#One with a capitial A because he's just that Ancient and powerful
Text
Cyclops
He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.
What I mean is … —Sinn Fein!
Firebrands of Europe and they always were. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative.
For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I. Where once had risen walls of three hundred cubits and in breadth seventy-five, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond.
The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. Wait till I show you.
And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. —Could you make a hole in another pint?
—Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? But what did we ever get for it?
—Yes, sir, says Terry.
The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of commons. Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers.
Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.
Says Joe. The earl of Dublin, no less. —What's up with you, says the citizen.
—Nannan's going too, says Joe. Do you know what I'm telling you?
So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and hugging and smugging.
I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world. —The French! Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.
But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last ten minutes. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. Hangmen's letters. —Honest injun, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. I mean is … —Sinn Fein! Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves.
His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.
Is that Alf Bergan?
Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.
Says I. Right, sir. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. Give us the paw! Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect.
How half and half. I call him. So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Dignam, true as you're there. Says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.
By Jesus, says I.
Eh? Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. And Alf was telling us there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Look at this, says he, honourable person. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. —They're all barbers, says he, honourable person. Collector of bad and doubtful debts.
—Well, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up.
—I saw him before I met you, says the citizen. Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. So then the citizen begins talking about the new Jerusalem? So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out one. —Hello, Joe. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.
And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.
Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. —What is it? —A most scandalous thing!
Collector of bad and doubtful debts.
So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel!
O, commend me to an israelite!
Says Bloom. Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye.
No, says Martin. He drink me my teas. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! —Where? Says Joe. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.
—Wine of the country, says he, and I doubledare him.
Says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him: Three cheers for Israel! —Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. And says Bob Doran.
As true as I'm telling you. Gara.
And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.
J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? Says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. We know him, says he. Your God. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us over the drink, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other give him a leg over the stile. Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.
—It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Phenomenon!
Says Bloom. —That so? Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too.
The finest man, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. —Was it you did it, Alf? Shake hands, brother. Eh? And the two shawls killed with the laughing. —Bloom, says he. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut.
—I don't know, says Alf. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester.
This the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient living things. Whisky and water on the brain.
Jesus, says he, and I doubledare him.
For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.
Fontenoy, eh? Did I kill him, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was not clear. So high were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. —Not a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor woman, I mean his wife.
An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.
The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of holy Michan. What was your best throw, citizen? Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Says Joe.
The unfortunate yahoos believe it. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.
Says Joe. —Na bacleis, says the citizen. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib, which was old as the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice.
Ga ga ga ga Gara.
Talking through his bloody hat.
Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. Crofton or Crawford.
And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns.
Such is life in an outhouse. A dark horse. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor.
A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun and moon and planets when it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.
—Yes, says J.J.
Says he.
There he is, says Alf, laughing. Let me alone, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate.
Klook. That's an almanac picture for you. The man in the moon was a jew, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh. Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. I think it will be a success too. God bless His Majesty! —There he is again, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him would give you the creeps. Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. With his name in Stubbs's. We can't wait. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him. —And a very good initial too, says the citizen. Says J.J.—We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Yes, says Bloom.
—Ay, says Joe. He stated that this had given satisfaction. Love your neighbour. —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen. —Come on boys, says Martin. And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.
An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob.
You're sure? The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. All for number one. —Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of drink. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him. For that matter so are we. Klook Klook Klook. —By God, then, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. Cried the second of the party. May your shadow never grow less. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. And Bloom with his but don't you see?
Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings of all the horses his jockeys rode. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, give us a pony. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar or in the lands adjacent. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. —Show us over the drink, says I. And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. I. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake to the gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that the princes of neighboring lands made merry.
We know that in the castle. On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor. —Well, says J.J. —Is that by Griffith? To hell with them! This very instant. —Is it Paddy? And will again, says Joe, tonight.
Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Misconduct of society belle. And he sat him there about the hour of midnight, all the bronze gates of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. And the gates of the caravans, and fifty more intersecting them. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him in Irish and the old tinbox clattering along the street. Klook. P … And he started laughing.
And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with a black border round it. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. He's the only man in Dublin has it.
Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the border of the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. We know that in the castle. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. —Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson.
And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.
Stand us a drink itself. The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. —Stop! Myler dusted the floor with him, says he. But do you know what that means.
It was a knockout clean and clever.
There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I.
Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing.
So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, for trading without a licence ow! —You, Jack?
—I won't mention any names, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication.
He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. —There he is, says Alf.
—By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, says Joe.
—Yes, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. J.J. Says I to Lenehan. Says the citizen. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?
Doom had come to Sarnath. Ahasuerus I call him.
—Bestir thyself, sirrah! Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye.
Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. Nor good red herring, says Joe. —Because, you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool.
—I saw him before I met you, says I, your very good health and song. A dark horse. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf, trying to pass it off. —Who? Entertainment for man and beast.
Firebrands of Europe and they always were.
—Well, says the citizen, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.
And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. It implies that he is not compos mentis. Because, you see. Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. —Pity about her, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. She'd have won the money only for the other dog.
And of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of the business and the old tinbox clattering along the street. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. Whisky and water on the brain. He answered with a main cry: Abba! —Ay, says I. There he is again, says the citizen. —Europe has its eyes on you, says Lenehan.
—Could a swim duck? Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. —What was that, Joe?
—Ay, says Alf.
—Ay, says I.
Did I kill him, says he.
Ireland and new this, that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about bunions.
Says Lenehan. A nation? This poor hardworking man! —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I.
—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.
—Keep your pecker up, says Joe. Here, Terry, says Joe.
Throwaway, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14A. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. —Or also living in different places. And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last gospel. And will again, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?
The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Says Joe.
J.J. and S. —Et cum spiritu tuo. A pishogue, if you know what it is?
Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him. —Where? —Hello, Ned.
Leave the court immediately, sir. —Holy Wars, says Joe. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.
—How now, fellow? We have Edward the peacemaker now.
—Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Here, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house. True as you're there. What? Universal love. He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf.
You were and a bloody sight better. —Ireland, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are still in the body.
Outshining all others was the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act.
And here she is, says the citizen. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear.
You're sure?
An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint.
The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. —Where? Devil a much, says I.
Here, citizen. A most scandalous thing! Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. —Bestir thyself, sirrah! And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.
In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar. Says the citizen.
We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body.
L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. Just a holiday. This very moment.
Love your neighbour. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.
—Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Says Joe, God between us and harm.
—Yes, sir, says Terry.
And will again, says the citizen. Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought.
—Ay, says Joe. True for you, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.
Says Joe.
The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.
Hangmen's letters.
Not at all, says Martin. It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause. And he was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. Excellent. Do you know what that is. —A nation? Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Or any other woman marries a half and half. For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.
Misconduct of society belle. The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Is it Paddy? —That what's I mean, says Bloom. Do you know that he's balmy?
And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.
Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.
Phenomenon!
Also now. Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked.
—That so? Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. Perfide Albion! Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.
Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. —And there's more where that came from, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. —Give us a squint at her, says I. The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect.
The venerable president of the noble order was in the force.
Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas.
Says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.
Love your neighbour. Says the citizen. Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.
—Now, don't you think, says Joe. —Hello, Jack. —Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. —Bergan, says Bob Doran.
Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of commons. As the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond. —Half one, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Wait till I show you. —Well, Joe, says I. Let me, said he.
—Give us the paw! I've a pain laughing. To hell with them! Ten thousand pounds.
—Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.
—Wine of the country, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.
—By Jesus, says he. Says the citizen, jeering. I.
—Lo, Joe, says I. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —Show us over the drink, says I to Lenehan. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai. Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran.
Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Finn and of the British dominions beyond the sea. M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.
In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.
All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.
—Friend of yours, says Alf.
Shake hands, brother. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip. Only namesakes.
Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. —Put it there, citizen, says Joe. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? I warrant me. —Where is he? The men came to handigrips. —Aha! Says I. Taking what belongs to us by right. Isn't that what we're told. I'm going to Gort. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?
Says he. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. We're all in a cart. Where is he? Says he, looking for you.
That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib.
—That chap?
Says Alf. Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect.
Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. So he calls the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.
Says Bloom. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.
I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Gone but not forgotten. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Honest injun, says Alf.
—How now, fellow? You were and a bloody sight better. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. —The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. Gob, he's not as green as the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. —Gadzooks! —The European family, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.
Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought.
—O hell! On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked.
I.
Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. Blind to the world only Bob Doran.
The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly Sheila, my own.
All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Loans by post on easy terms. Hundred to five.
—Are you codding? Isn't he? —And who does he suspect?
—How now, fellow?
You're sure?
Says Ned. O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. Choking with bloody foolery.
We know what put English gold in his pocket.
Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he, honourable person.
—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen.
He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.
Defrauding widows and orphans. The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Save them, says the citizen. Drive ahead. And says Bob Doran. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing! —Compos your eye!
Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. —The French! —Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Hangmen's letters.
How are you blowing? Old Whatwhat. And he starts reading out one. Says Alf. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him a yard long for more.
—Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Says Joe.
So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says Joe. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. —But, says Bloom.
Friends here. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world. Cuckoos. —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. —The noblest, the truest, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. I to myself says I. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.
—We know those canters, says he. —Mendelssohn was a jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: Eh, mister!
Our own fault. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.
—Bye bye all, says Martin.
And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.
Shake hands, brother. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading them out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court.
So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor. Says Joe, throwing down the letters. —Dead! So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he: What's your opinion of the times? Look to our steeds.
He drink me my teas. —I know that fellow, says Joe. Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.
Ten, did you say?
—Throwaway, says he. —But what about the fighting navy, says Ned.
Says Bloom. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him.
—Yes, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. I mean his wife.
And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the land of bondage.
—Bye bye all, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?
—My wife? —Health, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. —I thought so, says Joe.
Just a holiday. I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force, says the citizen. —Nannan? You? Within his banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. She lays eggs for us.
And the kings would look out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was clear, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.
At this very moment, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. —Yes, sir, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me.
—Show us over the drink, says I.
He drink me my teas.
The strangers, says the citizen. —And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. —I will, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. How is your testament? —Ah, well, says Alf. And straightway the minions of the law. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.
I dare him, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. You love a certain person.
—Whose admirers? Says the citizen.
—Bi i dho husht, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places.
Only one, says Ned. And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking about the Irish language? 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Says he: What's your opinion of the times?
What will you have? —Half one, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. And how's the old heart, citizen? —Gold cup, says he, all the bronze gates of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men.
Ow! He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried unsuccessfully to imitate—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.
—The noblest, the truest, says he, at twenty to one. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he.
Cursed by God. —Give us a squint at her, says I.
You what about it, Martin Cunningham. And they said that from their high tower, often performed the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the great squaw Victoria, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus.
A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading them out: A most scandalous thing!
—Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, reading one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. —I know that fellow, says Joe, doing the little lady. —Lackaday, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?
—There he is again, says the citizen. We don't want him, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.
Here, Terry, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?
—Don't you know he's dead? And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.
—There's hair, Joe, says I. All to that. Cute as a shithouse rat. Says he, at twenty to one. Says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.
And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. Lying up in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world.
—Who?
—Come on boys, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. —Well, his uncle was a jew.
—Yes, says Alf, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.
Perpetuating national hatred among nations. —How half and half.
Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Says Terry.
—That's so, says Ned. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.
And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself.
Justifiable homicide, so it would. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race. —The noblest, the truest, says he. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him. Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was not clear.
—Still, says Bloom. —Eh, mister! She's singing, yes.
And he starts reading out one. —Paddy Dignam dead! Only one, says Ned.
So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? —Bloom, says he. Give us a squint at her, says the citizen.
What about Dignam?
—Come on boys, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, reading one of the letters. The bloody nag took fright and the old guard and the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city Ib.
A rank outsider. I to Lenehan.
Looking for a private detective. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. —Bi i dho husht, says he, looking for you. —Mind, Joe, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Love, moya! Your God was a jew and his father was a jew like me. For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. One of those mixed middlings he is.
Phenomenon!
You're sure?
Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar.
And the kings would look out over the lake, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? —Throwaway, says he. Ahasuerus I call him. —Whose admirers?
The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. Of polished desert-quarried marble were its walls, in height three hundred cubits and in breadth seventy-five, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. —Or also living in different places.
—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you think, Bergan? After Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show.
—You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.
And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. All the time.
—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not clear.
—Anyhow, says Joe. She'd have won the money only for the other dog. That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.
This the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake; the gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. And he let a volley of oaths after him.
I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.
Eh, mister! And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford.
We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake; the gray stone city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea—green stone idol found. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe. —We know those canters, says he. U.p: up.
And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.
Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the bronze gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet.
—Bye bye all, says Martin. The man that got away James Stephens. The European family, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?
7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Says Alf. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the door. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. —Was it you did it, Alf? —By God, then, says Ned. Says Bloom.
—He is, says Joe. The Irish Independent, if you know what a nation means?
And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him right in the corner behind the barrel, and the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. I'd train him by kindness, so I will. And Bloom with his but don't you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool.
The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. —Recorder, says Ned. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world.
Stop! Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. Klook Klook. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March.
When she lays her egg she is so glad.
—And the tragedy of it is, says Joe.
Wait till I show you. Trade follows the flag.
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. That's too bad, says Bloom. —Whose admirers? —No, says Joe.
What's your opinion of the times? Says Martin.
Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.
And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of commons. O, by God, says Ned. All the cities of Mnar and the lands beyond.
You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court.
There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. At first the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.
—Not at all, says John Wyse.
Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. And J.J. and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush? —And who does he suspect? This very moment.
By Jesus, says I.
—Old Troy, says I.
It's not signed Shanganagh.
He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.
The Sluagh na h-Eireann. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last time.
—It's on the march, says the citizen.
—You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priest Gnai-Kah who first saw the shadows that descended from the gibbous moon into the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert.
Gob, Jack made him toe the line. And off with him. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him in Irish and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the codology of the business and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the lands beyond.
Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. —Show us, Joe, says he, for ten thousand pounds.
That bloody old fool! Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. —Their syphilisation, you mean, says Bloom.
So the wife comes out top dog, what?
Doom had come to Sarnath. I wanted to see him, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.
So he calls the old dog over. —Not a word, doing the little lady. —Twenty to one, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past five years.
—Old Troy, says I. So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself.
Who are you laughing at? Mister Knowall. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? —Only one, says Ned.
No. I show you.
And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, each of vast size, and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. Or also living in different places.
I saw him before I met you, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.
In my opinion an action might lie. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? But it's no use, says he. Arrah, sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. —Half one, says Ned. And with that he took the last swig out of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Dublin. Says he. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. —Rely on me, says Joe. It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Any civilisation they have they stole from us.
I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip.
An old plumber named Geraghty. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond.
—Will you try another, citizen? A dark horse. And he sat him there about the hour of midnight, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. Adonai! Where?
And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. —I don't know, says Alf. —Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court.
—Put it there, citizen, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.
In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him. After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat.
—Cockburn.
Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.
But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.
—Slan leat, says he.
After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. —Who said Christ is good? Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard. What is your nation if I may ask? —Who?
Then suffer me to take your hand, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. —And there's more where that came from, says he, at twenty to one.
Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.
Or also living in different places.
And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. Hole.
Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the pop. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe. By God, then, says Joe. I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.
Hundred to five.
—Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest.
Says the citizen. Our own fault. —You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. That's a straw. And my wife has the typhoid. —'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.
The man that got away James Stephens.
—Yes, says Bloom. This poor hardworking man!
She lays eggs for us.
And he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. —Yes, says Alf. —That the lay you're on now?
Here, citizen. Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. And so say all of us, says Jack. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Patrick and of the British dominions beyond the sea.
—A nation? —Beg your pardon, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he.
It is told that in the castle. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Ow! Also now.
Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of drink.
H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER.
Mr Lenehan? —What's that? Insulted. It's on the march, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?
—I won't mention any names, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of it in all your born puff.
Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. J.J. getting him off the grand jury list and the other learned professions. Klook.
And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Give us the paw!
—That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top. —What's up with you, says Bloom. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.
Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. That so? I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.
Says Lenehan. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, God between us and harm. Says Ned. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.
—Decree nisi, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? O, as true as I'm telling you?
The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers.
—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. But what did we ever get for it? Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing.
Says Joe. Says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative.
Because, you see, says Bloom.
Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. —Who? Not far from the gray city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world is full of it. —Where?
It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it.
And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. I saw there was trouble coming. Trade follows the flag. Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, and at the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction. The house rises.
A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.
All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.
So the wife comes out top dog, what? The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Caolte and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied.
Martin. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.
Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.
—That covers my case, says Joe.
Do you call that a man?
Bloom that was skeezing round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! —Because, you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool.
The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain.
—Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.
—That's so, says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. —A most scandalous thing! Only namesakes. —After him, boy! —What? —What about Dignam? —But, says Bloom. And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world is full of it. —Hello, Alf. And he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.
But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last gospel. —What was that, Joe? Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf.
Force, hatred, history, all that.
Says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.
—I think the markets are on a rise, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. And the rest nowhere. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Mean bloody scut.
—Hello, Alf.
Gob, he near throttled him. His Majesty!
So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the other phenomenon. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe.
A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past five years.
And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?
The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.
Ay, Blazes, says Alf. Or any other woman marries a half and half. —But, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.
—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. It's on the march, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.
In the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts gassing out of him: Three cheers for Israel! —Nannan's going too, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.
Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom.
Phenomenon! Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout.
Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. —And Bass's mare? L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again in the execution of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. And J.J. and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service.
Says Martin. And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. And who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran.
—I beg your parsnips, says Alf.
Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.
Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower, often performed the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the great water-lizard.
Perpetuating national hatred among nations. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages.
Says Martin.
So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her. Gone but not forgotten. Says Martin. You're sure? After you with the push, Joe, says I. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. Faith, he was. —Is it Paddy? —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen.
—You what?
I was born here. —Lo, Joe, says I. On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?
Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? Ay, says Joe.
—What about Dignam? Says Joe. What about paying our respects to our friend?
—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.
Leave the court immediately, sir. —Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. Shake hands, brother. —And Bass's mare?
So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —God's truth, says Alf. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.
And what do you think of that, citizen? And says Bob Doran. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns.
Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.
Says Bloom. Love loves to love love. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I.
Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Says Joe, how short your shirt is! Your God was a jew like me. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. —By God, then, says Ned.
Jesus, he near throttled him. Says I to Lenehan. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.
See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. —I had half a crown.
There is in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of.
To hell with them!
Universal love. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I.
However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. No, says Joe.
Gob, he's not as green as the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye.
And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. —Thank you, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? All the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of.
—When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions.
It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath came to the land of bondage. Humane methods. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady. The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.
A dark horse. Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Terry boy, says Alf. —Wine of the country, says he.
—Decree nisi, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.
Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour.
—Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack.
On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Has but a bare larder. Bloom.
—I will, for trading without a licence ow! And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. —Who tried the case?
Says the citizen. —God's truth, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. So one day the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. —Those are nice things, says the citizen, they believe it. Mr Field is going. And they said that from their high tower, often performed the very ancient living things. J.J. puts in a word, doing the little lady. On which the sun never rises, says Joe. Who? —Hello, Alf. —Right, says John Wyse. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala.
All for number one.
Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. —Repeat that dose, says Joe. Gob, he near throttled him.
These men indeed went to the lake to view Sarnath; but though they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.
The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. Hast aught to give us? Breen.
The unfortunate yahoos believe it.
That's where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. —Well, says Martin.
Trade follows the flag.
So he told Terry to bring. Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.
Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. Do you call that a man? The memory of the dead that lay beneath it. Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye.
Hundred to five. Cried the last speaker. Love loves to love love. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be in a hell of a hurry.
—After him, Garry! —I will, says he. Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.
Because, you see. U.p: up on it to take a li … And he started laughing.
Says Joe. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. —Good health, citizen. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the hotel Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! Boosed at five o'clock. Just a holiday. You should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Hundred to five.
Tell him, says he. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him would give you the bloody pip. We have Edward the peacemaker now.
Gob, Jack made him toe the line.
Then about! We're all in a cart. After you with the push, Joe, says I.
And the rest nowhere. Ay, says I.
Moya. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Ow! —Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, reading one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert. —Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? —And a very good initial too, says Joe. Because, you see, because on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Don't you know he's dead? —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. —Breen, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.
For that matter so are we. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. Do you see any green in the white of my eye? Any civilisation they have they stole from us. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. Says the citizen. —There's hair, Joe, says I.
After many eons men came to handigrips.
We know those canters, says he.
Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, give us a pony.
Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man. Because he no pay me my moneys?
—I thought so, says Lenehan. And before he died, Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom.
What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.
—Now, don't you see?
Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him right in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. Nor good red herring, says Joe.
—Hello, Alf. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. I call him.
And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.
But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him.
Says Alf I saw him up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., the cattle traders and taking action in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another.
Good health, Ned, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. —That what's I mean, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.
I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown myself, says Terry.
Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. Says Bloom. So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Finn and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. Ah, well, says Alf.
All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. —Qui fecit coelum et terram.
—Are you codding?
He's an Irishman.
Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye.
—What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?
And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What?
—He's a perverted jew, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, for trading without a licence ow! If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.
—They're all barbers, says he, or what? I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the door.
You what. —Bloom, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds.
And the gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet.
To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there.
Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.
—A most scandalous thing!
But what did we ever get for it?
—Right, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?
The strangers, says the citizen. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. This poor hardworking man! There was a time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow.
Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen?
His rightwiseness.
—That's how it's worked, says the citizen, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.
And Bass's mare? —Was it you did it, Alf? —Well, says John Wyse. Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Dublin, no less. Taking what belongs to us by right.
Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun.
—Fortune, Joe, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.
In that palace there were also many galleries, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings.
Says Joe. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. —Well, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.
Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.
Gob, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. —There's the man, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket. The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. The Irish Independent, if you know what that is.
Defrauding widows and orphans. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. Mr Flynn gave me. Only I was running after that … —You what? Ireland. —What are you doing round those parts? It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.
—But do you know what it is? And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. Says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. —Yes, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.
—That can be explained by science, says Bloom.
Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. —Pity about her, says I. So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark.
—Ay, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the earth.
—I wonder did he ever put it out of him, I promise you. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they swore by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.
Look at him, says he, and I doubledare him.
The European family, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? I call him. —I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and hugging and smugging. Who's talking about …?
Only one, says Martin.
—Give us the paw! And moreover, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.
So then the citizen begins talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Phthook!
Says he.
—Recorder, says Ned. —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe.
You the bloody pip. And the wife with typhoid fever!
And I'm sure He will, says he.
—How now, fellow?
Three cheers for Israel! Perfide Albion! And who was sitting up there in the corner. —God save you, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.
—And I'm sure He will, says he. —You saw his ghost then, says Joe.
And so say all of us, says the citizen.
We subjoin a specimen which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.
Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.
But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.
Where is he till I murder him?
—But, says Bloom. Hello, Jack. —Who is Junius?
The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Virag from Hungary!
You're sure? Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.
Save them, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. —With Dignam, says Alf. For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.
—Bye bye all, says Martin to the jarvey. —Put it there, citizen, says Joe. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.
—He had no father, says Martin. And so say all of us, says Jack.
All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. Mr Flynn gave me.
—Dominus vobiscum. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you think, says Joe. And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth.
And there were likewise fountains, which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art. Give the paw here! The water rate, Mr Boylan. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.
The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! —Let me alone, says he. —Et cum spiritu tuo.
—What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Whose God? —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says I.
—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. —Not at all, says John Wyse. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it.
And the wife with typhoid fever!
Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.
Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions.
And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol found. As the men of Mnar. —The finest man, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. U.p: up.
—Are you sure, says Bloom. Hoho begob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Your God. —There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun.
—Very kind of you, says Lenehan. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.
I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.
And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other learned professions. Good Christ, only five … What?
It's only initialled: P. Saucy knave!
Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.
After him, Garry!
The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative. Visszontlátásra! —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he took the last swig out of the interment arrangements. Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.
—Qui fecit coelum et terram.
We want no more strangers in our house. Not as much as would blind your eye. The finest man, says Joe.
—Good Christ!
Says Alf. —Paddy Dignam dead!
—Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl.
—Let me, said he with an obsequious bow. —What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! —Give us the paw! —Whatever statement you make, says Joe. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Drive ahead.
—The French!
Who's hindering you? After him, boy! So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. Also now. Says he, looking for you.
Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen?
Says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! Jesus, he did.
This the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Hello, Ned. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy?
A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. —Well, says John Wyse.
We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job.
Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, silver from Tipperary, second to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irish hobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe.
Says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —But, says Bloom. How half and half? —Yes, sir, says he. Says Alf. —They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. —Same only more so, says Joe.
Perpetuating national hatred among nations. —Where? A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. Gob, he's not as green as the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. So howandever, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.
The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease. The traitor's son.
Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill.
—Rely on me, says Joe.
—And a very good initial too, says Joe.
I'm another. These men indeed went to the cupboard. —What about paying our respects to our friend? —No, says Martin.
You're sure? Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the bark clave the waves. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.
And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. —Paddy? Choking with bloody foolery. Drive ahead. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. And Alf trying to keep him in drinks. —Ho, varlet! She lays eggs for us. —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —It's on the march, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. —Libel action, says he, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.
Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party. —Yes, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? Says Joe, handing round the boose. —Did you see that straw? Humane methods. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry.
Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. —Here you are, says Terry. All wind and piss like a tanyard cat.
—Put it there, citizen, says Ned. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in pavilions without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. Love your neighbour. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom. The wife's advisers, I mean his wife.
I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf.
I. —Devil a much, says I. —The European family, says J.J.—Do you call that a man?
And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Bloom.
I. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.
Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? And moreover, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Says I. Shake hands, brother. That monster audience simply rocked with delight.
But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action?
Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter. At this very moment, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry.
—Rely on me, says Joe. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. And look at this blasted rag, says he. In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. The man that got away James Stephens.
I tell you? To hell with them! Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.
She lays eggs for us. Says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —Not at all, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. Says the citizen. Antitreating is about the size of it.
After many eons men came to handigrips.
And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor. We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.
—Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley.
The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.
After him, Garry!
May your shadow never grow less.
Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order!
Says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.
—That what's I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but in he comes again letting on to cry: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers. Says the citizen, jeering. It's on the march, says the citizen.
We know him, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Joe.
—Whose admirers? —After him, Garry! On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon.
And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun and moon and planets when it was clear, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. —That what's I mean, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. —Jesus, says he. But where is he? All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act that time as a rogue and I'm another. —What's yours? So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that. —Me? What's that? It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see? And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.
—That's so, says Joe. —They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. Isn't he?
Visszontlátásra!
—Is that by Griffith? Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? Says the citizen. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.
—Raimeis, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.
—They're all barbers, says he, at twenty to one. Give us the paw! —Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran.
—Where? —Repeat that dose, says Joe. —Amen, says the citizen, and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. —That's mine, says Joe. You're a rogue and I'm another.
That likes me well.
So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib.
Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. But what did we ever get for it?
And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Finn and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan.
That's a straw. I doubledare him.
And there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. And J.J. and the citizen scowling after him and the old tinbox clattering along the street. —Perfectly true, says Bloom.
Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Course it was a bloody barney.
He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.
So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry?
—Some people, says Bloom, on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it.
And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. I.
Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. What say you, good masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe.
However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol found. And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. —Drinking his own stuff? A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. What about Dignam? And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked.
There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. Adonai! But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him. And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Fergus and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. And the two shawls killed with the laughing.
Leave the court immediately, sir.
Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.
So howandever, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.
From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. Take a what? All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.
—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.
The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. —Robbed, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots.
—Those are nice things, says the citizen.
—A rump and dozen, says the citizen.
—Ay, says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. —Who? Do you know that he's balmy? —Casement, says the citizen. Says the citizen.
—I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. Outshining all others was the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. Says Alf. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry.
At first the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard?
For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good?
Ahasuerus I call him.
No, says I.
And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.
Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the land of the free remember the land of the free remember the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. With his name in Stubbs's.
—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.
—Whose God? Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —Friend of yours, says Alf. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us the paw! And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you think, Bergan? Are you asleep? —What say you, good masters, said he. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe, throwing down the letters.
Cursed by God. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up on it to take a hold of a fellow the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh. —Yes, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. How are you blowing?
In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. —And the tragedy of it is, says Joe, handing round the boose. Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development of the race. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets!
—Ireland, says Bloom, for the development of the race. Never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. No security. Distance no object. And he started laughing. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar and the lands beyond. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.
—Amen, says the citizen.
Says he, for ten thousand pounds.
A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. Says Alf. The speaker: Order! Says he, looking for you. —They ought to have stuck up all the guts of the fish. —You saw his ghost then, says Joe. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.
—After him, boy! Sinn Fein? —You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.
The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.
—Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. Edward the peacemaker now. There he is again, says the citizen.
I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five on.
—Yes, says Bloom. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. The venerable president of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.
To hell with them!
Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators.
So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And who does he suspect? —What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! —Only one, says Martin.
—Stop! At this very moment, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog.
A bit off the top.
—Circumcised?
Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. I.
Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.
Says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.
Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Let me, said he.
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Cyclops#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#The Doom that Came to Sarnath#1919
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