make me a child, stout hurdysturdygurdyman waiter, make me a child. So this is Paris. i will sit in the corner and drink thinks and think drinks, in memory of the Grand and Old days: of Amy Sandburg of Algernon Carl Swinburned. Waiter a drink waiter two or three drinks what’s become of Mæterlink now that April’s here? (ask the man who owns one ask Dad, He knows). V yonder deadfromtheneckup graduate of a somewhat obscure to be sure university spends her time looking picturesque under the as it happens quite erroneous impression that he nascitur VI Jimmie’s got a goil goil goil, Jimmie ’s got a goil and she coitnly can shimmie when you see her shake shake shake, when you see her shake a shimmie how you wish that you was Jimmie. Oh for such a gurl gurl gurl, oh for such a gurl to be a fellow’s twistandtwirl talk about your Sal- Sal- Sal-, talk about your Salo -mes but gimmie Jimmie’s gal. VII the waddling madam star taps taps. “ready girls”. the unspontaneous streets make bright their eyes a blind irisher fiddles a scotch jig in a stinking joyman bar a cockney is buying whiskies for a turk a waiter intones:bloo-moo-n sirkusricky platzburg hoppytoad yesmam. the furious taximan p(ee)ps on his whistle somebody says here’s luck somebody else says down the hatch the nigger smiles the jew stands besides his teddy-bears the sailor shuffles the night with Φυκινγ eyes the great black preacher gargles jesus the aesthete indulges his soul for certain things which died it is eighteen hundred years. . . . exactly under the window under the window under the window walk the unburied feet of the little ladies more than dead VIII listen my children and you shall hear the true story of Mr Do -nothing the wellknown parvenu who (having dreamed of a corkscrew) studied with Freud a year or two and when Freud got through with Do- nothing Do -nothing could do nothing which you and i are accustomed to accomplish two or three times, and even a few more depending on the remu- nerativeness of the stimulus(eheu fu -gaces Postu- me boo who) IX even if all desires things moments be murdered known photographed,ourselves yawning will ask ourselves ou sont les neiges. . . . some guys talks big