Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

(Brueghel's Tower of Babel, the subject of which perhaps relates to 'the fall' in Finnegans Wake.)

Just as an introduction to this, I figured that I'd post the lyrics to the song upon which Joyce appropriated his title, though without the apostrophe. I know that it's common usage to drop the possessive apostrophes in England in names of antique places, as Old and Middle English basically tacked an -es or -s ending to nouns to put them into the genitive case. But of course Joyce is also looking for multiplicity, multiple subjects within the one - as Finnegan and 'Here Comes Everybody'/'HCE' are to be Everymen, and Everyone is Finnegan.

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street

A gentleman Irish, mighty odd:

He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet

And to rise in the world he carried a hod.

Now Tim had the sort o' the tipplin' way

With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born,

And to help him on with his work each day

He'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn.

Chorus

Whack fol the dah now dance to your partner

Welt the flure, your trotters shake;

Wasn't it the truth I told you,

Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

One mornin' Tim was rather full,

His head felt heavy which made him shake;

He fell from the ladder and broke his skull

And they carried him home, his corpse to wake.

They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet

And laid him out across the bed

With a gallon of whiskey at his feet

And a barrel of porter at his head.

His friends assembled at the wake

And Mrs Finnegan called for lunch,

First they brought in tea and cake

Then pipes, tobacco, and whiskey punch.

Biddy O'Brien began to cry,

'Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?

'Arrah, Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?'

'Ah, shut your gob,' said Paddy McGee.

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job;

'O Biddy,' says she, 'You're wrong, I'm sure';

Biddy gave her a belt in the gob

And left her sprawlin' on the floor.

And then the war did soon engage

`Twas woman to woman and man to man

Shillelagh law was all the rage

And the row and ruction soon began.

Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a flagon of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and fallin' on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim.
Tim revives! See how he rises!
Timothy rising from the bed
Sayin': 'Whirl your liquor around like blazes!
'Thanam o'n Dhoul! D'ye think I'm dead?'

Interesting to note that in a high-rhythmed folk ballad - one marked with many Irish and working class colloquialisms - that obviously can be danced to, you get death and life, a fall and a rise, a funeral and re-birth (Phoenix Park, Dublin...; 'Come forth, Lazarus. And he came fifth and lost the job.') - and it's based on not taking things too seriously, on fighting and rude behaviour from men and especially women, on communities and names that it seems we 'should know' (a familiarity with these subjects/characters, even though that would be impossible), on the free motion of objects that eventually have to succomb to gravity, and on drinking and whiskey: uisce beatha, aqua vita, eau de vie, brandy, water of life; Wikipedia tells me that whiskey is an English bastardisation of 'uisce' from soldiers of Henry II when they came to Ireland - I'll believe it. It's also kind of amusing that it ends on such a humorous note, the re-birth through whiskey - Finnegan shocked that they think he's dead; then the chorus, which just goes on repeat, as if this was a common happening and 'true' as the chorus suggests ('Wasn't it the truth I told you').

Good hunting. Happy reading. More random items to come.