James Joyce [trans. Emily Bannon, 2015]
From Finnegans Wake
Primum opifex, altus prosator, ad terram viviparam et cuncti-potentem sine ullo pudore nec venia, suscepto pluvili atque discinctis perizomatis, natibus nudis uti nati fuissent, sese adpropinguans, flens et gemens, in manum suam evacuavit (highly prosy, crap in his hand, sorry!), postea animale nigro exoneratus, classicum pulsans stercus proprium, quod appelavit deiectiones suas, in vas olim honorbile tristitiae posuit, oedem sub invocatione fratrorum geminorum Medardi et Godardi laete ac melliflue minxit, psalmum qui incipit: Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis: magna voce cantitans (did a piss, says he was dejected, asks to be exonerated), demum ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis iucunditate mixto, cocto, frigorique exposito, encaustum sibi fecit indelibile (faked O'Ryan's, the indelible ink).
First the artist, the exalted writer , weeping and groaning avacuated into his own hand drawing himself close, close to the life-giving and all-powerful earth without any shame or sin, with the rainy-thing held up and with his gridle taken off, with his butt cheeks naked as  they were born. Then, unburdened of the black beast, pounding his own high-class dung, and sounding a trumpet, he put his own dung, which he called his "downcastings," into an urn once used as an honored mark of mourning. With an invocation to the twin bretheren Medard and Godard he then urinated into it happily and mellifluously, he began a psalm: "My tongue is the pen of a scribe writing swiftly." Singing in a loud voice, finally he made for himself an indelible heat-fixed ink out of foul dung mixed with the joy of the god Orion that had been baked [and] exposed to cold.