Hackleng and Fidjeteng

A sue-are bleek sk’eye, a grayt balluvblack tar. Helpheeve tha crown-enghead, cobbl’d in dar ma’s ovumketch. Hede allred an blistard, a wee caff’s tung lolleng lollenglee ona sawltlick in tha fallo rune. Murphy luckt at Mulligan an sayd, ‘for the love of God, man, the dog must go!’ Thaiyd been thru this befour, too manee tymes ta cownt; tha dog beeing’ a sorece uv mutch consternashun an sqwabbaleng. ‘For the life of me I can’t abide by it…the dog must go, immediately!’ Murphy luckt at Mulligan, hiss I’s beedeng, an sayd, ‘leave the poor thing be, it hasn’t a brain in its head, poor, poor thing.’ Apon here’eng this, tha dog, cowareng in tha corner, loward its errs, its tayl beetween its scabbee lags, tung lolleng, fir hackleng, paas fidjeteng, arse presst inta tha herdwood flore.