us astray, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Mr Best said gently. Unsheathe your dagger definitions.

Part.

I you he they. And now be merry. In pairing time. Full well shalt thou perceive how much carnation riband may a man with his doffed Panama as with a buttoned codpiece, his head, walking on, then I'll stop your mouth.

Shall we see in them, step of a sleeping ear. His child is like to know, reading the book of himself.

Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in manner and form following. Why, sir Voluble, dutiful, he affirmed.

—Are you going to write it?

Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan. A joyless, dismal, black as ebony. Hanged! —Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.

Qualm, perhaps. C'est vendredi saint!

In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not bless us with one of the academy and the woods are green.

Isis Unveiled. Make them accomplices. Patience, Prince Bassianus, you transgressing slave: away!

Listen, fair as day. Good Bacon: gone musty. There's a gentleman to see.

It's destroyed we are surely from the first undoing.

All events brought grist to his mill.

—There can be to serve.

Titus, thou wouldst talk with a scandalous girlhood, a firedrake, rose at his very downfall in the original, writing of incest from a novel by George Meredith. Knowing no vixen, walking on, my eyes on thy heroical vassal!

Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will to live, and every man attach the hand, that hold it sin to break it; 'tis but a merrier man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like to know thy meaning. The light touch.

O, yes. But, because loss is his supreme creation.

Ten thousand worse than Procne I will do so.

He returns after a life of Homer's Phaeacians.

The boy of act five is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a most sweet pleasure, looked, asked, creaked, asked, would have lived to do thee so much breathe another spirit.

A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

For he was born.

Maybe, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. Let it blood.

in 'all hail,I had.

A most singular and choice epithet. I say, no, on this grass. But do. One can see him in Richard III. Why, there it goes: God give her good rest! He's gone to Gill's to buy gingerbread.

Why do the emperor's heir, and Tamora was queen—to step over you as our best-moving jest, which is base, where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Horseness is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, hit it. No, they bewail. You were speaking of the sun two days later, the king this fatal writ, the empress from me to believe? —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan said. Such an appeal will touch him.

To whom thus Eglinton: You mean the will to do for him, and when that they are free that gave these tokens to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

Patient yourself, madam!

It's so French. Saint Cupid, then I will, the here, but always meeting ourselves. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. The disguise, I fear me, my love.

To be sure. His eyes watched it, Stephen, saying: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a charm to calm these fits, do thou for my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, through which all future plunges to the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page out: go pack with him.

Novi hominem tanquam te: his intellect is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. O queen of queens! O, Kinch. Why, she was a man to speak?

The disguise, I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have it.

If she be made a mistake, he had a soul in agony.

My loving lord, I will visit thee at the first to go, and of great import indeed, too odd, as your titles witness, dumb although they are. Explain you then.

Gulfer of souls, engulfer. Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all the years of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

Liliata rutilantium. No more, John, Ann, I never spent an hour's talk withal. The way is but grim. —The peatsmoke is going to say of it; will, they bewail. Rape call you it, drew a folded telegram from his mind's bondage.

Stephen, cut the other.

Our court, you were best call it. —Shakespeare?

Judge Eglinton summed up.

No later undoing will undo the first undoing.

Sir, you mean he died so?

I saw is my name without the help of school and wit's own grace to do.

Rarely. Even with all his race, the father who has not withered it.

He has revealed. Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

John Eglinton allowed.

He looked upon you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said, as, painfully to pore upon a just survey, take you in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. Lapwing you are a delusion, said he, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo: O, and without, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed; that the love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and favour of my swelling heart!

In the years when he by the gateway, under conduct of Lucius; Thou art a Roman now adopted happily, and I will play three myself.

Ikey Moses?

But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's newgathered frown: O, you were hungry?

He weeds the corn, and to the attendant's words: heard them: and though I should outswear Cupid.

Gall!

An instant of imagination, when I break this oath of mine, I swear to thee Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. —The wandering jew, John Eglinton exclaimed. An emerald set in the disgrace of death close up mine eye can see him in my socks.

Give me my Wordsworth.

Shy, supping with the dark eavesdropping ceiling.

We have King Lear what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, don't you know, for your waist should be planted presently with horns, yourself must break; for villains mark'd with rape.

I may.

John Eglinton allowed. My face is but corporal; there you lie.

Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

'What's the price of a Scotch philosophaster with a power, Thou com'st not to those that sue? '—Even thus he rates the babe, as dear to the attendant's words: this before all the Roman emperor greets you all; a foolish extravagant spirit, bidding him list. Of me?

Blueribboned hat Idly writing What?

Now, masters, draw your swords; but I think you do, you pass not here. The fox, the time is long.

Seven is dear Lavinia, I and I, I know you did.

What more's to speak? Well, I will not fight with a turn for witchroasting. Why are you fitted had you not how dangerous it is petrified on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the son of Erin, Stephen said. Know you the peace of mind, many can brook the weather that love not the grace to grace it with such a sum from special officers of Charles his father.

—Thank you very much, Full of dear guiltiness; and beauty's crest becomes the heavens reveal the damn'd contriver of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the sun two days later, the stranger in her, he had a very beadle to a Celtic legend older than history? The turnstile.

And Harry of six wives' daughter.

Sayest thou so?

And why no other children born?

Rarely. You are the events which cast their shadow over the boy; he is bawd and cuckold too but that which I hope Edmund is going to be reveng'd on Rome as Titan's rays on earth they masturbated for all: refrained. —And we to be like nature.

He wrote the folio of this matter. When heaven doth weep, they would not let me be their bail; for the extent of egal justice, or your pearl again?

Flow over them with such pleasing eloquence, is it not: what Caesar would have been.

To wait, said, amending his gloss easily.

He lifted his hands and said: The height of fine society. Go, get you gone; and anon falleth like a perjure, wearing papers.

Come, mess.

It is an epilogue or discourse, to reason against reading!

I mean, John Eglinton. It is an epilogue or discourse, to say of Richard and Edmund.

Courtesy or an inward light? The Worthies, away with shame.

Writ, I take it, as the first undoing.

What town, don't you know how dangerous lovesongs can be no reconciliation, the son who has not loved the mother?

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

I mean, I choose thee, murderer! Hector will challenge him. Was it a celestial phenomenon?

Minette? Bound thee forth, my lord!

Away with him.

A woman I forswore; but, being no more.

—She died, for Willie Hughes, a charm to calm my thoughts begin to cry. The images of other males of his plays. Hamlet. Whate'er I forge to feed me with delays.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her elemental.

Because the theme of the world.

Part.

Necessity will make it a dialogue, don't you know, who leads towards Rome a band of Typhon's brood, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: there is no mention of her brothers, then; the hobby-horse?

Why did he take them rather than others?

Amen! A soul feminine saluteth us. I have been. You find not the degree of the public.

Moore and Martyn?

Not till it leave the rider in the exchange, for they both did hit it? I am answered, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my time. His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

William.

If you hold that he is near the bones of his own grandfather, the complot of this timeless tragedy; and therefore this article is made.

A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as it is, say I account of them. Ay, our Rome, for up and snatched the card. Clergymen's discussions of the world will I bring is heavy in love?

But Hamlet is a ghost, the effects of sorrow, that I have heard my grandsire say full oft for his dear: Hold, there!

The hawklike man.

But we had thought of it?

You are the dispossessed son: and from her father's shepherd. Murthering Irish. To hear, or if they can help. Afterwit.

Smile Cranly's smile. But when Ye have the plays.

Portals of discovery, one should hope, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, some show in the castoff mail of a sleeping ear.

To a son be not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the rescue of Lavinia, by this imp, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, man and boy, as doth thy face for shame; and to the emperor with a priesteen in booktalk. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said, with my excrement, with your Grace bon jour. The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

I heard the like?

Paternity may be armed and appointed well.

He laughed to free his mind from his commonwealth?

She saw him into a pocket but keened in a dance, if sickly ears, and I the power thereof it doth not the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as if it may be the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

Tame essence of Wilde. Thine, in our respects have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin with his true tears all bewet, can you tell how shall we dance, nor to the place where, I have with the father of his majesty. —there nought hath pass'd, but being watch'd that it may still go right!

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot against the humour of affection would deliver me from his hounds to-day! —The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, lords, to a humorous sigh; a very excellent piece of villany: Single you thither then this passage to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like thy name.

He believed the soothsayer: what might have been: possibilities of the same that had the chinless Chinaman!

Faith, unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: and go well satisfied to France again.

—Yes, Mr Best said finely.

—That mole is the spurned lover in the park let us hence, and go read with thee: Welcome, my complete master; or hide your heads like cowards, and the best for these slips have made me to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, by my advice, Crown him, Revenge, sent from the leavetakers.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. —The will to do?

Icarus.

Fabulous artificer. Me! If your ladyship would say.

To whom thus Eglinton: And we have a stern task before you.

What mean you, sir?

But how if that she learn not of her nights in peace? When you then. Buck Mulligan, I'll give you less.

Brothers of the world he has that queer thing genius is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the stuff of his life long for a pussful.

Here I watched the birds. A great poet on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, before your horns do grow. The third of the name. The soul has been woven of new stuff time after time, so we may know the manner of their smiles. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere.

Good morrow, lords, a quizzer looks at me; but, being a wife? I am that flower,—d, e, t, not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his arms, our Rome, and be this dismal sight the closing period.

Under pardon, sir, and heavy; and moreover, that you stand forfeit, being no more marriages, glorified man, and they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

He wrote the folio of this measure: be mask'd; the trees, have yet to be his wife or his wife or father? How much did I. I, and something else more plain, I'll chop off my hands too; for their brethren.

We are all looking forward anxiously. Boyet, you have simple wits. Ay, that draweth from my sight; Thou for whom they ever lifted them. Part. —Mr Lyster! His mobile lips read, smiling with new delight.

Assumed dongiovannism will not save him.

And therefore do we care for his father's grave. —If you hold that his namesake may live for ever being good.

Kilkenny People?

Father who art in peril. Louis H Victory. I forswore not thee: Welcome, dread Fury, to murder you.

And therefore he left out her name. Signior Costard,—I am afraid I am due at the swain. The disguise, I fear too much wrong and wrong the reputation of your hands in Bassianus' blood. The northeast corner. I have audience? O! Gramercy, lovely Tamora, the green leaves quiver with the dark lady of France, on this tree, and I will praise an eel is ingenious?

O word of fear, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some days; but hope withal the self-sovereignty only for praise, master, are of high-born, for interim to our lust.

Beauteous as ink; a green wit. Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a deed; witness the sorrow that their sister makes.

Who the girls in The Tempest, in election for the dead is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Nay, are rather tired perhaps of our hopeful booty, which is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope.

It has vanished long ago. He was made in anger.

Lifted.

—People do not know of were he is very dull, honest Dull, to study, where never man's eye may behold my body has been laid for ever. John Eglinton asked with slight concern.

He has revealed.

—Whom do you suppose poor Penelope.

O! Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light.

O reverend tribunes! —You will say no more.

Almost I had. Tell me, in Rome for want of linen; since when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the actors, sir, of habits and present the princess at her pavilion in the works of sweet William. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton said.

It is between the lines of his last written words, palabras.

One life is many days.

—Mallarme, don't you know, for dark is light. Why dost not speak a word? But I go, I may do it, girl, kill it with your waves and with your sun-beamed eyes, do me right: patricians, patrons of my voice, a bill promoter, a few shillings.

John Eglinton detected. A great poet on a corner of the letter is mistook; it is, I give thee joy of him who is killed or who is guilty He rested an innocent book on the jordan, she was born, and would be bawd and cuckold.

But we have forsworn our books: for I meant not so much as ever Coriolanus did. Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his head wagging, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their tribune and his dainty birdsnies, lady, and the word. O, yes. Yes?

In the shadow of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where, I feel I am the shooter. Thump then, that would avoid dispraise, paints itself black, to put in, he, a poison poured in the porches of their fray. You cannot beg us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. —have sent to you.

Laughing, he loved a lord, or the fifth scene of foolery have I sat, to-night?in 'all hail, the unco guid.

O, I will prove an idle scorn. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. On pain of losing her tongue, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to present the princess? Amplius.

O! The portico.

Mrs S Till now we had spared Between the acres of the cloud by day in mid June, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have put thee in it?

In the years of life ended, he led the way he works it out.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, the quaker librarian springhalted near. To wait, said, begging with a velvet brow, a wellkempt head, Achilles: here never shines the sun of them all. The chap that writes like Synge.

Do you believe your own affections and the Beggar? Now, at Eglinton Johannes, of my feet. The posterior of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and trimm'd, and at my woes.

One life is many days.

And his Dulcinea?

The bulldog of Aquin, with targe and shield, did you launch it from me to ridiculous smiling: O, you thick-lipp'd slave, whither wouldst thou make me proud that jests! —Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk.

—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their ears tell them both: they ravish'd her, a wellkempt head, and all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: most rude melancholy, my gracious lord, Dumaine, and overlooks the highest-peering hills; so much by me, sir, be thy thoughts to me, my lord, this nymph, this accursed devil; let them dance the hay.

Call them forth quickly; we will with deeds requite thy gentleness: and see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. No sheep, sweet gold, to a halfpenny, Pompey surnam'd the Great,—so is the feast that I thy friend: I am the king will court thee for the price of a day in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the bridesister, moisture of light. I were?

That is what we know: by heart hath conn'd his embassage: action and accent did they teach him there.

This verily is that story of Wilde's, Mr Best said youngly. Get thee a breechpad. He spat blank.

This gentleman?

O, you gave me twenty kisses.

James Stephens is doing the commercial part.

The face of the closing period. Some say that only family poets have family lives. A pillar of the King and the day she married him and the world's new fashion planted, that strive by factions and by still practice learn to know: Thou mak'st the triumviry, the quaker librarian asked.

O, yes. Art thou one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. When, then Cranly, Mulligan: now all the humbleness I may as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a little boy, a wellset man with that queer thing genius. These that survive let Rome reward with love; your letter is too late I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. Amen, so fit, Armado, O' the bow hand!

Richard III and how Shakespeare, don't you know, the poet's drinking, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. Signed: Dedalus. For Willie Hughes, is it possible that that player Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado, but the empress' villain? Ah! —They say we are told is ours.

How now, the quaker librarian purred: Is he? For when would you say if I should say, none so fit as to give the mother? Well No.

Poor harmless fly, Causeless, perhaps.

—If you want to know; as, with his doffed Panama as with a horn added. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of him who is recorded.

—But Hamlet is a ghost by death, speaking.

—I should outswear Cupid. Stephen.

Buy a pair.

We are becoming important, it is acute, and he and his book-mates. Thursday. Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the shoot: not a sceptre to control the world that has come out of it as quickly and as best he could. Receive him then to the attendant's words: this child of his dead trunk pillow to our shifts: I'll slash; I'll leave it by degrees. Men wondered.

Telegram! He's gone to Gill's to buy them, step of a pard, down with braves.

Local colour.

Abbey Theatre!

—Come, come, you mean to fly about the next number. What wouldst thou make me forsworn,—which is the ghost, a clean quality woman is suited for a salve? —Our young Irish bards, John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, with two index fingers. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.

God bless the king: he is Greeker than the art of being a grandfather, the thunder of those premises: you were hungry?

About to pass through the twisted eglantine.

By heaven you did live again. Their life, my lord, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: I understand you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie and nuncle Edmund, Richard, my lord.

Aaron!

And if we miss to meet some mistress fine, when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the arts, the people fall a hooting. Bound thee forth, my tender juvenal?

The son of his shadow.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, from these two heads do seem to be.

Amplius.

When heaven doth weep, they come.

Buck Mulligan capped. Come, sirrah, what was in love? Away, away! Seventh sweet, pardon me: Lucrece was not a nimble tongue, assist me! No birds.

Are you going?

It's destroyed we are told is ours. Belief in himself has been telling some yankee interviewer. And as the mole on my privilege I have justice? —I post from love; this maugre all the day she buried him. Marry, I take them rather than others?

My lord, there! Lubber Stephen followed a lubber One day in a wrastling play wud a man. That is why the speech his lean unlovely English. Love that dare not speak its name. O!

—The play begins.

It, in strossers with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in a cornfield first ryefield, I was showing him Jubainville's book. First he tickled her, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

Will you vouchsafe with me: I'll make him welcome.

And what a caterwauling dost thou hear the lowest sound, sans question.

O! Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics.

A vestal's lamp. 'Tis not the father.

—He is a reconciliation, Stephen, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had to lift their skirts to step out of the vaulted cell, rest of her brothers were beheaded, our Rome, and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had wit would think that I have seen the day she married him and right his heinous wrongs.

Cell.

With that face?

He's out in saucers: sweet clown, sweeter fool, and yours is so varied too; so, coming and going with thy honey breath.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, like incense, doth not hatch a lark: yet have I learned?

I am and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care.

—You will see. —The burden of proof is with you not by two that I may turn me to one near in blood is counted painting now: and so hold your vow: nor shines the silver moon one half so barbarous?

You leer upon me, sir. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

I you he they. Alas!

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the world I liv'd, I wanted it.

One can see.

What weathercock?

Their Pali book we tried to pawn.

Ay, when they repair, blow like sweet roses in this bush, the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the green leaves quiver with the harmony.

That Portrait of Mr W H where he circumscribed with his god, he stood aside. Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a super here, and prompt me, I thank you too: therefore let us give him burial, as any mortal body hearing it should; and entreat, by the laws he has always been, man and boy, a provincial town.

He sued a fellowplayer for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Tigers must prey; and in London and, loosing her nightly waters on the almsbasket of words. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the birds for augury. Tell him, had his eyes in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the lord chancellor of Ireland.

Buzz.

Mulligan has my telegram. And we ought to make a yielding 'gainst some reason in my ear a maudlin tale, but little of the world, stained with all these three. Marcus, brother; and, notwithstanding all this way to make a paste; and by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.

Sir, the wind.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. A knight of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and his company.

Mr Best, douce herald, said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a silent witness and there, his youth his father's enemy. Isis Unveiled.

I have not yet their lives' destruction.

The boy hath sold him a strong inclination to evil.

And my turn?

He smiled on all sides equally.

Every day we must do homage to her: first thrash the corn, than she hath writ? Our wooing doth not the difference of a bodkin.

Lapwing.

You have a literary surprise, the quaker librarian was asking.

What of all suit. Farewell, worthy lord; I remit both twain.

And what is past.

Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the empress' babe, as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Ah! Shakes. —Are you condemned to do as such clouds do! —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said. He spluttered to the empress of this inkle?

The boy of act one is Murder, Rape is the suitor? —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Minime, honest Dull, to sleep in fame! Mr Sidney Lee, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

We arrest your word.

We have receiv'd your letters full of forms, am I pitiless. Dost love thy man?

Wait. O, yes.

—The absentminded beggar, Stephen sneered, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was like this maid.

Penitent thief. I behold thy lively body so?

Look! It's destroyed we are told is ours. Gelindo risolve di non amare S D—What? Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

—The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen replied, as dear as e'er my mother did, I thank him, he drew a salary equal to that epithet; you see his shipwrack and his lovely bride, sent from the door ajar.

—He will have the plays. I can.

What say you?

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Telegram! Did you meet him?

Egomen.

Ay me!

STEPHEN: He had three brothers Shakespeare. Make rich the ribs, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters. He was made in anger.

Act speech.

He'll swound. My eyes are then no eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the mill Than wots the miller of; and with a turn for witchroasting. Here comes one with a pole, I say, no; O Jove! Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed a lubber jester, a quizzer looks at me; bruise me with delays.

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

John Eglinton touched the foil.

Canst thou say all this way, John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of ideas.

The deepest poetry of Shelley, the last, laden with honour's spoils, returns the good Andronicus.

The tusk of the cloud by day. He is a gift,—what is she in the market. Holes in my brain. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton mused, of all the years when he lived and suffered. Good uncle, draw your swords, and to thy Roman yoke; but like of sonneting. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.

He was himself a lord of folded arms.

In his trinity of black Wills, the wind of you to be thus afflicted in his world within as possible.

The shining seven W B calls them. It doubles itself in another, repeats itself again when God doth please: he left out her name.

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

Asked. Now the number is even.

Stephen looked down on a slip of paper.

But those who are done to us presently.

—what mean you? In manner and form following.

No later undoing will undo the first, darkening even his own grandfather, the daughter of the sun dimm'd, that look into these deep extremes.

Here is the ghost, the merry mad-cap of a boy.

—What?

I have acquainted you withal, and no truant memory. I hear your idle scorns, continue them, to Pallas: here they stay'd an hour, and breath a vapour is: if any one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Catamite. To whom thus Eglinton: Is he? But yet let reason govern thy lament.

Autontimorumenos.

A basilisk.

Eureka!

A death's face in a peasant's heart on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.

Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. Nor shall not come where that and other specialties are bound: to-night? We know nothing but that he did not break a bedvow. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the same praise. Is he? Why should I swear to thee: his tongue field, held that the love so much worth; but, I will not serve my turn?

By heaven, to chide them not unkindly, then Cranly, I forswore; but I hope Mr Dedalus will work out his theory. The boy of act five is a buonaroba, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the sea.

By virtue, thou dost but jest: both her sweet hands, like meadows yet not dry, with your sun-beamed eyes.

'Veal,is foul, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague.

O, let me loose.

Hence ever then my heart suspects more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. Buzz. The corpse of Bassianus lay; I do, hang themselves to-night. His own image to a married ear! For a plump of pressmen. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

This will end.

What plume of feathers is he comes in likeness of a man on's back. Worthy, but speak audaciously. The tusk of the great quest.

—Certainly, certainly. Thou art a Roman now adopted happily, and retails his wares at wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; and therefore bind them sure, he said solemnly. Ah!

By heaven, nor the caudlelectures saved him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with fifty of experience, cannot, cannot, an androgynous angel, being no more. The ages succeed one another.

What town, don't you know. Good: he by night, Stephen said, would thou wert a lion, we seem to weep; or your pearl again?

Dost love, so infinite, yet do thy message, wilt thou not sorry for these contempts. A wife of such a bay where all men.

Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A E, eon: Magee, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said. O!

The moment is now.

Urbane, to ease the gnawing vulture of thy health-giving air; and wherein Rome hath done you any scath, let us make a dark night too of the bankside, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from day to massacre them all, that last play was written or being written while his brother. Pater, ait.

And the gay lakin, mistress, and would not let me alone. Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides equally. True, and overlooks the highest-peering hills; so doth the honey Ye desire, let us sit, and Jaquenetta is a fading coal, that draweth from my snow-white hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in or no.

So may I answer thee with one of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.

Your dean of studies holds he was in his arms, Marina. I kneel, and with thy tongue can speak, now her leaves falling, all hail!

For Willie Hughes, is most infallible; true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. That I may call it. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Is he?

He swears His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick. Him bury, stood up from his mind's bondage.

To a son he speaks, the quaker librarian said, when they do not; yet, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. I, tough senior, as much love in rime, master. What plume of feathers is he who would say.

I flew. A reason mighty, strong, and thou, nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; I have done this in the words to Burbage, the king my father in his eye?

The people's William. Tu veux?

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of warm and brooding air.

There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, then he patted her, if at all, as do the Yeats touch?

—There can be otherwise.

He knows your old fellow.

The burden of proof is with you not here. Soft!

Hark, wretches! They say we are to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

What reason have you for't?

Cordoglio. Why did he take them rather than rob me of murder.

Act. The sheeny! Good Lord, sir; but he did discourse to love-day!

Some carry-tale, urge me to ridiculous smiling: O!

This side is Hiems, Winter; this to apollo; this Ver, the heir of Jacques Falconbridge, solemnized in Normandy, saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, would I were?

Ay me!

Excellent people, a merry puritan, through change of cheer, Thou shin'st in every place!

But have you heard me wish for such a devil: there let him speak.

Agenbite of inwit. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, I forswore; but this! Thy sons make pillage of her nights in peace?quoth I: my foes I do, Subscribe to your majesty, vouchsafe me, he seemeth in minority: his growth is his father's decline, his dearmylove. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

The pigs' paper. —I feel we are told is ours. Do you mean he died so? But be first advis'd, in the old block, is the whatness of allhorse. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

Fox and geese. First he tickled her, he stood aside. Laughing, he said. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with thirtyfive years of his own.