[56] 
 
 
 
 
 
CAPITULUM VIII 
 
 
NO !  I SHALL not transcribe the songs the Arch-
bishop sang.  They were ill-suited to your dainty 
ears, my girls !  No !  In vain you strip your bellies 
and show me canoodles with gleet and pus a-
dripping, and your dung-stuffed clyster-pipes cho-
ral in my ears and grateful to my smell.  No, I say !  
I am adamant, iron !  You may twist yourselves into 
the randiest positions you know ;  you may cuddle 
my crimson chitterling till it chirps, soars and 
spurts into the blue Heaven of God :  but I will N O T 
corrupt your morals with those degrading and sin-
ful songs.  I will never transcribe a word or a sylla-
ble that the most modest woman need blush to 
hear :  I will never be a party to the ruin of one in-
nocent child-soul.  Cunts !  I protect you !  Nugs !  avaunt !  
Come not near the pure girls and women for whom 
I write this book, the decent sayings of a godly light 
of the Church.  So let us gloss over the temporary 
lapse from politeness of the saintly old man — let 
us excuse one whose only fault was that he was 
born at a date when folk were less fastidious ! —
 and let him return to the quiet and uneventful 
autobiography with which he has so far pleasantly 
and inoffensively regaled us. 
Ah !  You would, would you, you penny-a-peep 
flapper ?  Well, little girls will be little girls.  Adam 
fell for less than this — Oh !  If you suck so I shall 
go mad — Stop, for God’s sake !  This was the song.