marses

Churchill, that chap was one of us once, he was born to lead the clarses, an 'now look at him leadin' the marses, up to his neck in

The Man Who Lost Himself

This battering babel allower the door and sideposts, he always said, was not in the very remotest like the belzey babble of a bottle of boose which would not rouse him out o’ slumber deep but reminded him loads more of the martiallawsey marses of foreign musi-kants’ instrumongs or the overthrewer to the third last days of

Finnegans Wake