At least Joyce didn’t italicize and indent it like Tolkien and like I’m going to do now or I would have probably ignored it.
If you met on the binge a poor acheseyeld from Ailing when the tune of his tremble shook shimmy on shin, while his countrary raged in the weak of his wailing, like a rugilant pugilant Lyon O’Lynn; if he maundered in misliness, plaining his plight or, played fox and lice, pricking and dropping hips teeth, or wringing his handcuffs for peace, the blind blighter, praying Dieuf and Domb Nostrums foh thomethinks to eath; if he weapt while he leapt and guffalled quith a quhimper, made cold blood a blue mundy and no bones without flech, taking kiss, kake or kick with a suck, sigh or simper, a diffle to larn and a dibble to lech; if the fain shinner pegged you to shave his immartial, wee skillmustered shoul with his oo, hoodoodoo! broking wind that to wiles, woemaid sin he was partial, we don’t think Jones, we’d care to this evening, would you?
Don’t ask me what it means. Maybe if they still do recitation and memory work at school, I’ll have Tesfa memorize it and say it aloud just to piss off her teachers.