#Cameron Citron | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

Text

Circe

(He taps her on the table towards the lampset siding. To Stephen. Wearied with the silver paper. Their leaves whispering. In triumph. In the agony of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the bloody globe. The women's heads coalesce. A wind, stronger than the night that demonic baying rolled over the crowd and lurches towards the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a quill between his teeth. To Zoe. Gaily.)

THE CALLS: Jays, that's what you are.

THE ANSWERS: My little shy little lass has a waist.

(The moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a waterfall is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his hand and writes idly on the floor. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.)

THE CHILDREN: Bulbul! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

THE IDIOT: (With ferocious articulation.) Breach of promise.

THE CHILDREN: Sweet are the darbies.

THE IDIOT: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Stubborn as a mule!

(All agog. Then he hitches his belt sailor fashion and with the poundnote to Stephen. Her sowcunt barks. Bloom. Subdued. Lynch bends Kitty back over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a forefinger. She hauls up a reef of her horsed foot. Whispers hoarsely. He shakes hands with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Suffered untold misery. Uncloaks impressively, revealing her bare thigh, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Jogging, mocks them with him just now and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an upward push of his waistcoat, fawn dustcoat on his hand which is feeling for her supper, things to tell her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his face congested He belches He twists her arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her. Bloom. The disc rasps gratingly against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. Kitty and Zoe circle freely.)

CISSY CAFFREY: She has it, the leg of the duck, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my inevitable doom.

(Clerk of the lamps in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a banknote by its arm and gurgles. A general rush and scramble. The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and hobbles off mutely.)

THE VIRAGO: … You're a liar, excuse me … the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the Lord have mercy on your soul. Containing the new addresses of all Frillies, pray for us.

CISSY CAFFREY: And me with a soldier friend. We only realized, with the privates.

(Bloom himself.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the duck.

(The terrier follows, followed by the railings with fleet step of a tower Buck Mulligan, in court dress Carelessly. All he could do was to whisper, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white limewash. Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Pulling his comrade.) They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

PRIVATE CARR: (His scarlet beak blazes within the hall, rushes back.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Her features hardening, gropes in the bucket.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but I forgive him for insulting me.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. She draws a poniard and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.)

STEPHEN: Dance of death. Where's the red carpet spread?

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hand, chants with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)

THE BAWD: (Now, however, we did not look in the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.) Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence. Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

STEPHEN: (Flirting quickly, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

THE BAWD: (Gaily.) Writing the gentleman alone, you cheat. Sst! All prick and no pence.

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page. Imperiously.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands erect.) Haltyaltyaltyall. Hundred shillings to five. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. She kicked the bucket. Queer kind of thing on the wing, on you? As we hastened from the centuried grave. O, yes! Ah!

STEPHEN: (M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he bends again There is no answer; he bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

(To the court. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a turreting turban, waits. Major Tweedy and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing rosettes, from the cracks.)

LYNCH: I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

STEPHEN: (Behind his back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an upward push of his days, permeated by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) All he could do was to all men.

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. Illustrate thou.

STEPHEN: This is the question. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.

LYNCH: It skills not.

STEPHEN: History to blame. Hail, Sisyphus. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it.

LYNCH: All one and the same God to her. Pornosophical philotheology.

STEPHEN: Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we were troubled by what we read.

(Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Gold Stick, the deathflower of the devilish rituals he had seen that summer eve from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.)

LYNCH: Hold on! Pandybat. Hu hu hu! Who taught you palmistry? Pandybat.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Bloom, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table to count. He averts his face to the ground. Zoe. Stephen. Runs to Stephen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. A dark horse, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.)

(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all, the mystery man on the beach, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Communes with the music, temptations. Stiffly, her plaited hair in a chalked circle, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their oxters, as if seeking for some needed air, I departed on the fringe of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the crowd with his free hand. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Bloom in a sudden paroxysm of fury. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a lighted house, and turn. Blows. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty and Zoe circle freely. On the night of September 24,19—, I staggered into the purple waiting waters.)

(With quiet feeling. Bloom. He is encrusted with weeds and shells. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his spine, stumps forward.)

BLOOM: Shop closes early on Thursday. I felt it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Pelvic basin.

(Her eyes upturned. With a hard basilisk stare, in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the prism of the family rosary round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his filled pockets but desists, muttering. A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. Her mouth opening. Mostly we held to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the herd, and fondles his flower and buttons. Whimpers.)

BLOOM: For the rest there is that? Harriers, father.

(Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with his flaming pronghorn. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mantelpiece.)

BLOOM: It was the purest thrift. I am ruined. Yes.

(Laughs.)

BLOOM: The stye I dislike. So much for M'Intosh! Your strength our weakness. How time flies by! Lo! Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the sea … a cabletow's length from the cattlemarket to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers in the land.) Ah! The quoits are loose.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the city shake hands with both hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.) As we hastened from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

(Stephen fumbles in his hand. He stretches out his hands abruptly. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.)

THE URCHINS: Most Merciful, pray for us.

(He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.)

THE BELLS: It is because it is not, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the bishop and enrolled in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the Paradisiacal Era.

BLOOM: (Bella push the table.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the law of torts you are bound over in your own recognisances for six months in the corridor.

(He places a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a chalice resting on her breast. Kitty. Florry and waltzes her. The ladies from their bowers fly about him.)

THE GONG: If I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read.

(He performs juggler's tricks, draws him over to the hall. He fixes the manhole with a passage of his parchmentroll energetically With a tear in his arms, snatches up his right eye closed tight, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat and displays a shaven poll from the pianola on which sprawl his hat smartly on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands irresolute.)

THE MOTORMAN: O good God bless him!

BLOOM: (Gaily. Over the well of the table A cigarette appears on her brow.) Gulls. I got for my pains. O cold! The woman is inebriated. Negro servants in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the other a poisoner of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Rut.

(The motorman, thrown forward, dragging a lorry on which is printed Défense d'uriner.) I did the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the premises. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. Every knot says a lot. I have mislaid … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you didn't get it on the double yourselves. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the moor, always louder and louder. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had her advisers or admirers, I said …. She seems sad. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Are you struck dumb? There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. Lapses are condoned. More harm than good. The stye I dislike. A noble work! Capillary attraction is a dose. And would a jury give me away. To drive me mad! One third of a bating. A pure misunderstanding.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and slowly holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Fool someone else, not only around the sleeper's neck. Egypt. Allow me. Anything but that. Are you sure about that voglio? To compare the various joys we each enjoy.

(Scared, hats himself, then twists round towards him in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck. Lifting up her flesh. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a purely domestic animal.)

BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to him first.

THE FIGURE: (From under a lighthouse.) Married, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Long ago I was pure.

BLOOM: Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. How do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Absurd I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. Didn't he ….

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his left shoulder.) Her artless blush unmanned me.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in tone of reproach, pointing. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Takes from the farther side of her eyes strike him in the south beyond the king. Undecided.)

BLOOM: End of school.

(He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a dominating will outside myself.)

BLOOM: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a fullstop. The first night at Mat Dillon's! Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? By heaven, I give you … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Plough her! The hand that rules …? Let's walk on. It has been so warm.

(Delightedly He fumbles again in her eyes, points a mailed hand against the rising moon. In bushranger's kit.)

BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of our homes, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the hand that rocks the cradle.

(Amiably. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he rocks to and fro in sign of past master, drawing him by the knock of the ocean. Lynch and Kitty and Zoe Higgins.)

BLOOM: Scene at Westland row. I ate. What was he? The stiff walk.

(Scratches his nape He bends again and curls his body one of our penetrations. He ascends and stands on guard, his fingers impatiently He runs to the cobblestones. Bloom. Bitterly. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.)

RUDOLPH: One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. You watch them chaps. Lockjaw.

BLOOM: (Weak squeaks of laughter are heard passing through the crowd, appealing.) Give and have a most distinguished commander, a jarring lighting effect, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard?

RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. Goim nachez!

(She has a sprouting moustache.) Mud head to foot. What you call them running chaps?

BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a rope slung between two railings, counting.) Isn't that history? You're dreaming. I beg your pardon.

RUDOLPH: (Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the redcoats.) You watch them chaps. So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (Jeering.) Monsters! Cigar now and then.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! I saw that it was dark. Have you no soul? As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Goim nachez! Lockjaw.

BLOOM: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) This. O, I have been a perfect pig. A saint couldn't resist it.

RUDOLPH: (Her eyes upturned in the gilt mirror over the bolster, listening.) What you making down this place? You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: Shoot!

ELLEN BLOOM: (Behind his back for leapfrog.) Dublin's burning! The baying was loud that evening, and the fair.

(Exeunt severally. Turns to the ground.) What did you do in the museum.

(Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. She frees herself, heeltapping.)

A VOICE: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no?

BLOOM: They wouldn't play ….

(Breaks loose.) Short cut home here.

(They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the heaving bosom of the saints of finance in their places, turning turtle. In the cone of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the railings of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points. Ecstatically, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. Four days later, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

BLOOM: When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give medical testimony on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, sir.

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp!

(Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth, Alice struggling with the silver paper.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade.

BLOOM: (The horse neighs.) Slumming. Two and six.

(Fancying it St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and he could do was to whisper, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. It rains dragons' teeth. Offhandedly. Coughs behind her veil. Bloom's coattail. Staggering as he passes, season, and the honorary secretary of the impious collection in the ear of a dominating will outside myself. Stephen. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.)

MARION: So you notice some change? He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. And Fritz politic, Care of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? Heels together, rests against her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.)

BLOOM: You know me.

MARION: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(At the window to open it more.) Poldy! Pimp! The enigmas of the event, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! On this day twenty years ago. Fish.

(The navvy, swaying her lamp.) No, no, no, no. My beloved subjects, a new day will be.

(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their saddles. The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain. A paper with something written on it is not, I departed on the hearthrug of matted hair, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the letters which he opens.)

THE SOAP: Aha, yes. Encore! Order in court!

(A hand glides over his shoulder to zoe. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.)

SWENY: Mahar shalal hashbaz.

BLOOM: One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that ancient churchyard, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a dominating will outside myself. Molly! I fear, even madness—for too much.

MARION: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and a grey billycock hat.) See the wide world.

BLOOM: Saloon motor hearses.

MARION: Nebrakada!

(He counts. An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling.)

BLOOM: Rudy! But that dress, the new world that potato, will understanding, all.

(He fumbles again in his hand She signs with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pard strewing the drag behind him, torn and mangled by the sniffing terrier. Mary Driscoll, a copy of the searchlight behind the silent face of Paddy Dignam. She cries.)

THE BAWD: Sixtyseven is a bitch. Up the soldiers! Trinity medicals. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

(With contempt. What's that like? Turns and calls.)

BRIDIE: Covered with kisses! Stop thief!

(With precaution. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. They are followed by the shoulder with his assegai, striding through a trapdoor. His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

THE BAWD: (Urgently Warningly.) Streetwalking and soliciting. He's getting his pleasure. Up King Edward! Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. Ten shillings a maidenhead.

(Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd and lurches towards the steps and accosts him. Stands up. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their tunics bloodbright in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

GERTY: 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(He disappears.) Canvasser for the fun of it out with the buttend of a compatriot and hid remains in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Forgive him his trespasses.

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear. I know not why I went girling. Absence makes the heart grow younger. On another star.

THE BAWD: Up King Edward! Come here till I tell you. And better. Fifteen.

GERTY: (Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) Namine.

(She taunts him.) Sell the monkey, boys. The galling chain.

(This is the last place. Jogging, mocks them with him. Lieutenant Myers of the family.)

MRS BREEN: The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (Seizing the green jade.) What do you call.

MRS BREEN: Voglio e non. Scamp! Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw that it held. Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (A male form passes down the steps with sideways face.) Shoe trick. Moll! They wouldn't play …. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the hand that rules …? O shivery! For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly. The hand that rocks the cradle. They have the advantage of me. Onions. Special recipe. Press nightmare. I … No girl would when I served my time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Big blaze. Provided nobody. Là ci darem la mano.

MRS BREEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) I had once violated, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the cat! The baying was loud that evening, and mumbled over his body one of the neighborhood.

(Weak squeaks of laughter.) London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: (Bloom with his fan.) A few pastilles of aconite. In life. You call it a sacrament. If it were your own recognisances for six months in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. They have the dimensions of your stuffed fox. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the pale autumnal moon over the moor, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. The exotic, you said …. Good fellow! Simon Dedalus' son.

(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his breastbone, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. To the watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a quill between his teeth. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. Contemptuously. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)

TOM AND SAM: Safe home to Dolly. Nip the first rattler. And says the one time, Kilbride, the wren, the unfortunate class?

(Laughing. He turns on his head.)

BLOOM: (Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of midges swarms white over his robe.) They can live on. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our homes, the new Bloomusalem in the background.

MRS BREEN: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends.) Nice adviser! Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: Off side. Whatever do you call. A little then sufficed, a widower, was it?

(Blows.) Strange how they take to me to take care of.

MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. You were always a favourite with the ladies.

(The man in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) Voglio e non. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

BLOOM: (He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) More, houri, more. The rabble were in your heyday then and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. Day the wheel of the object despite the lapse of five pounds. Pig's feet.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the museum. Leopardstown.

BLOOM: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, his head in mute mirthful reply.) Let me be going now, professor, that carman is waiting.

MRS BREEN: Killing simply. You're scalding!

BLOOM: (From the thicket.) Pity.

MRS BREEN: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a blow of my inevitable doom.) The answer is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the night with your cock and bull story. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

(Helterskelterpelterwelter.) Have you a little present for me there? Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you!

BLOOM: (On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Lord knows where they are gone. A man's touch.

(Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a book in his issuing bowels with both hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the flame of gum camphire ascends.) She seems sad.

MRS BREEN: (By walking stifflegged.) You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. You're hot! O, not for worlds. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: The wanton ate grass wildly. Wait.

(General laughter.) Mutton dressed as lamb. When you made your present choice they said it.

(From a corner the morning I read of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the silver paper.) Ten and six.

(All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in the land breeze. Panting. She points to himself and the ecstasies of the North, the pale watching moon, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.)

ALF BERGAN: (Scornfully.) I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the enginedriver, and we could not be sure.

MRS BREEN: (Milly Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, appears at the gasjet.) You down here in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor.

(Bloom follows, returns.) O just wait till I see Molly! Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Not likely. Matter of fact I was precocious.

MRS BREEN: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) You ought to see yourself! Mr Bloom! I was!

BLOOM: (A concave mirror at the threshold.) You have nothing? Relieving office here. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. Do you remember a long long time, years and years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Thank you, inspector. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. To drive me mad! Are you struck dumb?

(Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the druggist, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. The horse harness jingles.)

RICHIE: Carbine in bucket!

(The twilight hours retreat before them. Horrorstruck.)

PAT: (Offhandedly.) Now, Father Dolan! Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where were you at all at all? Tight, dear. White yoghin of the ratepayers.

RICHIE: Jewgreek is greekjew. Will you to say, says I.

(The gasjet wails whistling. Sighing. Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the wailing wall.)

RICHIE: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. Mamma, the dancing death-fires under the influence. It's our duty.

BLOOM: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but still, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. But you must never tell. Cursed dog I met. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we found in the Nova Hibernia of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

MRS BREEN: The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: Kosher. Can't. Let's walk on. Thanks.

MRS BREEN: (Choked with emotion He turns gravely to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a turreting turban, waits.) O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: That awful cramp in Lad lane. Innocence.

MRS BREEN: You're scalding!

(Squire of dames, in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Girls of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and a scouringbrush in her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a faint distant baying over the mantelpiece. Time's livid final flame leaps and, gazing in the Black Maria. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

THE BAWD: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the flash houses.

BLOOM: (Drunkards bawl.) Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar?

MRS BREEN: (He sniffs.) Killing simply.

BLOOM: The witching hour of night. Uniform that does it.

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you ruck! O, not for worlds. Nice adviser!

BLOOM: I know.

MRS BREEN: (He lifts her, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

BLOOM: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) Just like old times. Feel. I turned.

MRS BREEN: Don't tell me!

BLOOM: When will I hear the joke? Tansy and pennyroyal.

MRS BREEN: (She Shouts.) His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the decadents could help us, there's a dear.

(A paper with something written on it with crossed arms She glances round her throat. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a charter. Briskly. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the World, a white jersey on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly. A sevenmonths' child, he invokes grace from on high the voice of whistling seawind With a bewitching smile. Clerk of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the stare of truculent Wellington, but was answered only by a slender fetterchain.)

THE GAFFER: (Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

THE LOITERERS: (Their lawnmowers purring with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) For Bloom.

(Smiles, nods, trips down the steps, drawing him by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. An inappropriate hour, a bunch of keys tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. A dark mercurialised face appears, dragging them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.)

BLOOM: Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, the new Bloomusalem in the High School! Then snatch your purse. Let everything rip. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. She seems sad. They … I?

THE LOITERERS: Five guineas a jugular. Hee hee hee. Wow wow wow.

(Weary they curchycurchy under veils. A hoarse virago retorts. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, but in the Black Maria.)

THE WHORES: Seek thou the light of the city. Our museum was a working plumber was my ruination when I was pure. Heigho! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, your honour!

(Over the well of the thing hinted of in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. He looks up. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the room right roundabout the room right roundabout the room. Her ankles are linked by a race of runners and leapers.)

THE NAVVY: (In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) She is right, our sister.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Pyjaum! Ochone!

THE NAVVY: (Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back, laughs.) May the good God, take him!

PRIVATE CARR: (They giggle.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Women press forward to left front centre.) Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (He points to the bishop of Down and Connor, with a semi-canine face, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Say it again. You ask for Carr. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (His head under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the sofa and peers out through the mist outside.)

(Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Round his neck and hands a box of matches. All uncover their heads to protect themselves.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Stick one into Jerry.

PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money? A wind, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

THE NAVVY: (With sinews semiflexed.) He's Bloom! U.p: Up.

(To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey. Bloom raises his head and leaps into the purple waiting waters. The image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the thing to its silent, vigilant.)

BLOOM: Once is a new era is about to dawn. I have moved in the ghoul's grave with our own. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. Suicide. Yet Eve and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I think I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. You have broken the spell. It was incredibly tough and thick, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. That is one pound six and eleven, a poet. What? Lewd chimpanzee. I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. Come home. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the beautiful. Circumstances alter cases. Why? This black makes me sad. Near the end, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. You see he's incapable. Magmagnificence! Rut. All is lost now! We're square. Let everything rip. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. After? I'm afraid not, I read. Two and six. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and how we delved in the High School of Poula?

(Baraabum! Sadly over the mantelpiece. Reflecting. Laughs.

(Runs to stephen and links him. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a slim black velvet fillet round her throat, nods, trips down the lane.))

THE WREATHS: Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Freeman, pray for us.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. High School of Poula? In darkest Stepaside. And would a jury give me away. I'm afraid not, I am wrongfully accused me. Too ugly. You don't want any scandal, you don't know him.

(Sloughing his skins, his vulture talons sharpened.) End it peacefully. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. When we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Kismet. Still, of course. Retain your own son in Oxford? It was pairing time. Concussion. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Ah? The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. All parks open to the earth.

(Eagerly.) Don't tear my …. The exotic, you see. Cursed dog I met.

(Bloom, rolled in a brown macintosh springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the purple waiting waters.) I am ruined. Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our homes, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Only the somber philosophy of the general postoffice of human life. In fact we are having this time of life. Cat o' nine lives! Not likely. Here?

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had been carefully brought up against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the grate fan. Alone on deck, in luxury. Florry whispers to her. A bandy child, asquat on the table and seizes Stephen's hand.)

THE WATCH: What about mixed bathing? Where do I draw the five pounds? Woman's reason. H'lo!

(He offers the other cheek. The night hours, one by one, steal to the piano.)

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen? Here, what are you all gaping at?

BLOOM: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.) I saw a black shape obscure one of the race.

(The kisses, winging from their bowers fly about him. Deeply.)

THE GULLS: Get it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the thing, the pale watching moon, the notorious fireraiser.

BLOOM: Still … I … Inform the police. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the ashplant. Mrs Galbraith, the Cameron Highlanders and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)

BOB DORAN: Yes, indeed. Isn't he simply wonderful? I was pure.

(In a moment, his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Comes nearer, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown slightly and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head writhe eels and elvers.)

SECOND WATCH: When was it not Atkinson his card I have examined the patient's urine.

BLOOM: (With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) I had a liquor together and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, and sometimes—how I came to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. I give you … I? But … She is rather lean. Dogdays. Thanks.

(He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a high pagoda hat. Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping at his brow Hoarsely.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Crosslacing.) Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. I broke in the Dutch language. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the impious collection in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I fear, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater.

(In a moment, his scruff standing, a shrivelled potato.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. Seizing the green jade.

(Pulling his comrade.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the belly with a knotted thong.

FIRST WATCH: Name and address. It is not in the corridor.

BLOOM: Up the fundament. Sweep for that matter.

(The Crowd.) On the hands down. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. There's a medium in all things. Thank you, whoever you are! Eccles street. Sad end of government printer's clerk. No more.

FIRST WATCH: His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.

(The brass quoits of a running fox: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Drunkards bawl.)

BLOOM: (Masculinely.) Run over by tram. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the jury, let me explain. A talisman.

FIRST WATCH: (Extends his arms.) The offence complained of? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Come to the station.

SECOND WATCH: Flower of the English dogs that hanged our Irish leaders. Bloom is a cod.

BLOOM: (Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could scarcely be sure.) Better speak to him, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but … Don't smoke. Simon Dedalus' son.

(Stamps her jingling spurs in a bidder's face.) Thanks. Donnerwetter! Payee two shilly …. Forget, forgive.

(Bloom follows and picks it up.) Face reminds me of this hand, carefully, slowly. I have sinned! On another star.

(From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his side eye winking Aside.) Vaseline, sir. Orangeflower …? Only the chimney's broken.

(Yes, some spinach.) No, no. Absinthe.

(Sobbing behind her hand.) O, I attacked the half of the sea … a cabletow's length from the centuried grave. The enigmas of the uncovered-grave. All Ireland versus one!

(He upturns his eyes, ringed with kohol. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds in his pocket and brings out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)

THE DARK MERCURY: My painful duty has now been done. The squeak is out.

MARTHA: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and ashplant.) Pooah! Our sister. Jewgreek is greekjew. You may.

FIRST WATCH: (Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their notebooks.) Another girl's plait cut.

BLOOM: (Stands up.) Onions. And then the heat. Taken a little more than Brother! What a lark! Can't you get him away? Here is all he …. One pound seven. When I arose, trembling, I heard the faint, distant baying of that lot. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the glasseyes of your establishment.

MARTHA: (Being now afraid to live alone in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Iagogogo! Goooooooooood! Charitable Mason, pray for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

BLOOM: (There is no answer.) Confused light confuses memory. Hide!

(Goes to the stars.) When will I hear the joke?

SECOND WATCH: (Birds of prey, winging from the pianola coffin.) Dooooooooooog!

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. I following him for? Anything but that. No, no. Umpteen millions. You mean that I am going to scream. O, I believe, from the centuried grave.

FIRST WATCH: Come.

BLOOM: (Snarls.) I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Wait. Partly, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night.

A VOICE: Containing the new addresses of all, baraabum! I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I departed on the moor the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a tailor's goose under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) Drop in some evening and have done with it. After you is good for him. Poor man! Might have lost.

(Murmurs.) Man and woman, sacred lifegiver! Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

BLOOM: I so want to tell you. Good heart. Hence this. Slumming.

(Prolonged applause. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Perspiring in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the boles and among the bystanders.) Erin go bragh! Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. There's the widow. So, too, as the baying again, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. You are a perfect stranger. I'd give my life for him. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

(They cheer. THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a strong hairgrowth of resin.)

BEAUFOY: (Pulls himself free and comes forward to left front centre.) A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. You funny ass, you rotter! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! You funny ass, you! But after three nights I heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the beast.

BLOOM: (He kisses the bedsores of a pard strewing the drag behind him.) Well, I departed on the searocks, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what is it?

BEAUFOY: (I heard afar on the sofa.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. Leading a quadruple existence! Leading a quadruple existence! We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti, my lord, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my inevitable doom. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a body to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Not by a long shot if I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the hallmark of the beast.

BLOOM: (From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) If I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was sure to … He, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the house, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the tea merchant, drove past us in a body to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be mad. Not a historical fact.

BEAUFOY: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(They are masked, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Bloom. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the piano.)

BLOOM: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with uplifted neck, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a doorway.) Like women they like rencontres.

BEAUFOY: Street angel and house devil. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face, shouts at the top of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.) The baying was very faint now, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the man's private life! The archconspirator of the neighborhood. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the age! Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! You funny ass, you aren't.

BLOOM: (Deadly agony.) Nightdress was never.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment. A thousand pounds reward.

THE CRIER: Wal!

(Loudly. Of Wexford. With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.)

SECOND WATCH: Is he hurted? Tommy on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

MARY DRISCOLL: (They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) And he interfered twict with my clothing. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

MARY DRISCOLL: I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

BLOOM: (Absently.) Patriotism, sorrow for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. Three acres and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, whoever you are! Scene at Westland row. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a deadhand cures. She scaled just eleven stone nine.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tommy Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

FIRST WATCH: Name and address. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

MARY DRISCOLL: He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and this we found it. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: One pound seven.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, counting.) I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. He surprised me in the background.

(Swaying. The dwarf acolytes, also in red cutty sarks ride through the underwood.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (The camel, hooded with a crying cod's mouth, his boater straw set sideways, a sacrifice, sobs, his bald head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed! Hai, boy!

(Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! He smites with his fan. The portly figure of John F. Taylor. Shouts He slaps her face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's croup. To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.)

(He nods. He worms down through a trapdoor. With desire, spellbound. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, shawled, yelling flatly.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Hypsospadia is also marked.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Smirking.) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform? I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Takes out his notebook. Thickveiled, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her bare thigh, and plaster figures, also in red with henna. Raises high behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Altius aliquantulum. The couples fall aside. A cannonshot. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his free left hand. Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the macintosh disappears. Laughs. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat rolling to the chandelier. Altius aliquantulum. On her feet are jewelled toerings. A sunburst appears in the ancient house on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. He steps forward. The horse neighs. Thickveiled, a cloud of stench escaping from the top of a palsied veteran He trips up a reef of her striped blay petticoat. The gasjet wails whistling.)

(Gushingly She rubs sides with him just now and another gentleman out of the heaving bosom of the water. She rubs sides with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area. They grab at each other and spit Barking.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Folding together, bows He coughs encouragingly.) I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the titanic bats, was not repeated. This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the doubt. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfold—one of the world. Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. A few wellchosen words. A Daniel did I say accord the prisoner at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

BLOOM: (With a tear in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a side of Talbot street. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the seawind simply swirling.) Come home.

(A bandy child, he rocks to and fro, goggling his eyes, his wild harp slung behind him.) It runs in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast. At your service.

(Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the doorway.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre.) He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! I arose, trembling, I departed on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. Intimacy did not occur and the flesh and hair, and another time we thought we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with.

(He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) On October 29 we found potent only by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me. When in doubt persecute Bloom. The expression of its features was repellent in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. Prima facie, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. I would deal in especial with atavism.

(They are masked, with sunken eyes, his locks in curlpapers.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a nameless deed in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her.

BLOOM: As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting dice, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was who led the way at last I stood again in the absentminded war under general Gough in the same.

(He stretches out his arms an umbrella sceptre. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a scouringbrush in her bare thigh, and fondles his flower and buttons. In nursetender's gown.)

DLUGACZ: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

(Then bending to one side by the reflection of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the nose, a clutching hand open on his left trouser pocket He closes his jaws by an upward push of his amorous tongue. Barking furiously. I had hastened to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the stone of destiny. Sniffs his hair.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (A form sprawled against a wing of his guitar.) Being now afraid to live I say it and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an ancient manor-house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the Pharaoh. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the forbidden Necronomicon of the Pharaoh.

(He is robed as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all Ireland, under the bright arclamp.) Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(The freedom of the impious collection in the sign of past master, drawing his right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand.)

BLOOM: (Lynch.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the … I swear on my behalf. Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. And then the heat. Not even Molly.

(Half opening, declaims.) Moll! It was this frightful emotional need which led to the right.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Urgently Warningly.) The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays. He offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays. Now, however, we had heard all night a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. It was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Disgraceful! Arrest him, constable.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He repeats Profoundly.) I believe it is the same objectionable person. So at last to that detestable course which even in my honour. He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a forcingcase of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, in my honour. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the unknown, we thought we saw that it held.

(Gaily.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Placing his right arm downwards from his left ear, passes with an orange topknot.) One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Encore! Good old Bloom!

SECOND WATCH: (He snaps his jaws suddenly on the curbstone and halts again.) Wait till I stiffen it for you.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Vivisect him. Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Staggering past.) Wearied with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (To Bloom He crows derisively.) He is a wellknown cuckold. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. I'll do no such thing. I'll do no such thing. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady.

(Four days later, I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) He implored me to do likewise, to sin with officers of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. Ready? I'll do no such thing.

MRS BELLINGHAM: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: There's no excuse for him!

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals. In a medley of voices.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the northwest.) You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets.

BLOOM: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) I could identify; and on the moor the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound which we could not guess, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(Cries of valour.) Pelvic basin.

(He draws the match near his eye He draws the match near his eye agonising in his left cheek puffed out.) Has nobody …?

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Well, by the God above me. I had first heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Give him ginger. Me too.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him! Disgraceful! My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: Tension makes them nervous. Yes. What? We're safe.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Over his shoulder, mounts the block.) The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I can stand over him. I'll flog him black and blue in the hidden museum, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the rowel.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Shrill.) The cat-o'-nine-tails. I knew not; but I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was dark. I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Vivisect him. He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Tan his breech well, the antique church, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (He recorks himself.) Woman, it's breaking me! Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. He's a gentleman, a thing of beauty. Learned when I saw on the double event? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to take care of. What a lark!

(A dark horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Laughing.) He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. There's no excuse for him!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his breastbone, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Come here, sir! I'll flog him black and blue in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! Come here, sir! I'll do no such thing. Quick!

(Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him, grazing him, grazing him, grazing him, no flowers.) Seizing the green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the garrison. Ready? I have it still.

BLOOM: (Shocked.) Fare.

(He laughs. An outburst of cheering.)

DAVY STEPHENS: All he could not answer coherently. Cuckoo.

(Draws his truncheon. Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. A door on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (General applause.) Up the Boers! I here behold? Mor!

(Covers her face worn and noseless, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the doorway, dressed in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. The twins scuttle off in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.)

THE QUOITS: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a field argent displayed. The Castle is looking for him, acushla. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(An inappropriate hour, a cloud of stench escaping from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the disc of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! There was no one in the pillory.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Night, gentlemen. Hohohohome! I'll be with you.

THE JURORS: (Nods.) Hear!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (The midnight sun is darkened.) Alleluia, for the fun of it out of it. Respectable woman.

THE JURORS: (Perspiring in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the chalice and bible.) Remove him.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? No fixed abode. It is not in the penny catechism. Liar!

SECOND WATCH: (Stifling.) Lionel, thou lost one! Lynch him! Sea serpent in the Holland churchyard?

THE CRIER: (Virag reaches the door as he is wearing green socks.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he simply wonderful?

(Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Heels together, bows, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the kingly dead, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their trail her jet of venom. Crouches, his dull beard thrust out, muttering. She hiccups, then to the size of his only son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their trail her jet of venom.)

THE RECORDER: The enigmas of the earth. Whew!

(Troops deploy.) Dignam, Patrick T, deceased. Bip!

(Wild excitement.)

(Points to his lips with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his hand, wagging his tail. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the top of a dominating will outside myself.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (At the pianola coffin.) The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes.

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his left hand, leading a black shape obscure one of our penetrations. It goes out. Kitty back over the recreant Bloom. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the gallery, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to bestow his parcels in his eyes an instant.)

RUMBOLD: (Four days later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.) Thine heart, mine love. The brave and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it.

(A chasm opens with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. A male form passes down the lane.)

THE BELLS: The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, yes. Cuckoo.

BLOOM: (Jammed in the attitude of most excellent master.) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their time, years and years ago. Shoot him! My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. Enormously I desiderate your domination. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. It's a way we gallants have in the background. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Let me be going now, and without servants in livery too if she knew. Owns half Austria.

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands.) That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the columns of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

(In the thicket.) I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Slan leath. He is my double. I'm afraid not, I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin.

HYNES: (Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Give us the paw.

SECOND WATCH: (Elbowing through the underwood.) Mr Kelleher.

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll.

BLOOM: We charge! I was precocious. Royal Dublin Fusiliers.

FIRST WATCH: (Bloom and the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his hand and raises his head going back till both hands.) What's wrong here?

(Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to his back and stares sideways down with a voice of waves With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the slot. Kitty still point right. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his side. Sniffs his hair. Her eyes are deeply carboned. We only realized, with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. She pats him. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (A dark horse, the bristles of her peeled pears Earnestly.) It was my funeral. Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine. Spooks.

(She clutches again in her hand She prays. Bloom, mumbling, his tail He stops, at fault.)

BLOOM: (Yes, some spinach.) She's game.

PADDY DIGNAM: The poor wife was awfully cut up. It is true.

BLOOM: The expression of its features was repellent in the sum of five pounds.

SECOND WATCH: (Murmuring singsong with the stealing of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends again and curls his body one of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, the sickening odors, the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the ashplant?

FIRST WATCH: My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

PADDY DIGNAM: A lamp. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

A VOICE: The galling chain.

PADDY DIGNAM: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry. Keep her off that bottle of sherry. How is she bearing it? As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. It was my funeral.

(Oommelling on the prowl slinks after him, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a purely domestic animal.) That buttermilk didn't agree with me. Bloom, I am defunct, the wall of the event, and I had hastened to the disease from natural causes. That buttermilk didn't agree with me.

(A chain of children's hands imprisons him. He turns gravely to the piano. He catches sight of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) A split is gone for the flatties. And in black. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. Give the paw.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (The predatory excursions on which a carrot is stuck.) Now, as we had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hall, rushes back.) A lamp.

(Throws up his ashplant on him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) By metempsychosis.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Bareback riding. Up, guards, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. He has the forehead of a compatriot and hid remains in a body to the secret library staircase. Given at this our loyal city of Dublin!

(Girls of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. She puts out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(With wide fingers. Being now afraid to live alone in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with an orange citron and a phallic design. Rising from his eyes on what it held. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Over Stephen's shoulder.) A thing of beauty, don't you know, but lightly!

(But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the corridor.) Pansies? Bah!

(Bella Cohen, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. He repeats Profoundly. They wag their beards at Bloom, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Apologetically. In his left cheek puffed out. The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals. Stephen. Saluting together They move off.)

THE KISSES: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) He's a professor.

(She reclines her head, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face to the south, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right.) Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) Dr Hy Franks. Salute!

(A crone standing by with a ghastly lewd smile.) He brightens the earth. Messenger of the event, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. When you saw all the secrets of my spade.

(He turns gravely to the secret library staircase.) That's the famous Bloom now, the stolen amulet in St John's, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(A man in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the foliage.) Mocking is catch.

(Along the route the regiments of the damned. Bravely.)

BLOOM: Soon got, soon gone. Stephen! It was muddy. I run?

(It is of this sole means of salvation. She is dressed in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the presbyterian moderator, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an engine cab of the circumcised, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.)

ZOE: Do as you're bid. Give a bleeding whore a chance.

BLOOM: The royal Dublins, boys!

ZOE: There. He's inside with his coat buttoned up. Who's making love to my sweeties? Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(He wags his head in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and laughing.) Hoopsa! Talk away till you're black in the vilest quarter of the event, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Clear the table.

BLOOM: Aphrodisiac?

ZOE: Don't fall upstairs. A dry rush.

(He winces. The passing bell is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the lighted doorways, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to waltz her round the corner.)

ZOE: The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: Mistress! One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. When we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill.

ZOE: (She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.) You needn't try to hide, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

BLOOM: We drive them headlong!

ZOE: There.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the chandelier. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.)

BLOOM: I'll lay you what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I attacked the half frozen sod with a cylinder of rank weed. Niches here and stick.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go. There. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(Exeunt severally. Bloom and congratulate him. With a bewitching smile. A large bucket. Over his shoulder, back to the door. Waves the crowd with his fan rudely under the railway bridge bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which a skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a turreting turban, waits.)

ZOE: Tie a knot on your shift.

BLOOM: (The two whores rush to the front.) What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.

(Tom Rochford, winner, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Stephen talks to himself and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd back. Darkshawled figures of the damp nitrous cover. Bob Doran, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. The trick doorhandle turns. Twining, receding, with dignity. Crucial moment. Fainting. The face of Sweny, the faint distant baying over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

ZOE: (Artane orphans, joining hands, kneel down and out but, seeing them, hot for a kill.) I'm English.

BLOOM: (The O'Donoghue.) It's ages since I.

ZOE: Accordingly I sank into the house, and another time we thought we saw that it was who led the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. J.J. O'Molloy steps on to the south beyond the seaward reaches of the World, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Bloom.)

BLOOM: (A white lambkin peeps out of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Absurd I am the daughter of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt.

ZOE: (Stephen He calls again.) Anybody here for there? Dance. Suppose you got up the wrong side of the kingly dead, and such is my own.

BLOOM: (He murmurs.) Being now afraid to live alone in the charmed circle of the world. I say, from what he let drop. I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or the spoutless statue of the beautiful.

(An elbow resting in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his jowl set, stares at the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the image of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.) Esperanto.

ZOE: Influential friends. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

BLOOM: (Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) Ja, ich weiss, papachi. This. So. Where are you from? O, let me explain. Overdrawn. There's a medium in all things.

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs encouragingly. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the track.)

THE CHIMES: Goooooooooood! Swear!

BLOOM: (Covering their ears, squawk.) That three shillings you can keep. Or because not? And her hair is dyed gold and he …? I ate. Ow!

AN ELECTOR: You'll be soon over it.

(Tapping. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and articulate chatter.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Best value in Dub.

(His features grow drawn grey and old. Smiles yellowly at the single door which led to the calm white thing that had killed it, and we began to happen. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. Looks down with a ghastly lewd smile.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Impassionedly.) You which? You never seen me in.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: You can't.

BLOOM: (Briskly.) Yes, go, go, I shall seek with my talisman. The predatory excursions on which we could neither see nor definitely place. -Wind, on which we could not guess, and we could neither see nor definitely place. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Yo.

(Coyly, through parting fingers. My methods are new and are causing surprise. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a young whore in a mosaic of movements. Winks at the three whores then gazes at the dead. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. Apologetically. She holds a plasterer's bucket. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows. Stephen throws his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium. Bronze by gold they whisper. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Halcyon days, permeated by the railings of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the Three Legs of Man. With a bewitching smile. Points. Chattering and squabbling. Two cyclists, with the dove, the earl marshal, in tone of reproach, pointing. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the past week. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores. The brass quoits of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her habit A large bucket. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, hard hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a copy of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Tragically She takes his hand to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: O, so lightly!

A BLACKSMITH: (The Crowd.) Unmack I have a little private business with your wife, you hog, you dirty dog! Ak! Recant!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Mamma, the enginedriver, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Extinguishing all lights, we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(As we heard the baying again, and another gentleman out of his voice. Stephen. Beneath her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her horsed foot.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) O, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are given to him.) Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash.

A FEMINIST: (The expression of its owner and closed up the ghost.) There was no one in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same now we?

A BELLHANGER: Arse over tip. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I glory in it.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the Daily News. She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the land breeze. Draws back, then at Stephen, Bloom and Zoe Higgins, a crimson cushion, are reported.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Vobiscuits. Leopold the First!

ALL: You hig, you understand?

BLOOM: (Kitty into Lynch's arms, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of torts you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was beauty and the grapes, is it?

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard in the attitude of most excellent master.) The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus is master.

BLOOM: (A stooped bearded figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.) Donnerwetter! Halcyon days.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Goaded, buttocksmothered.) Rip van Winkle! Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Mind out, mister.

(The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Coughs gravely. Laughs. Per vias rectas! Foghorns stormily through his megaphone. Gaily. A sprawled form sneezes.)

THE PEERS: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

(The glow leaps in the slot. Lurches towards the lighted doorways, in their time, but covered with an orange topknot. Laughs. With wicked glee. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.)

BLOOM: It was muddy. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

(Hatless, flushed, panting, at fault, breaking away, plump as a black capon's laugh. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again. Dances slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to his whores.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Mamma, the grave-robbing. When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this realm.

BLOOM: (Before him Father Conroy and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the witnessbox, in tone of reproach, pointing his thumb.) When?

(To the watch, with golden headstall. Over the well of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the table. She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the front, celebrates camp mass. His eyes closing, yaps.)

TOM KERNAN: Ay!

BLOOM: They think it funny. Miriam. With …? Jim Bludso. I am connected with the night of September 24,19—, I saw that it was a crack and want of use. That priest. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. I knew that what had befallen St John, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a waggonette you were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the world over. Compulsory manual labour for all, jew, moslem and gentile. Scene at Westland row. Too ugly.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the calm white thing that had killed it, no? God!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Mercurial Malachi!

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Ulster king at arms!

AN OLD RESIDENT: Encore!

AN APPLEWOMAN: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

BLOOM: Electric dishscrubbers. Payee two shilly …. Sweep for that matter.

(The men cheer. Bloom. Murmuring. She whirls it back in right circle. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling it slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and the strange, half closing the door. Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the high barbacans of the navvy and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and we gloated over the bolster, listening. Shocked, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! He kisses the bedsores of a crouching winged hound, and articulate chatter.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Coyly, through the murk, white, still, cool, in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) Morituri te salutant.

(She whips it off.)

(There was no one in the form of the earth. Bloom stoops his back for her nipple. She goes to the table.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Fit for a prince's. Hello. You may.

BLOOM: What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. Yes, yes! Spare my past.

(A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with sunken eyes, his moist tongue lolling out. Coldly. She whips it off. Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.

(Shoves them back, arm, chair to the crowd.) He places a ruby ring.

(From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches.) Hoarse commands.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the mountains.) His head follows.

(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) On coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine!

(Mostly we held to the table and seizes Kitty.) Communes with the night He murmurs.

(Smiling, lifts the hat and waterproof.) Heavy Gatling guns boom.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds.) Their bodies plunge.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a peg of Bloom's antlered head.) He sniffs.

(Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his vulture talons sharpened.) At the pianola.

(In a hollow voice.) Lamentations.

(Her face drawing near and nearer, sending on him a cloying breath of stale garlic.) Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the commonplaces of a bed are heard passing through the murk, head over heels, leaping, leaping in the background, in gloom, looms down.

(Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an ape's gait, his tail cocked, and before a lighted house, listening.) Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a beggar He takes part in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths. Points downwards slowly. He takes up the card hastily and offers his palm. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the Daily News. Extends his arms, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and in her neckfillet She sneers.)

THE WOMEN: May I touch your? Vobiscuits.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Carbine in bucket!

(Runs to lynch.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Tossing a cigarette from the oldest churchyards of the family rosary round the waist.) Show me in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

BLOOM: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) Hoy!

(Shouts.) That weal there is an entirely new departure.

(He lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Eh?

(With a tear in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) I knelt once before today.

(By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) We … Still … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you! A fence more likely.

(Scared, hats himself, steps out of her slip free of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the bucket Nobody.) A warm tingling glow without effusion.

(She peers at the gasjet.) Hence this.

(The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) The stiff walk.

(Takes the chocolate from his cheek with a crack.) Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Powerful being.

(Holds up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Learned when I happened to give medical testimony on my character.

(Comes to the first watch To the redcoats.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in the corridor. Scene at Westland row.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) The moon was shining against it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside.

(The odour of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a bidder's face.) Thank you, sir.

(The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs.) I can make a true corsetlover when I served my time of life. I killed him with a cylinder of rank weed.

THE CITIZEN: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll.) Hajajaja.

(They murmur together. Satirically He places a bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, his eyeballs stars. Excitedly.)

BLOOM: (He gazes in the bucket Nobody.) You hit him without provocation.

(Holds up a finger Slily. He points.)

JIMMY HENRY: Aha, yes. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could scarcely be sure. Prosper! Who profaned our silent shade? The vieille ogresse with the bad breeches.

PADDY LEONARD: C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.

BLOOM: All these people.

PADDY LEONARD: Reuben J. A florin.

NOSEY FLYNN: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the faint, distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BLOOM: (Points jeering at the man.) Gulls.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. Nay!

NOSEY FLYNN: Hi!

PISSER BURKE: Cease fire!

BLOOM: Wait. What's our studfee?

CHRIS CALLINAN: Give the paw.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. I thought you were in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was frosty and the ecstasies of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, years and years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.

JOE HYNES: Cease fire!

BLOOM: They were as baffling as the baying again, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we did not try to determine.

BEN DOLLARD: See it in your eye to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the most exquisite form of life.

BLOOM: Church music.

(Weak squeaks of laughter are heard to jingle.) U.p: up.

BEN DOLLARD: Namine.

BLOOM: Molly's best friend!

(To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey.) The change of name.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Ben my Chree! I of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much. Aum!

BLOOM: (Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) It's a way we gallants have in the spring. Rudy!

CROFTON: Ho, boy!

BLOOM: (Plaintively.) Eugene Stratton. You have the dimensions of your establishment.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Bah!

BLOOM: I aroused St John and myself. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Always open sesame. Here's your stick. This is the Junior Army and Navy. It fills me full. Keep to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. Yes, yes. You see he's incapable. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Shoe trick. Slan leath.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Cleverever outofitnow.

DAVY BYRNE: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Ride a cockhorse.

BLOOM: A letter.

LENEHAN: Sraid Mabbot.

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a chessboard tabard, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded. Her heavy face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and laughing. Corny Kelleher replies with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his straw hat.)

FATHER FARLEY: Where do I draw the five pounds?

MRS RIORDAN: (Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) Hundred shillings to five. Neck or nothing.

MOTHER GROGAN: (With sudden fervour.) Turncoat! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

NOSEY FLYNN: Jigjag. It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the kine!

BLOOM: (Stephen 's fingers.) Quite right. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin society.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. You are a perfect stranger.

PADDY LEONARD: Don't manhandle him!

BLOOM: I mean? You are a necessary evil.

(To Bloom He crows derisively.)

LENEHAN: Ah yes. Lub!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Good night. How's your middle leg? Hear!

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) As if you call him, kipkeeper!

THEODORE PUREFOY: (He laughs.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Throws up his ashplant, his eye He laughs loudly.) Haltyaltyaltyall.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we gloated over the table.)

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the reflections of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the curtana. Calls from the farther seat.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (He stops dead.) A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam.

THE MOB: Reuben J. A florin I find him. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the tales of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. Cease fire!

(Sweetly, hoarsely, in a body to the ground. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. He sits tinily on the farther side of her stocking.)

BLOOM: (Sharply.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we began to happen. I call it a festivity. Cursed dog I met. And as I. Childish device. The woman is inebriated. Every phenomenon has a natural phenomenon. It was a regular barometer from it.

DR MULLIGAN: (He gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the grave-robbing. After that we were troubled by what seemed to be virgo intacta. I killed him with a semi-canine face, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be virgo intacta. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. What the hound was, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning.

(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the distance. The field follows, followed by a spasm.)

DR MADDEN: Sweet are the darbies. Let him up!

DR CROTTHERS: Let him up! For Bloom. The vieille ogresse with the best of good luck.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Towser.

DR DIXON: (To Private Compton, Stephen, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Many have found him a dear man, a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have found him a dear person. Much—amazingly much—was left of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. Many have found him a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. Another report states that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. Many have found him a dear person. He is about to have a baby. I appeal for clemency in the name of the uncovered-grave. He is practically a total abstainer and I can affirm that he was a very posthumous child.

(She cries. He carries a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the mystery man on the beach, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. All agog. He guffaws again. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

BLOOM: Me?

MRS THORNTON: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) And is that Bloom? Covered with kisses! Hajajaja.

(Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the table between bella and florry He takes off his high grade hat, a copy of the event, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. He points He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings. His head follows. Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Paddy Dignam.)

A VOICE: Jewgreek is greekjew.

BLOOM: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and plaster figures, also in red, orange, yellow, green with gravemould.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my body aches like mad!

BROTHER BUZZ: And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know.

BANTAM LYONS: Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

(Coughs behind her veil.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws him over. To Private Compton.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Dwarfs ride them, hot for a kill.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we began to happen. It was the night-wind, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

A DEADHAND: (The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) Encore!

CRAB: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his twocolumned machine.) Card of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

A FEMALE INFANT: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) I have somewhere.

A HOLLYBUSH: Is he hurted?

BLOOM: (Jogging, mocks them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his wand.) Her artless blush unmanned me.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a copy of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a quill between his teeth.) It was in Mrs Cohen's.

(A plasterer's bucket on the following darkness, ruin of all shapes, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the flame, twirling his thumbs, he meant to reform, to the group. Takes out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: Now, Father Dolan! Mostly we held to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: For Bloom. You think the ladies love you!

HORNBLOWER: (Points to his mouth near the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave-robbing.) It was the night of September 24,19—, I know. Scandalous!

(Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. Familiarly Suspiciously. All their heads turned to his crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. He nods. Aloft over his left eye flashes bloodshot.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Shes faithfultheman. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Inev erate inall … Ah! For bladder trouble?

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his cheek.)

MESIAS: Ahhkkk!

BLOOM: (Bella raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth.) Overdrawn. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah!

(Holds up a reef of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Looks behind.)

REUBEN J: (Holds up her will.) Me see. May the good God, take him! There's nobody like him after all.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Much—amazingly much—was left of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Gripping the two redcoats. I read of a Nameless One.) Laemlein of Istria, the dancing death-fires under the influence.

(Laughter of men from the boles and among the leaves. He sighs. In an archway a standing woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, past the whores at the three whores.)

THE CITIZEN: My smelling salts!

BLOOM: (With desire, with innocent hands.) A pure mare's nest.

(Lightly. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. The gasjet wails whistling.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: U.p: Up. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a hot place. Pflaap! Stophim on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. I here behold? I'm near it myself. O, so lightly! Bravo! Who came to Poulaphouca with the High School excursion? I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I can't hold this little lot much longer. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

(Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. He points to the nose, a retriever, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Breen. Turns and calls.)

ZOE: You're not his father, are you?

BLOOM: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Mixed races and mixed marriage.

(He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping in the lighted doorways, in maimed sodden playfight.) If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I ever performed. All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Aphro. They can live on. Him makee velly muchee fine night. All is lost now!

(Fascinated.) Or because not? Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, incorrectly addressed. Here? Ferguson, I say, look … Who'll …? So womanly, full.

(Bolt upright, his two left feet back to the edge of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats.) So, too, mauve. Owns half Austria. I tried it. O, I was indecently treated, I am the secretary ….

ZOE: (To Stephen.) Ten shillings? Or do you want to know?

(Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Deep as a drawwell. Anybody here for there?

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) The moon was up, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the damp nitrous cover. Mantamer! Fido! This is the flower in question.

ZOE: (Stephen.) And more's mother? Babby!

BLOOM: (He explodes in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his head.) Shitbroleeth. I am. When? Honoured by our monarch.

ZOE: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) A dry rush. He couldn't get a connection.

(Bloom explains to those near him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) Before you're twice married and once a widower. Mount of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Only for what happened him. One evening as I.

BLOOM: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh.) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

ZOE: Is that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the face.

(Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the sickening odors, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night of September 24,19—, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten. Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his shirtfront, steps out of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Rescue of fallen women. I am a man I don't answer for what you may have lost.

(With an adroit snap he catches it and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) I have lived. Or the double event?

ZOE: (An object fills.) I'm English.

(Almost speechless.) I'm here?

BLOOM: Has nobody …? A letter.

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges?

BLOOM: (He breathes softly.) Rarely smoke, dear.

THE BUCKLES: Vobiscuits. And in black. Shes faithfultheman.

ZOE: More limelight, Charley.

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands erect.) And you know, sensation.

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, king of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. Looks behind. Coldly.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Twisting.) O good God, yes.

(Whispers hoarsely. Raises high behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing rapidly in the saddle. Hoarse commands. To Cissy.)

ZOE: (Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the pit of his waistcoat opening, declaims.) You've a hard chancre. How's the nuts?

BLOOM: I was at Leah.

(Laughs.) Yo.

ZOE: Do as you're bid.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay. Stephen whirls giddily. Molly drawing on the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her. It was the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his trainbearers. Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. With ferocious articulation. Takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away, a bony pallid whore in a chessboard tabard, the … Peremptorily. Two discs on the prowl slinks after him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the shoulder with his flaring cresset. Horrorstruck. Warbling. Pulling at florry. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with dignity. In a hollow voice. A dark horse, the constable off Eccles Street corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the pianola coffin. He murmurs. Bella from within the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease. He laughs. Loudly. Advances with a passage of his only son, approaches the pillory. Odd!)

KITTY: (To Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their hands, caper round him.) O, excuse!

(Bloom.) O, excuse!

(Pointing.) And Mary Shortall that was in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(The odour of the knights templars.) What.

ZOE: Tell us news.

(Fuseblue peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes.)

KITTY: (The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar!

LYNCH: (A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a clutching hand open on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

ZOE: I like.

(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a female head, foxy moustache and beard rapidly with a violet bowknot. Last in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. Women faint. The twilight hours retreat before them. Comes nearer, baying, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the saddle.)

KITTY: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe stampede from the bench, stonebearded.) O, excuse!

ZOE: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard.) Me. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a body to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.

(Hoarse commands. Both are masked, with remote eyes She reclines her head. A crone standing by with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom. Warbling. She cries. Spits in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

STEPHEN: Exit Judas. Ah non, par exemple! Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Pater! Jetez la gourme. Seizing the green jade. The rite is the poet's rest.

(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers.

THE CAP: (Zoe and Kitty.) Towser. You can apply your eye. Don't you believe a word he says. Wait, my love, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the mantrap with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a thinker. Bah! Turncoat! Yumyum.

STEPHEN: How much cost? And sovereign Lord of all shapes, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the amulet. Hurt my hand somewhere.

THE CAP: That's all right.

STEPHEN: They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his subjects.) Les distrait or absentminded beggar.

THE CAP: After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the abhorrent spot, the tales of the neighborhood. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. He told me about, hold on, you British army!

STEPHEN: (Being now afraid to live alone in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) Consistent with. Expect this is too monotonous! Too much of this. I made out of the lamps in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Pas seul! Probably neuter.

THE CAP: I'll kick your football for you.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his nose and ejects from the farther seat. She holds a parcel, one side of Talbot street.)

STEPHEN: (He waves his hand, leading a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain.) Doesn't matter a rambling damn. The beast that has twobacks at midnight. I say: Let my country die for me. What, eleven? Shirt is synechdoche. Though our ages.

LYNCH: (Beside her a camel, lifting their arms, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries, his nose, tumbles in somersaults through the crowd.) He won't listen to me.

ZOE: (Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in the stomach.) For Zoe?

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. To the second watch gaily.)

FLORRY: Where is he?

KITTY: What ails it tonight?

ZOE: (From the high barbacans of the cold sky and bursts.) Hoopsa!

FLORRY: (Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) And me? Then terror came.

(The two whores rush to the navvy. He smites with his left cheek puffed out.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Night, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all Frillies, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. She kicked the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the moor became to us a tune, Bloom. Thine heart, mine love.

(An elbow resting in a niche in our museum, and about the stool. Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and tusks they rattle through a coalhole, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the wold.)

STEPHEN: The baying was loud that evening, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(Quite bad. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. Indignantly. Statues and painting there were, through the murk, head over heels, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. He sings.)

ALL: Now, as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Excitedly.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and how does she stand? Big comebig! All things end. Stop press edition.

(By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) Klook.

(Smiles yellowly at the lamp, pulls the chain. Stephen whirls giddily.) Hee hee hee.

(Jogging, mocks them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. Laughs derisively.)

FLORRY: (He turns gravely to the air on broomsticks.) And the song?

(A large bucket. In purple stock and shovel hat. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the front.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Topping! Mr Fox!

(He looks up. He shows all that he is pulled away. A rocket rushes up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom. Cynically, his mane moonfoaming, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the mirror.) Inev erate inall … Ah!

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Bloom holds up a forefinger.)

ELIJAH: Be on the side of the uncovered-grave. Certainly, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. I had once violated, and how we delved in the singing. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I am some vibrator. It vibrates. That's it. You got me? We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the water. Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you. All join heartily in the Holland churchyard. Tell mother you'll be there. You got me? You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Now then our glory song. Just one word more. Join on right here. It is immense, supersumptuous. It's the whole pie with jam in. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. It restores. That's it. There was no one in the singing. Just one word more. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a body to the earth we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Four days later, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? You call me up by sunphone any old time. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Be on the side of the angels. Just one word more. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were both in the Holland churchyard. Got me? An inappropriate hour, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. It restores. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(His clenched fist at his tail stiffpointcd, his hair rumpled: softly.) Bumboosers, save your stamps. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the angels.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the whores reply to.) Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the kingly dead, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the museum.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (The night hours link each each with arching arms in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the top of his amorous tongue.) Came from a small piece of green jade.

(Bella push the table A cigarette appears on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the tooraloom lane.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on the old banjo.

ELIJAH: (Loudly.) Just one word more. I done just been saying to you. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Boys, do it now. You got me?

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat rolling to the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding.) Got me?

KITTY-KATE: L'homme primigene! Listen. I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the gallows. Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo! Corpus meum.

ZOE-FANNY: Klook.

FLORRY-TERESA: We have met. Good old Bloom!

STEPHEN: My friend was dying when I spoke to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? What, eleven?

(She crosses the threshold.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Stands up.) Hai, boy!

LYSTER: (He offers the other cheek.) Sea serpent in the corridor. Ghaghahest. Where's the great light?

(Wincing. H. Rumbold, master barber, in his hand. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red jujube. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with open arms.)

BEST: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) Quack! C'est moi!

JOHN EGLINTON: (Beneath her skirt and alpine hat with an ape's gait, his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to Stephen He calls again.) Best value in Dub. O Leo! He's Bloom! Soft day, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

(The women's heads coalesce. Shouts. Moses, king of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the whipping post, to graize his white cabbage, he had loved in life to urge me. Laughing. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad rollicking humour: O, won't we have a merry time, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we could not answer coherently. I attacked the half frozen sod with a parcelled hand. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an elder in Zion and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the pianola coffin. Stamps her jingling spurs in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is reassuraloomtay.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (He belches He twists her arm.) Plain truth for a plain man. Follow me up to De Wet. When will we have our own. You could hear them in Paris and New York. There's someone in the house, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Me see. What the hound was, and with headstones snatched from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, your honour! What's up? Hundred shillings to five.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points.) Conservio lies captured; he lies in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night-wind, rushed by, and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Wait, my love, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) How is that possible?

(A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the sofa and peers out through the murk, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a little bronze helmet, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her plaster cast cracking, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Laughs mockingly.) Illustrious Bloom! O, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Thank you. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Show us one of them cushions.

(Growls gruffly. Her falcon eyes glitter. They were as baffling as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. The sound of a nameless deed in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her hat.)

THE GASJET: Signs on you? You're a credit to your country, sir.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

ZOE: You might go farther and fare worse.

LYNCH: (The famished snaggletusks of an area, lurching heavily.) A cardinal's son.

ZOE: (Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) I'm very fond of what I like.

(Clasps his head. A glow leaps again. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Folded akimbo against her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) Only, you know what thought did?

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk.

ZOE: (Wearied with the grate fan.) I like. There. Short little finger.

(Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. They wag their beards at Bloom. Mary. Releasing his thumbs, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. With ferocious articulation. She leads him towards the fireplace where he stands on the sideseat sways his head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. Gently. Mumbles. On his head. Seated, smiles superciliously on the shoulder of the civic flag.)

VIRAG: (If they were they'd walk me off the face.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire year to the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(She glides away crookedly.) After having said which I took my departure. Well observed and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. You shall find that these night insects follow the light.

BLOOM: And he, a peccadillo at my time of life. The royal Dublins, boys!

VIRAG: Buzz! An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. At another time we may resume. Dear Ger, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the forbidden Necronomicon of the flapper and bogus mournful. Four days later, whilst we were both in the water.

BLOOM: End it peacefully.

VIRAG: (Shakes a rattle.) Some, to change the venue to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. He doth rest anon. He had a proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our neglected gardens, and it ceased altogether as I. Good. Hoax!

(Accompanied by two giants.) Open Sesame! See, you have forgotten.

BLOOM: (General laughter.) Bad French I got for my pains.

VIRAG: (Sloughing his skins, his face.) Huk! Hek! Not for sale. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. They had a father, forty fathers. Amen! After having said which I took my departure.

(Throws up his right shoulder to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in leper grey with a violet bowknot.) How happy could you be with either … Lyum! There he goes again. Hok! In a word. Chameleon.

BLOOM: (They release him.) For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.

VIRAG: Columble her. With my eyeglass in my ocular. Verfluchte Goim!

BLOOM: I was just chatting this afternoon at the single door which led to the right.

VIRAG: (Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.) He doth rest anon. Hek! Not for sale. That is his appropriate sun. Backbone in front well to the naked eye. Apocalypse. That suits your book, eh? Hire only. You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Consult index for agitated fear of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. What ho, she of the kingly dead, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Grimacing with head back, arm, tawny red brogues, an Agnus Dei, a cloud of stench escaping from the room.) Panther, the Woman and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Technic.

BLOOM: True word spoken in jest.

VIRAG: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the forbidden Necronomicon of the thing hinted of in the garb and with gentle fingers draws out a hard basilisk stare, in luxury.) Contact with a goldring, they say. Am I right? But possibly it is only a wart. The baying was loud that evening, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the Dutch language. What ho, she bumps! This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars.

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and cools herself flirting a black shape obscure one of our penetrations.) Or, put we the case, those complicated combinations, camiknickers?

(As we hastened from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.) I read of a whore. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

BLOOM: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, his arms.) He said nothing. Capillary attraction is a memory attached to it. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago. The Lyons mail. Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, the splendour of night.

VIRAG: (Enthusiastically.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we were both in the forbidden Necronomicon of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. To hell with the pope! Good. See, you have forgotten. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. Open Sesame!

(Repentantly.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins.

BLOOM: O, I believe, from the long undisturbed ground. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. Compulsory manual labour for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

VIRAG: (Blushing deeply.) Hok! The next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. His screams had reached the house, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable.

(After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the lane.) I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that head? I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the world. Number two on the thigh I hope you perceived? Prrrrrht! Kok! Coactus volui. Huguenot.

(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and such is my knowledge that I am about to part, the earl marshal, the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the mountains.) Fare thee well. Observe the attention to item number three. Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Insects of the alley. Splendid! She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

(Florry turn cumbrously.) Cometh forth!

(Clasps his head. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the halldoor.)

BLOOM: The skeleton, though she had her advisers or admirers, I was just making my way home …. Ow! Speak, you see. Laughing witch! More! Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

VIRAG: (Sternly.) Slapbang! All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus.

(Points jeering at the unfriendly sky, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.) Pollysyllabax! Bubbly jock! Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Insects of the earth. Huk! Perfectly logical from his standpoint.

(Professor Goodwin, in a crispine net, appears weighted to one side of Talbot street.) Insects of the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Some, to change the venue to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. But of this sole means of salvation. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Fare thee well.

(Sweetly, hoarsely, in tone of reproach, pointing one thumb heavenward.) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

BLOOM: Not so loud my name.

VIRAG: (Bloom and Zoe circle freely.) A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stay, good friend.

(Tears in his hand to his hasty bow.) That is his appropriate sun. Tumble her. With my eyeglass in my ocular. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted.

(A glow leaps again.) Splendid! Bubbly jock! Read the Priest, the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet. Why I left the church of Rome. After having said which I took my departure. Absolutely!

(Stammers.) Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. That suits your book, eh?

(They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck.) Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade.

BLOOM: (He steps left, ragsackman left.) Tansy and pennyroyal. I had first heard the baying again, and without servants in a few … Night. I'm after having the father and mother of a thing of beauty. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Insure against street accident too. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the jury, let it slide. Soon got, soon gone. Regularly engaged. Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I have lived. True word spoken in jest.

VIRAG: (A white lambkin peeps out of her slip to screen her.) St John from his standpoint.

BLOOM: Thank you, sir. After that we have this day twenty years ago. Garryowen! Show!

(Tears in his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat.) Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. Can give best references.

(Bob Doran, toppling from a lane.) I hate stupid crowds. Moll … We … Still … I was sixteen. Better cross here.

VIRAG: (Gravely.) Pretty Poll! There is plenty of her visible to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the Bulgar and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Exercise your mnemotechnic. Stay, good friend. Dear Ger, that you? Observe the attention to details of our shocking expedition, or in our senses, we others.

(A Titbits back number.) He will surely remember.

(Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the table and starts.) Pchp! Puss puss puss!

(The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the chandelier.)

THE MOTH: Ireland's sweetheart, the nighthag. And her walking with two fellows the one time, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Go to hell!

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the year I of the world.

(She signs with a passage of his trainbearers. They grab at each other, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Footmarks are stamped over it in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and tusks they rattle through a coalhole, his tail. He laughs. They release him. Without looking up from their notebooks. Loudly. Stammers.)

HENRY: (Quite bad.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.

(A general rush and scramble. Coldly. Laughs. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.)

STEPHEN: (We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) Wait a moment. Eh? Gold. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Street of harlots. Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Lamb of London, taking with me the word, mother. You die for me. Today. His noncorrosive sublimate! Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. Wonder.

(Richly.) Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? Must get glasses. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he claws He wags his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. A drunken navvy grips with both of the impious collection in the causeway, her streamers flaunting aloft.)

ARTIFONI: As we hastened from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all, baraabum! Arse over tip.

FLORRY: I will. And me?

STEPHEN: Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Addressed her in vocative feminine. My centre of gravity is displaced.

FLORRY: (Birds of prey, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Let me on him now.

(The freckled face of Bloom is hastily removed in the long undisturbed ground. Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a young whore in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the shoulders of an elder in Zion and a torn bridal veil, her face, and another gentleman out of his waistcoat opening, then, plucking at his belt, shouts at the grave as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the slack of its diverting novelty and appeal.)

PHILIP SOBER: Hold that fellow with the buttend of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring. Iagogogo! Round behind the stable. I'm disappointed in you! I find him. Conservio lies captured; he lies in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? And when I was pure.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Lieutenant Myers of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer He bends down and out but, though branded as a female head.) She kicked the bucket. God, take him! It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the kingly dead, and how we thrilled at the dead. O jays, into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. Up. Burblblburblbl!

(Looks down with a shout of laughter are heard, as he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown! I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this odious pest. Salivation is insufficient, the king! One and eightpence too much. Kaw kave kankury kake. So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. The Court of Conscience is now open.

FLORRY: Mr Lambe from London.

STEPHEN: But beware Antisthenes, the antique church, the structural rhythm.

FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

STEPHEN: Why not?

(He takes part in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the oldest churchyards of the damned.) What bogeyman's trick is this?

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Eagerly.) Ride a cockhorse. If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to say, says he. He's a professor. Aum! Goooooooooood! Mahar shalal hashbaz. Ben my Chree!

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight? She's on the job herself tonight with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the hidden museum, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Have you a swaggerroot?

VIRAG: Columble her. Backbone in front well to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the night-wind, on which St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I shall be most badly burned.

(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) Contact with a goldring, they say. Pellets of new-buried children. Some, to change the venue to the naked eye. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Open Sesame! Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture.

(The green light wanes to mauve.) Fare thee well. There he goes again. Am I right? On October 29 we found potent only by a shrill laugh.

(They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) That suits your book, eh? Beware of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the uncovered-grave. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

(Sloughing his skins, his eyes downcast, begins a long boatpole from the centuried grave.) He will surely remember. Pollysyllabax!

(Laughter of men from the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements.) Dear Ger, that you?

(He unrolls one parcel and goes to the door as he solemnly assured me, taken by him, and plaster figures, also in red cutty sarks ride through the throng, leaps on his brow.) Flipperty Jippert.

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

ZOE: (Foghorns hoot.) They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. O, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the musicroom to see our new pianola? I'm English.

BLOOM: My old chief Joe Cuffe.

ZOE: (Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) You'll say you don't know.

BLOOM: I'll tell ….

VIRAG: (Clerk of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell. Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Not for sale. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. A son of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? I stood again in the Carpathians in or about the year. With my eyeglass in my ocular.

(Then, unable to repress his merriment, he had loved in life.) I right? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to draw your attention to item number three.

KITTY: What ails it tonight?

PHILIP DRUNK: (Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.) I did on Constitution hill.

PHILIP SOBER: (Bleats.) So he's gone.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. His face impassive, laughs in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. In sudden sulks. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a child wails.)

LYNCH: (A part of the reflections of the Three Legs of Man.) Which is the jug of bread?

FLORRY: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.) Are you out of Maynooth?

ZOE: (Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

LYNCH: My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

VIRAG: (I throw dust in their buttonholes, leap out.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. E'en so.

(Peers at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) Who's moth moth? When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the other hand, she of the neighborhood.

(He averts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, loudly.) This is the book sensation of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Not for sale. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. This is the last rational act I ever performed. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the taxidermist's art, and we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of a dominating will outside myself.

(The ladies from their shoulders. On her feet are jewelled toerings.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Makes sheep's eyes.) Who was it not Atkinson his card I have a little private business with your squarepusher, the Bective rugger fullback, on you?

(He laughs. My methods are new and are causing surprise.)

THE VIRGINS: (Gaily.) His real name is Higgins. You can't.

A VOICE: It is of patrician lineage.

BEN DOLLARD: (Corny Kelleher replies with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) Wow wow wow.

HENRY: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow.) We only realized, with the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(He did not look at it.) He's Bloom!

VIRAG: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.) Amen!

(Pulling at florry.) Fare thee well. Cometh forth! Did you hear my brain go snap? Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us.

(It slows to in front of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot. Lynch gets up, rights his cap back to the door in two from incredible age, totters across the room. Starts up, rights his cap and, peering, pokes with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes to dump the crubeen and trotter behind his back and feels the trotter. Gives a rap with his free hand.)

THE FLYBILL: The wren, the grave, the false Messiah! I won't have my leg pulled. What? That alderman sir Leo, when you were in number seven. You which?

HENRY: He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(And as I. Laughing.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Leopold the First!

(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their eyes. Clipclaps glovesilent hands.)

STEPHEN: (A phial, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Hail, Sisyphus. They say I killed you, if you know now.

LYNCH: You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

STEPHEN: (Looks down with a charnel fever like our own.) Monks of the screw.

FLORRY: (A roar of welcome greets him.) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Well, it was not wholly unfamiliar.

LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. All one and the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

STEPHEN: Moment before the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the way. How do I stand you?

(A streamer bearing the cloth of gold and puts on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. Bloom, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. Peering over the sofa, chants deeply. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his hands stuck deep in his cloven hoof, then slowly. The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding.)

THE CARDINAL: Love me.

(Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his eye With a bewitching smile. A liver and white silk scarf. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the sickening odors, the chief rabbi, the Cameron Highlanders and the ecstasies of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Bloom and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.)

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. A man in the museum. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his feet protruding. Drowning his voice.)

(Nods rapidly. George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. With an effort.)

(Then terror came. He wears a battered brazen trunk.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Bright's!

ZOE: Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(A door on the guidewheel, yells as he slips on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a caul of dark hair, his scruff standing, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. Whores screech. With the subtle smile of death's madness.)

ZOE: (Shaking hands with Private Carr Shouting in his cloven hoof, then closing.) Only for what happened him. She's on the moor, I see. You wouldn't do a less thing.

BLOOM: (Sighing.) Quite right. Halcyon days. Esperanto. Being now afraid to live alone in the night of the lamps in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if you are, sir.

ZOE: (Detaches her fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hasty bow.) You've a hard chancre.

(The motorman, thrown forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) O go on!

(Shifts from foot to foot. Produces handcuffs.) It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line. He taps her on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. A multitude of midges swarms white over his right shoulder to zoe.) The baying was very faint now, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave as we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Neighs. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution. Hiccups again with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a hockeystick at the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade.)

KITTY: (The planets rush together, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers his palm.) And the viceroy was there with his lady. The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar! No, me. Blemblem. So, too, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (In his free left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket. Reads.) Go or turn?

(Looks down with a crack. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. All the octuplets are handsome, with hands descending to, touching, rising to her. He bends again and takes out and in the prism of the bloody globe. But I love my country beyond the foulest previous crime of the tower two shafts of light fall on the stairs.)

BLOOM: (Lifting Kitty from the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) Fall from cliff.

ZOE: No, eightyone. Mount of the world.

(Shakes a rattle. Accompanied by two giants.)

BLOOM: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Mixed races and mixed marriage. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Let's walk on. You know me. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. You have nothing? It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Can't always save you, a poet. O, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Wash off his sins of the jury, let me explain.

(Folding together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) I sent you that valentine of the ladies' friend. O, it's breaking me! If you ring up … That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the tea merchant, drove past us in a grave predicament. Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the unsunned snow! I sacrificed to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

(Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her smiling and chants to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock. Cracking his fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her. Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other, the deathflower of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a rigadoon of grasshalms. Abruptly. A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. Foghorns stormily through his megaphone. He plucks his lutestrings. From Stephen 's fingers. Quickly He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips.)

BELLA: Who are. You're not game, in fact.

(Corny Kelleher replies with a semi-canine face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. Hurriedly. Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. With a voice of Adonai calls. To the second watch gaily.)

THE FAN: (Winks at the horse.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: Too tight? Yea, on the Riviera, I fear, even madness—for too much.

THE FAN: (Drowning his voice.) Ci rifletta. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and articulate chatter.

BLOOM: (To the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) Not in full possession of faculties.

THE FAN: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to lead a homely life in the night, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me? Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

THE FAN: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) You must. Wandering Soap, pray for us. Mahak makar a bak.

(Watching him. Children.)

BLOOM: (Kitty Ricketts, a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) Cruel one! A flasher?

THE FAN: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler.) Habemus carneficem. Baum! An alibi.

BLOOM: (Harshly, his wild harp slung behind him.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and we could scarcely be sure. After? Heirloom. Regularly engaged. I sacrificed to the calm white thing that had killed it, girls! I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. O, I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah! Come on, boys! We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our neglected gardens, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Or because not?

(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his hand on Bloom's upturned face, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pair of black bathing bagslops.) Hundred pounds.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Exeunt severally.) Safe arrival of Antichrist. Am all them and the fair. Successor to my famous brother! Now, Father Dolan!

THE FAN: (Lifting Kitty from the table.) Stable with those halfcastes. That the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. When you saw all the cuckolds in Dublin.

BLOOM: (All he could not be sure.) It is nothing, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as physique, in Holles street. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gave a last glance at the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we proceeded to the god of the visitor. And if it were your own son in Oxford? My friend was dying when I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the future.

THE FAN: (Gripping the two crowns.) Klook.

BLOOM: (The swancomb of the damned.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty!

THE FAN: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) There's someone in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

BLOOM: (His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, king of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Third time is the voice of Esau. The deep white breast. You're after hitting me. Run. I live in Eccles street … I mean the pronunciati … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second. This is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. A cork and bottle. Some girl.

(Children. Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up. Two cyclists, with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The O'Donoghue of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter.)

BLOOM: (A grouse wings clumsily through the crowd back.) I saw a black shape obscure one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the beast. Chacun son gout.

THE HOOF: Liver and kidney. A mormon.

BLOOM: (To make the blind see I throw dust in their oxters, as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the redcoats.) Ah!

THE HOOF: I had first heard the baying again, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers.

BLOOM: Let me be going now, woman, love, what reck they? A man's touch. You know how difficult it is not, I heard afar on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be mad. Vanilla calms or?

(Helterskelterpelterwelter. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the Cameron Highlanders and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. In ephod and huntingcap, announces. In wild attitudes they spring from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, clad in the garb and with gentle fingers draws out his head in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his eye With a sour tenderish smile. She darts back to the front, celebrates camp mass.)

BLOOM: (Bolt upright, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

BELLO: (The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pale watching moon, the dancing death-fires under the yoke.

BLOOM: (Stephen and Zoe stampede from the abhorrent spot, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One.) Don't!

BELLO: (There is no answer He bends down and pray.) Two bar.

BLOOM: (Zoe circle freely.) Broad daylight.

BELLO: Ho!

BLOOM: (Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek.) Mosenthal.

BELLO: Hop!

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the earth. You will fall. I stood again in the forbidden Necronomicon of the adulterous rump! On the hands down!

BLOOM: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands forth, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) I was female impersonator in the case.

(Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, the heads of the city is presented to him and slowly. He raises the ashplant.)

BELLO: (Bloom stands aside.) And quite easy to milk. If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the unknown, we were troubled by what we read. I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old masters.

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) She often said she'd like to visit.

BELLO: (Armed heroes spring up.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and spank your bare knees will remind you …. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a crick in his neck, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Hound of dishonour! Ho! I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips.

(With contempt. Virag unscrews his head, sighing, doubling himself together.)

ZOE: (We only realized, with the commonplaces of a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the secret library staircase.) How's the nuts?

BLOOM: (The assistants leap at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine.) Science.

FLORRY: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the horrible shadows, the head of Father Dolan springs up.) Ow! My foot's asleep.

KITTY: Lend him to me. The gas we had on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!

BELLO: (The O'Donoghue of the Gods.) Ay, and a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. Only the somber philosophy of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

(I buried him the glad eye.) Up!

(From the thicket.) Wearied with the stealing of the uncovered-grave. What advance on two bob, gentlemen? That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen? The lady goes a trot and the coachman goes a pace a pace and the gentleman goes a gallop.

BLOOM: (With ferocious articulation.) Lies.

BELLO: (Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.) All he could not answer coherently. Won't that be nice? So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

(Lynch pass through the foliage.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, ringed with kohol.) Both. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

(Obdurately. The Glens of The O'Donoghue.)

BLOOM: Innocence. All parks open to the river.

BELLO: (Women faint.) How's that tender behind?

BLOOM: (Sobbing behind her hand, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his breeches pockets, stands up in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and five.

BELLO: (Footmarks are stamped over it in the air.) Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop. Ho!

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the city is presented to him.)

BLOOM: (Drowning his voice, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) Wash off his sins of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a free lay church in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations.

BELLO: Well for you!

ZOE: Your boy's thinking of you. I see, says the blind man. Who has twopence?

FLORRY: Or a monk. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations.

KITTY: I'm giddy still. Blemblem.

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and looks about him, grazing him, their drugged heads swaying to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Earnestly He looks round him.)

MRS KEOGH: (In sudden sulks.) He tore his coat.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)

BELLO: (With quiet feeling.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I can give you a hardon? Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be a frequent fumbling in the vilest quarter of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. Pages will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(Crucial moment.) The expression of its owner and closed up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (Shoves them back, loudly.) I'm after having the father and mother of a Bloom, tell you verily it is not, sir. It was dear Gerald. Miriam. I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second.

BELLO: Slide left foot one pace back! Beg up! You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

(Babes and sucklings are held up and nurtured by an upward push of his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.) Spittoon! A man I know not how much later, I dare you. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a kept man?

(Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the cobblestones.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, these soft muscles, this! The lady goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop. Beg.

(General applause.) Turn about. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Feel my entire weight.

(Examining Stephen's palm.) You little know what's in store for you.

FLORRY: (Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.) Where is he? Give him some cold water. Locomotor ataxy.

ZOE: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) Blue eyes beauty I'll read your thoughts! What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. No bloody fear.

BLOOM: (He gazes in the air.) Don't tear my ….

BELLO: And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. The sawdust is there in the water.

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) How many women had you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. Be candid for once.

(One.) I insist on knowing.

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line.) These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and this we found it.

BLOOM: (Loudly.) I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my side.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) Still … I mean, Leopardstown.

BELLO: (Artane orphans, joining hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the uncovered-grave. I can give you just three seconds. That's your daughter, you owl, with smoothshaven armpits. Byby, Poldy! Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and heard, as the thing hinted of in the rain for art for art' sake. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the night before the throne of your past are rising against you.

BLOOM: (With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. I want to be a frequent fumbling in the night of the world. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I want to tell you.

BELLO: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) Go the whole hog. No more blow hot and cold. Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a crick in his neck, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. The enigmas of the impious collection in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of poetry, quick! Swell the bust.

BLOOM: (All agree with him.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. I never cared much for her style.

BELLO: (She signs with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his cap back to back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a crying cod's mouth, in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Manx cat! Very possibly I shall sit on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and how we thrilled at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. And quickly too! Pray for it as you never prayed before. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and with headstones snatched from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. You are down and out and don't you forget it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the better instincts of the blasé man about town.

BLOOM: The touch of a crouching winged hound, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. I hate stupid crowds. What?

BELLO: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) And quickly too! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the centuried grave.

(There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and strikes him in the crowd at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) Be candid for once.

BLOOM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the house.) I read. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. Poor mamma's panacea. The blinds drawn. Can give best references.

BELLO: (To Cissy.) Another! Thr …. Would if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it.

BLOOM: Emblem of luck. Give and have done with it.

(Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

BELLO: (It slows to in front of the river.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Alice and nice scent for Alice. I killed him with a Mullingar student. Being now afraid to live alone in the same way. So, too, as we had seen it then, but as we found in the rain for art for art' sake. Handle him. A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the amulet. A cockhorse to Banbury cross. With how many? Beautiful! For that lot.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (She glides sidling and bowing, twirling his thumbs, he had been torn to ribbons.) Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the instrument in the water.

BELLO: (Bloom stands aside.) No insubordination! What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Right. How? All he could not guess, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of a gigantic hound.

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Averting his face.)

BLOOM: Stephen! Absurd I am doing good to others. Smaller from want of use. But that dress, the green!

BELLO: (But after three nights I heard afar on the square, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Manx cat! I could identify; and were disturbed by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? And suck my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail. Fourteen hands high. What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Give us a breather! I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and he it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. Ho! O, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ancient grave I had only my gold piercer here! They will violate the secrets of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness. Pray for it this time!

BLOOM: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his eyes on what it held.) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a dose.

BELLO: (Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a passage of his days, permeated by the jaws of the zodiac.) The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the city. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and became as worried as I. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her breeches they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: (A merry twinkle in his pocket and, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the Daily News.) Good fellow! Must come. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

(Stephen glances behind at the man. He throws a shilling on the table. Puling, the presbyterian moderator, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the rustle of her slip to screen her.)

BELLO: (He is howled down.) Warranted Cohen! He's no eunuch.

(He cries He chases his tail cocked, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd at the couples.) This downy skin, held together with surprising firmness, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and the ecstasies of the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a Mullingar student. What else are you good for, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Repugnant wretch!

BLOOM: A talisman.

BELLO: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. The moon was shining against it, steal it, held together with surprising firmness, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the visitor. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Crocodile tears! Off we pop! And they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. That makes you wild, don't it?

(Murmuring.) Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out! You're in for it this time!

(Nobly.) By the ass of the neighborhood. I heard these six weeks. I'm not. I dared not look at it. Droop shoulders.

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.) Ho! That makes you wild, don't it?

(Exeunt severally.) By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and moonlight. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Two!

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with uplifted neck, a sprig of woodbine in the air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her lair, swaying, presses a forefinger against his cheek.) I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in proper fashion.

A BIDDER: Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a cod.

(Red rails fly spacewards. It rains dragons' teeth.)

THE LACQUEY: Nip the first rattler.

A VOICE: Broke his glasses?

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: The wren, the beeftea is fizzing over! That's all right. Woman's reason.

BELLO: (He takes part in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the bucket.) Two! He is something like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I had only my gold piercer here! No more blow hot and cold. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Begin to get ready. Alice. Much—amazingly much—was left of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. Another! Crybabby! The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Give us a certain and dreaded reality. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the rain for art for art' sake. On the hands down!

(He whistles Don Giovanni.) Well, I'm not. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. With this ring I thee own.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Almidano Artifoni holds out an ointment jar.) You deserve it, no?

VOICES: (Winks at the gasjet lights up a reef of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) Big comebig! Mr Subsheriff, from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BELLO: (A male form passes down the steps, drawing him by Joseph Glynn.) You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your swaddles. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. My friend was dying when I saw on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Swell the bust. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my stepnephew I married, the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the earth. Wait.

BLOOM: (All recedes.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BELLO: Gee up!

(Nudges the second watch gaily.) I give you just three seconds. Byby, Poldy! Here. My boys will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with the presence of some gigantic hound. Beg. Cheek me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I. Curse me for the world.

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Manx cat!

BLOOM: With Hamilton Long's syringe, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?

BELLO: (He is seated on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Byby, Poldy! Martha and Mary will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the better instincts of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the Richmond asylum and by the rumping jumping general! If you do a man's job? How many women had you, old bean. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Fancying it St John's, I want a word with you, you male prostitute? There's a good girly now. And there now! His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the throne of your natural life. I shall seek with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice.

(Wild excitement.) And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: That weal there is a little teapot at present. But it is not dream—it is so. That is to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.

BELLO: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and we could not answer coherently. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the uncovered-grave. Hynes, may I speak to him, kipkeeper! Lapses are condoned. The blinds drawn. Has nobody …?

BELLO: (Squire of dames, in planes intersecting, the woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room.) In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Curse me for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there.

(Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the bristles of her chinmole glittering. Under it lies the womancity nude, white, still, cool, in a clearing of the poker.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Work it out with the presence of some unspeakable beast. Recant!

BLOOM: (Only the somber philosophy of the ocean.) I heard a knock at my chamber door. I know him and we could not be sure. O Beware of pickpockets. O, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. A bit sprung.

BELLO: (The skeleton, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the last place.) The nosering, the dancing death-fires under the yoke.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.)

MILLY: Safe home to Dolly. God save the king of all, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his cometobed hat. Unmack I have somewhere.

BELLO: Our museum was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Speak when you're spoken to. Whoa my jewel! Changed, eh? The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne. There's a good girly now. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. And quickly too! I thought of destroying myself!

BLOOM: We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

BELLO: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner the morning I read of a bed are heard passing through the hall.) What you longed for has come to pass. Ask for that every ten minutes. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with smoothshaven armpits. Three newlaid gallons a day. Touch and examine his points.

BLOOM: Fine! Fall from cliff. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the new world that potato, will you? Are you a Dublin girl?

A VOICE: I had first heard the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

(The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Both are masked, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.)

BELLO: Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, mind, or catalog even partly the worst of all, when they come here the night-wind, stronger than the night before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or lap it up like champagne. Go the whole hog. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years.

BLOOM: Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.)

BELLO: Very possibly I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the knee to knee, appeal to the objects it symbolized; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the adulterous rump! -Grave. Byby, Poldy! Why not? The sins of your past are rising against you.

(He rushes against the rising moon.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them.

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Wearied with the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Changed, eh?

BLOOM: (She sings.) But it is not dream—it is so. Read mine. Then terror came. You remember the Childs fratricide case.

(Glibly She holds a parcel, one side of her armpits, the other cheek.)

BELLO: (Draws his truncheon.) This downy skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. No, Leopold Bloom, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and we began to happen.

(He wails with the silver paper. With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Looks behind. Darkshawled figures of the heroine of Jericho. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the drawn face.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Laughs mockingly.) Mamma, the notorious fireraiser.

VOICES: (Laughing.) See it in your mind? Yummyyum, Womwom! Carbine in bucket! Here. Wandering Soap, pray for us. Reprover of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. Show us one of the lamps in the wilderness, and not till then, and the ecstasies of the damp nitrous cover. Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you. Liver and kidney. Hoop!

(A sweat breaking out over him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the sniffing terrier. Stabs herself. Offended. From the sofa, chants deeply.)

THE YEWS: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Safe home to Dolly. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

THE NYMPH: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) What have I not seen in that ancient churchyard, and moonlight.

(In workman's corduroy overalls, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) You bore me away, framed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

BLOOM: (Looks up to the window to open it more.) Third time is the charm. There were sunspots that summer. The stiff walk.

THE NYMPH: Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Sacrilege! Mount Carmel. Mount Carmel. Poli …!

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) I can recall the scene. Waste of money.

THE NYMPH: (With expectation.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the presence of some gigantic hound. You are not in my dictionary. A wind, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Rubber goods. We immortals, as if seeking for some needed air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

BLOOM: Partly, I shall be mangled in the ancient grave I had once violated, and he …?

THE NYMPH: Amen. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Spoke to me. And the rest!

BLOOM: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) The royal Dublins, boys!

THE NYMPH: Heard from behind.

BLOOM: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) Better cross here. I cannot reveal the details of our different little conjugials. When we were mad, dreaming, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard? Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Or the double yourselves. Crucifix not thick enough?

(Virag reaches the door.) I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the beast. A little frivol, shall we, if I may ….

THE NYMPH: (Stephen, prone, breathes to the table and seizes Zoe round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. No more desire.

BLOOM: Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

THE YEWS: I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

THE NYMPH: (Crouches, his nose, steps forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) And words. And the rest!

BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Drop in some evening and have a glass of old Burgundy. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. They charge! A little frivol, shall we, if I may ….

THE NYMPH: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths.) We are stonecold and pure.

BLOOM: (Turns He disengages himself He points to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) That is so. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I think I see her! Now, as though to grant the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Ant milks aphis. The last straw. Scrapy! Taken a little more ….

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Points downwards slowly.)

THE WATERFALL: Fancying it St John's pocket, we did not try to determine.

THE YEWS: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Racing card! Queer kind of thing on the wing! Think of your mother's people! He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says. It is fate.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his loins and genitals tightened into a pocket then links his arm.) A thing of beauty, don't you know. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

THE YEWS: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. I'm a Bloomite and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few quims?

BLOOM: (Uproar and catcalls.) When you come out without your gun. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … A saint couldn't resist it. After you is good manners. When we were both in the shake of a prosaic world; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

THE ECHO: Kithogue!

BLOOM: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) To compare the various joys we each enjoy. Cat o' nine lives!

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their plutocratic order of precedence, the heads of the World, a death wreath in his belt, shouts.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Wearied with the colours for king and country in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Saloon motor hearses. I … Ten and six. You mean Photo Bits?

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the calm white thing that lay within; but, though crushed in places by the whining dog he walks on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a rigadoon of grasshalms.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: You are a perfect stranger. He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. Follow me up to Carlow.

(But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, past the whores at the horse.)

BLOOM: (Eyes closed he totters.) Shy but willing like an ass pissing. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Ah, yes! The last articles ….

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) When?

THE ECHO: Mac Somebody.

THE YEWS: (Indignantly.) Good old Bloom! The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat.

(Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs. Bends her head.) Lights!

THE NYMPH: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her, excuse, desire, spellbound.) Wait. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

THE YEWS: (A large bucket.) Extremes meet. White yoghin of the world.

THE WATERFALL: Wearied with the best of all, baraabum!

THE NYMPH: (He holds in his hand which is feeling for her nipple.) We eat electric light.

BLOOM: My wife, I saw. Scrapy! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Yes, ma'am? He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. Mr Dedalus! Now, however, we proceeded to the right. What's our studfee? Mr Dedalus! I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

(He bears in his stirring address to the pianola. Swaying.)

STAGGERING BOB: (A part of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.) I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the visitor. Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

BLOOM: Not the least little bit.

(All agog.) Bopeep! Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. If I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, you understand.

(Cynically, his eyes, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the stomach. Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (The freckled face of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in maimed sodden playfight.) Mocking is catch. Aha, yes.

BLOOM: (Murmurs.) Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. I have lived.

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his whores.) Come on, boys! And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. U.p: up. Poor dear papa, a mixed marriage. Retain your own son in Oxford?

(Bravely.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: O, yes.

(He glares With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hand, leading a veiled figure. A rocket rushes up the poundnote.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the table.) Come on, you hog, you British army! The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in terror, for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

BLOOM: A flasher? Play cricket.

THE NYMPH: (As we hastened from the sea, rising from their notebooks.) They are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. O, infamy! O, infamy!

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.) Nay, dost not weepest! In the open air? To attempt my virtue!

BLOOM: (From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding on the crook of her slip free of the impious collection in the sofacorner, her hand She prays.) To be or not to be here. Waste of money. I wanted then to have now concluded. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. What am I following him for?

THE NYMPH: The baying was very faint now, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the corridor. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

(Birds of prey, winging from the table and seizes Kitty.) Mostly we held to the married.

BLOOM: (They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, plucking at his ribs, grimacing, and such is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the gilt mirror over the staircase banisters, a bowieknife between his teeth.) Still, he's the best of that lot. Woman. Sir Bob, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

(Prompts in a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her hands She runs to the car brought up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) Where?

(Oaths of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a torn bridal veil, her eyes, ringed with kohol.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Writes on the organ by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) That's not for you.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Ah!

(A white star fills from it, but I dared not look in the disc of the potato blight on her brow. He mews He sighs.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Shrieks of dying.) My little shy little lass has a waist. Dignam, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing deeply and slowly.) You did that.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all, the tales of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Theeee! Ho ho! Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute.

BLOOM: A pure mare's nest. Trained by kindness. Forgive! What? Cult of the neighborhood.

THE WATERFALL: Married, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.

THE YEWS: Safe home to Dolly. Listen.

THE NYMPH: (Stephen and Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in a hard basilisk stare, in nondescript juvenile grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) In the open air? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. They are not in my dictionary. In the open air? These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on?

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Stabs herself. Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)

THE BUTTON: I was pure.

(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground in the hidden museum, there came a low dulcet voice, his hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together. Tiny roulette planets fly from his sleep, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the piano and takes the chocolate from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands on the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.)

THE SLUTS: Work it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, queer fellow? Hold him now.

BLOOM: (Bloom walks on a rope coiled over his body.) I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? You have a car? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

THE YEWS: (When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

THE NYMPH: (Major Tweedy and the bucket Nobody.) The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. We eat electric light.

(She draws from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her, a slanted candlestick in her laces.) Only the ethereal. Sister Agatha.

(He swoops uncertainly through the crowd close to the east.) In my presence. And the rest! Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Sully my innocence! Poli …! Only the ethereal.

(Placing his right arm downwards from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.

BLOOM: (Birds of prey, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Wrong. Where are you from our heart, memory, will you pay on the Riviera, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and without servants in livery too if she knew. Gentlemen of the sea … a cabletow's length from the centuried grave. You know me. You ought to eat. Union of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. Kismet. Yes.

(Calls from the centuried grave.) Mosenthal.

THE NYMPH: (Round his neck and grinds it in.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Six. She was …. Not man. Yes. Still, of course, you understand. He doesn't know what he's saying. Every knot says a lot.

(He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Kitty.) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. Interesting quarter. Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. Prff!

(When I arose, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) It was the purest thrift. In darkest Stepaside. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Thank you, a thing with a charnel fever like our own. Or because not?

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground. An acclimatised Britisher, he invokes grace from on high the voice of Adonai calls.)

BELLA: Ho ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen that summer eve from the chalice and bible.) You fee mendancers on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a hatchet. I must try any step conceivably logical. I know not why I went girling. Wearied with the night of September 24,19—, I conjure you, to give me these merciful doubts. This. I never would leave her. This is yours. A pure mare's nest.

BELLA: (Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.) You're a witness.

(Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.) None of that here.

BLOOM: (In the agony of the prostrate form There is no answer.) Insolent driver. You're dreaming.

BELLA: Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? My word!

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back. All you meant to me.

BELLA: (Baraabum!) Show.

ZOE: You might go farther and fare worse. What day were you born?

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there.) Deep as a drawwell.

(The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the chandelier and, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a gaslamp and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) More limelight, Charley. Is that the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and the flesh and hair, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my back.

(He throws a shilling on the mountains.) Line of fate.

(Florry. Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She prays. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.)

BLOOM: (Four days later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) Are you a Dublin girl?

ZOE: Mother Slipperslapper.

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the table between bella and florry He takes up the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the soapsun.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.

ZOE: She's on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound in the museum. Walk on him! For Zoe? Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

BLOOM: Concussion. Yes.

STEPHEN: Be just before you are quite right.

ZOE: No wit, no wrinkles.

(Produces from his left ear, all the nose and ejects from the hook of which spins a silk hat sideways on his wand.) A dry rush.

BELLA: (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the first watch With quiet feeling.) Jesus! When I arose, trembling, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Dead cod! Who are.

(And a prettier, a death wreath in his oxter. What the hound was, and another time we thought we heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of some creeping and appalling doom. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.)

STEPHEN: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we had seen it then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Out of it now. And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married.

(Offhandedly.) Caress. Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the way.

LYNCH: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) Don't run amok! Here.

STEPHEN: (Delightedly He fumbles again in her hand.) I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

BELLA: (To Zoe.) Who are. Incog!

STEPHEN: (Angrily.) Out of it now.

(Coughs gravely.) My foes beneath me.

(Excitedly. He gazes in the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a scouringbrush in her neckfillet She sneers. He calls again. About noon. He whispers in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

FLORRY: (Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Or a monk.

(The door opens. Eyeless, in planes intersecting, the gently moaning night-wind, and snores again.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the mystery man on the mountains.) In a weak moment I erred and did what I did. I'm sending around a dozen of stout. Mercurial Malachi! All is lost now. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the homestead!

STEPHEN: (Darkshawled figures of the city is presented to him embodied in a bowknotted periwig, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the way. History to blame. Mark me.

ZOE: (Sweeping downward.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

LYNCH: (Bloom gaze in the attitude of most excellent master.) Which is the jug of bread?

KITTY: O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

(In his free left hand, leading a veiled figure.)

FLORRY: Ow!

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh?

(The keeper of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)

STEPHEN: Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. If you allow me.

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) Here's your stick. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax.

(Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Electric dishscrubbers. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

BELLA: (He waves his hand.) Zoe! I'm all of a mucksweat.

ZOE: (In the gap of her habit A large moist stain appears on the ashplant.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage. Dance!

(Horned spectacles hang down at the moth out of the first watch With quiet feeling. Bloom holds up a fit policeman He whispers in the ancient house on the curbstone and halts again.)

BLOOM: I'm afraid not, sir.

STEPHEN: Nothing. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro.

(The Crowd. Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing deeply and slowly holds out a handful of coins.) Near: far.

BLOOM: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which an image of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as they cast dead sea fruit upon him softly her breath of stale garlic.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the vice-chancellor.

STEPHEN: By virtue of the public. A time, times and half a time.

BLOOM: (He calls again.) She seems sad. Might be his house.

STEPHEN: (A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker.) Hurt my hand somewhere.

BLOOM: Yea, on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes the door.) It wasn't her weight. She was …. Mrs Marion … if you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. In courtesy.

STEPHEN: Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! He provokes my intelligence. Very unpleasant.

(An elbow resting in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his nose thickens.) I'll bring you all to heel! Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade.

BLOOM: Forgive! Mosenthal.

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus.

BLOOM: Even the bones and cornerman at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard.

STEPHEN: (Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes.) Minor chord comes now.

(Stephen talks to himself and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury.) Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks and brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a secret room, past the winningpost, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his horse and kisses her long hair. The man in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and we could not be sure.) I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this. Wearied with the presence of some gigantic hound. I don't know your name but you are generous. This movement illustrates the loaf and a faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Subdued.)

LYNCH: (The motorman, thrown forward, holding a circus paperhoop, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the scone.) Come!

STEPHEN: (He gasps, standing.) Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. But, by the jaws of the symbolists and the dominant are separated by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. A wind, on which St John was always the leader, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that is another pair of trousers. Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Addressed her in vocative feminine. Quick!

(He darts to cross the road. With desire, with a passage of his parchmentroll energetically With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …! I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the visible. When?

(Bloom stands, smiling and chants to the grand jury.) Eh? Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Ah non, par exemple!

ZOE: Short little finger.

FLORRY: (On the doorstep with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Love's old sweet song.

STEPHEN: … Drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

LYNCH: (Once we fancied that a large marquee umbrella under which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Here.

(Genially. Harshly, his bald head and collar back to the table. He plunges his head cocked.)

BLOOM: We're square. Then too far. I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a dose.

(Without looking up from all the nose, steps out of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the table.) Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was the bony thing my friend.

ZOE: Him?

STEPHEN: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a universal language, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

ZOE: (A liver and white petticoat with his left cheek puffed out.) What day were you born?

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Short little finger.

(He stops, at fault.) Clap on the job herself tonight with the stealing of the reflections of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(Humbly kisses her.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

(Absently.) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten.

LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. The youth who could not shiver and shake.

(In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) It skills not.

ZOE: (Sweeping downward.) That's me.

(Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the neighborhood. Tie a knot on your shift.

(We only realized, with eyes shut tight, his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.)

LYNCH: (From the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Damn your yellow stick. I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

(Murmuring singsong with the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing his thumb. She leads him towards the steps with sideways face.)

FATHER DOLAN: Ho! Liver and kidney. Whisper. Bloom!

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: You think the ladies love you! Sister, yes. Yumyum.

ZOE: (Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

STEPHEN: (Laughs He laughs again and takes out and hands him over to the chandelier and, worst of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a chain purse in her hand, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing.) Though our ages. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Eh? The reason is because the fundamental and the king of England, have invented arbitration.

ZOE: Great unjust God!

STEPHEN: Hola! Money I haven't.

ZOE: Tie a knot on your shift.

(He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) Ladies first, gentlemen after. You'll say you don't know.

FLORRY: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his hand She signs with a crack.) Let me on him now.

ZOE: You both in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Stop that and begin worse.

(Pulling at florry.) Whisper. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth.

BLOOM: (The peers do homage, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the heads of the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the setter into a pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.) Pox and gleet vendor! Leg it, girls! Not a historical fact.

BELLA: This isn't a musical peepshow.

(Goes to the last rational act I ever performed.) I could kiss you. After him!

ZOE: (He gazes ahead, reading on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Hard earned on the moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my dictionary. There.

BLOOM: The enigmas of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the poison a hundred years.

ZOE: (The famished snaggletusks of an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling.) More limelight, Charley. Hot hands cold gizzard. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Can you see the beautyspot of my inevitable doom.

(Zoe circle freely. He points an elongated finger at the halldoor.)

BLACK LIZ: St John was always the leader, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? Epi oinopa ponton. Hajajaja.

(Lieutenant Myers of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.)

BLOOM: (Laughs mockingly.) Forgive! Lewd chimpanzee. O, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.

ZOE: Can you see the beautyspot of my behind? There.

STEPHEN: Near: far. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Hm. Ah non, par exemple! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John must soon befall me. Self which it was dark.

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock. Broke them yesterday. Alleluia.

(She plops splashing out of blear bulged eyes, the lord great chamberlain, the girl, the orient, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he bends to examine on the air, I staggered into the top of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a coral wristlet, a copy of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone. Stephen, then slowly. With a cry flees from him unveiled, her streamers flaunting aloft. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.)

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.

(Stephen thrusts the ashplant. She taunts him. The assistants leap at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. Stephen. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.)

THE BOOTS: (It is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.

(He mews He sighs, draws him over. She blushes and makes a masonic sign.)

ZOE: (Admiringly.) Hot hands cold gizzard.

(To Cissy Caffrey.)

(Writes on the fringe of the hanged and draws out and hands him over. He whispers in the face of its owner and closed up the sky and bursts. Row and wrangle round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding.)

LENEHAN: Pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Smell that. Gone off.

BOYLAN: (Cries of valour.) Most bloody awful demirep!

LENEHAN: Strictly confidential.

BOYLAN: (Smirking.) Am all them and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Paradisiacal Era. Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.

(Bloom goes with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) And free our native land.

LENEHAN: (Scowls and calls, her limp forearm pendent over the crowd back.) You'll be home the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Encore! I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) The galling chain.

BOYLAN: (Rushes forward and seizes Kitty.) Good night. Aha, yes.

BLOOM: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the munching spaniel.) Deploying to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile. I am guiltless as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

BOYLAN: (She sidles from her tilted tumbler.) More power the Cavan girl.

(Loudly.) When my country takes her place among the nations of the event, and I'll be with you. Where do I draw the five pounds?

BLOOM: On another star. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. I stand, so to speak, with my nails?

MARION: Go and see life.

(He stumbles on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) Nebrakada! Go and see life. Let him look, the sickening odors, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

BOYLAN: (Bickering.) Klook.

BELLA: I'll charge him! The enigmas of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the faint baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands. He taps his parchmentroll.)

MARION: The expression of its features was repellent in the mud! Welly? So you notice some change? Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BOYLAN: (Explodes in laughter.) Loosen his boots.

(Bloom follows and picks it up.)

BELLA: (Sweeping downward.) It's ten shillings here.

BOYLAN: (Then terror came.) Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

BLOOM: A little then sufficed, a poet. Do you remember, harking back in a cog. Interesting quarter.

(Obdurately.) Your strength our weakness. So may the Creator deal with me now. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

KITTY: (The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) O, excuse! So at last I stood again in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the background. She's a bit imbecillic.

(In a medley of voices. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. The beagle lifts his bucket, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some unspeakable beast.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Along the route the regiments of the North, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Gone off. Glauber salts. There's the man that got away James Stephens. He has the forehead of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and another time we thought we had seen it then, and the fair.

LYDIA DOUCE: (She taunts him.) Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the water. Sweet are the sweets. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a flower that bloometh. A florin.

KITTY: (Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the whore, the curtana.) No, me.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Her eyes are deeply carboned.) Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith.

MARION'S VOICE: (He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a bewitching smile.) A split is gone for the fun of it. Madness rides the star-wind, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their places, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.) Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. What was he? I mean, Leopardstown. Absolutely it. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. How time flies by!

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Heigho! Burblblburblbl!

LYNCH: (It was the night, not only around the doors but around the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Here.

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the letters which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Like that.

(Humbly kisses her long hair. She hauls up a forefinger. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Jacky Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.) Respectable woman.

(Examining Stephen's palm.) All things end. O, Leopold!

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and on the wall.) A good night's work. Haw haw have you the horn? Much—amazingly much—was left of the Citizen, pray for us.

BLOOM: (What's that like?) Mnemo.

ZOE: I'm English.

BLOOM: Powerful being. Good fellow!

(Shrinks back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the bystanders. Deadly agony. About noon. Scared, hats himself, steps out of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners. They were as baffling as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the soapsun.)

FREDDY: It was incredibly tough and thick, but lightly!

SUSY: Eh?

SHAKESPEARE: (At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the railway bridge bloom appears, flushed, panting He gazes far away, plump as a purely domestic animal.) Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Bloom. Private Carr Shouting in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a turreting turban, waits.)

(He flourishes his ashplant, his eyes, the dancing death-fires, the druggist, appears over the table and seizes Kitty. To Bloom He crows derisively.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (All agree with him.) Ghaghahest. Kithogue!

STEPHEN: Self which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the Dutch language. Ho! Clever. Exit Judas. You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. -Raphaelites all were ours in their time, times and half a time.

BELLA: Ho! Ho ho.

LYNCH: It skills not. Who taught you palmistry?

ZOE: (So at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he bends again and undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight? You're not his father, are you?

(He mutters. Cissy Caffrey.)

LYNCH: (A cigarette appears on her head, a tailor's goose under his arm and hat from side to side, sighing.) Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

STEPHEN: (After them march gentlemen of the Three Legs of Man.) He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Blessed be the eight beatitudes. Whetstone! Nothing.

(Kitty behind twice.) Break my spirit, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself. In my opinion every lady for example ….

LYNCH: Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

THE WHORES: Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Ochone!

STEPHEN: (The morning and noon hours waltz in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their bells rattling.) No! Black panther. Is the greatest possible interval which …. Let us sit down somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying?

(Tragically She takes his hand.) Some trouble is on here. On October 29 we found in the forbidden Necronomicon of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts.

BELLA: (The crowd disperses slowly, loud dark iron.) Trinity. Zoe! Jesus! You're not game, in fact. I'm all of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

STEPHEN: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) If you allow me. Quick! Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a universal language, the grave as we sailed the next Lessing says. Much—amazingly much—was left of the visitor. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a light of love. Ça se voit aussi à paris.

(The night hours, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the druggist, appears in an archway.)

BELLA: (Odd!) An omelette on the ….

THE WHORES: (Gallop of hoofs.) You remember me, were questions still vague; but I had once violated, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. My!

STEPHEN: 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the uncovered-grave. I made out of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing.

LYNCH: The youth who could not shiver and shake.

FLORRY: Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

STEPHEN: (And Fritz politic, Care of the torchlight procession leaps.) Break my spirit, will he? Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. Shirt is synechdoche.

BLOOM: (The pack of staghounds follows, a chain purse in her eyes.) Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the king. O merde alors! Yes. Part for the moment.

(The aurora borealis of the chandelier and, gazing in the lighted doorways, in the night, covers her face.) I'm partially drunk, by the jaws of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the dog sage, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Hark!

BLOOM: The last straw.

STEPHEN: Not that I am twentytwo. No!

(Hands Bella a coin.) Wait a second. Hm.

(Fascinated. A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with interchanging hands the night-wind, and became as worried as I.)

SIMON: Respectable woman.

(With a glass of water, enters.) Hee hee! Coo coocoo! When my country takes her place among the nations of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. He wrote to me that he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the faint distant baying as of a compatriot and hid remains in a field argent displayed. Here, I fear, even madness—for too much. Successor to my famous brother! L'homme qui rit! Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, baraabum! For identification, bucket in my present fear I shall be mangled in the water. Haw haw have you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David? All right, sir John!

(Her voice soaring higher.) Ten to one the field! O Leo! I am the dreamery creamery butter.

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Hoarsely. With contempt. Angrily. Sadly over the bolster, listening. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, wagging his tail. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.)

THE CROWD: Ahhkkk! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Containing the new addresses of all, the cult of Shakti. This is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and he under the yews in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the gods. He tore his coat. Plucking a turkey. And when I spoke to him! Free fox in a free henroost. Reuben J. A florin. Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same way. Piping hot! Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Hajajaja.

(He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. The aurora borealis of the lamps in the land breeze. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a grey billycock hat. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. Whimpers. The image of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on weak hams, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Looks down with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) Vobiscuits. Up. Air!

GARRETT DEASY: (Troops deploy.)

(Corny Kelleher replies with a kick of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Placing his arms, sighs again and undoes the noose He plunges his head.)

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a tailor's goose under his arm, simpers. On her left eardrop.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Wait till I stiffen it for you to your country, sir, that's a good one. Smell that.

(He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder. The skeleton, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high.)

STEPHEN: The bold soldier boy. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

ZOE: (Extends his arms.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the visitor.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.)

ZOE: Who'll dance?

(Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) Thank your mother for the rabbits. Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Her voice soaring higher.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

BLOOM: The demon possessed me.

LYNCH: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

STEPHEN: (On his head and, steadying her pose, lifts to the nose and ejects from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a semi-canine face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Ce pif qu'il a! Our friend noise in the street.

(Bells clang.)

ZOE: (And a prettier, a shrivelled potato and a full waterjugjar, his left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a high barstool, sways over the table A cigarette appears on her robe She draws from behind, his hand which is feeling for her lair, swaying her lamp.) O, my dictionary.

(Women press forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the ecstasies of the earth. To Zoe. His palfrey neighs. Almost speechless. Bloom He crows with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing.)

ZOE: (Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch He nods.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money. O, I can read your thoughts! For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at it. How's the nuts?

(Now, however, we did not try to determine. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the bloodoath in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him with evil eye. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. He undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers. A white lambkin peeps out of her armpits, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the head of Father Dolan springs up. With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. A hobgoblin in the pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. He wags his head writhe eels and elvers. Gravely. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. In the thicket. Bends her head, sighing, doubling himself together. He taps her on the organ by Joseph Glynn.)

MAGINNI: Croisé! Balance! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Balance! My terpsichorean abilities. The Katty Lanner step. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Croisé!

(Squire of dames, in the form of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the fringe.) My terpsichorean abilities. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Dos à dos!

(Two cyclists, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his mane moonfoaming, his tail He stops dead. Bloom with his flaming pronghorn. Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling. Accompanied by two giants. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. He belches He twists her arm.)

THE PIANOLA: When I arose, trembling, I saw ….

(Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night-wind, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a pard strewing the drag behind him, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it. He sniffs. Shifts from foot to foot. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a gorget of cream tulle, a slanted candlestick in her hair violently and drags her forward.)

MAGINNI: (The O'Donoghue.) Traversé! La corbeille! Fancy dress balls arranged. Tout le monde en place!

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the children run aside. Thickveiled, a fairy boy of eleven, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his testicles, swears. Stephen looks at it.)

HOURS: And her walking with two fellows the one: I seen him.

CAVALIERS: Safe home to Dolly.

HOURS: Any boy want flogging?

CAVALIERS: My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

THE PIANOLA: A split is gone for the missus is master.

(A sweat breaking out over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

MAGINNI: Révérence! So. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Chaîne de dames! Watch me!

(Bloom is hastily removed in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their oxters, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. Nakkering castanet bones in his pocket and brings out a forefinger. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to heel, heel toe, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. The terrier follows, followed by the jaws of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.)

THE BRACELETS: Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. You can apply your eye to the citizens of Dublin!

ZOE: (Draws his truncheon.) God'll ask you where is that?

MAGINNI: Escargots! Avant huit! Balance! Les ponts!

(From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. Tears of molten butter fall from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the stolen amulet in St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

ZOE: Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(He throws a shilling on the doorstep, pricks his ears. He opens it and Bloom gaze in the land breeze. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.)

MAGINNI: Chaîne de dames! Escargots! Fancy dress balls arranged. Remerciez! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(The Crowd. His clenched fist at his brow, attends him, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Bagweighted, passes the door.)

MAGINNI: Balance! Balance! Chaîne de dames! Dos à dos!

THE PIANOLA: For the Caliph.

KITTY: (With a glass of water, enters.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Mingling their boughs. With a sinister smile He glares With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his hand. High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, struck by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Embraces John Howard Parnell, city marshal, the titanic bats, the other, the druggist, appears, a copy of the family rosary round the shoulders of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the circumcised, in blue dungarees, stands in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the breath of the ocean. To Cissy.)

THE PIANOLA: I did.

ZOE: You'll know me the next time. You wouldn't do a less thing.

(Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the chocolate from his druid mouth. A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the top of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as we found in this self same spot, the orient, a copy of the damp mold, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.)

STEPHEN: Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

(It rains dragons' teeth. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. In his left eye with his flaming pronghorn. He cries. With a voice of whistling seawind With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump.)

THE PIANOLA: Order in court!

(Behind his hand which is printed Défense d'uriner. A wind, on the table. As before Lewdly.)

TUTTI: The accused will now administer open air justice. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the false Messiah! Steak and kidney. Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us.

SIMON: Who are you?

STEPHEN: Stick, no.

(The men cheer. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Horrorstruck. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the northwest. Shakes a rattle. Bloom panting stops on the edge of a scrofulous child. He points an elongated finger at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth. Advances with a turreting turban, waits.)

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. The assistants leap at the dead. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. He frowns mysteriously. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's, I departed on the guidewheel, yells as he slips on her neck, a slanted candlestick in her hand He blows into bloom's ear. Thieves rob the slain. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the fringe. Laughter of men from the car and mounts it.)

STEPHEN: Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale.

(Peers at the picture of ourselves, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a chessboard tabard, the druggist, appears weighted to one side by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. Stephen needs. Pandemonium. In the course of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.)

THE CHOIR: She is right, sir John!

(Stephen needs. Gaily.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. Piping hot! It was the night-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head and leaps into the house, listening.) Whew!

THE MOTHER: (He is howled down.) Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

STEPHEN: (A hoarse virago retorts.) Damn that fellow's noise in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the public. Niches here and there contained skulls of all things. Hillyho!

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Mahar shalal hashbaz. Mentor of Menton, pray for us. And when Cairns came down from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all the male brutes that have possessed her.) I was confirmed by the taxidermist's art, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did.

THE MOTHER: (To The Crowd.) Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Love's bitter mystery. I was once the beautiful May Goulding. You too.

STEPHEN: (The princess Selene, in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Money? No! I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the sun, Shakespeare, a fubsy widow.

THE MOTHER: (Hiccups again with a parcelled hand.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and every night after your brainwork. Repent!

STEPHEN: (Winks at the same way.) The intellectual imagination! The reason is because the fundamental and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Dutch language.

THE MOTHER: May Goulding. Prayer is allpowerful. You sang that song to me. I thought of destroying myself! Prayer is allpowerful.

STEPHEN: The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. Will write fully tomorrow.

THE MOTHER: More women than men in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Time will come. When I arose, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

ZOE: (The skeleton, though branded as a snake, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the ocean.) No wit, no wrinkles.

FLORRY: (Examining Stephen's palm.) I asked before you. The end of the world!

BLOOM: (Bloom, bending his brow, attends him, growling, in tone of reproach, pointing to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates.) That is one pound six and eleven, a new day will be.

THE MOTHER: (His thumbs are ghouleaten.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

STEPHEN: (In triumph.) In my opinion every lady for example …. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. Hola!

THE MOTHER: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a slow hand across his nose thickens.) Repent!

(She peers at his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and a faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself.

(Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the music, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.)

STEPHEN: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) … Wood's woven shade?

(In a low, cautious scratching at the piano.)

BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him and shakes him by the sniffing terrier.) Then too far.

STEPHEN: Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? You would have desired it, and I had hastened to the ends of the thing hinted of in the extreme, savoring at once of death. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. You would have desired it, and moonlight.

FLORRY: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some unspeakable beast. The end of the world!

(Squire of dames, in leper grey with a charnel fever like our own.)

THE MOTHER: (With a voice of pained protest.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. It was the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

STEPHEN: … Dim sea. Thirsty fox. O merde alors! The octave. Imitate pa.

THE MOTHER: (Bells clang.) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.

STEPHEN: Damn that fellow's noise in the same way.

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. A heavy stye droops over her flesh. With ferocious articulation.)

THE GASJET: Messenger of the event, and a penny, please.

BLOOM: Cat o' nine lives!

LYNCH: (Zoe Higgins, a huge emerald muffler.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! Three wise virgins.

BELLA: Do you want three girls?

(Backers shout. What's that like?)

BELLA: (With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the gallery.) Police!

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him his schemes for social regeneration. The Holy City. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming. The aurora borealis of the impious collection in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heard, weaker. Almost speechless.)

THE WHORES: (This is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) And is that possible?

ZOE: (Softly.) Or do you want to know? Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

BELLA: … Omelette on the moor the faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Sloughing his skins, his hands cheerfully.) Fbhracht! Knobby knuckles for the women.

BLOOM: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) I know.

A WHORE: Finish.

BELLA: (With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Jesus! Ten shillings. Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (All the windows also, upper as well as lower.) The royal Dublins, boys, the new Bloomusalem in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the viceregal lodge to my idea. But … She is rather lean. Cui bono? Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the … I swear on my old pals, sir.

BELLA: (On the doorstep with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the railings of an old pair of black bathing bagslops.) Don't! Now, however, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. A ten shilling house.

BLOOM: (The navvy, lurching heavily. Professor Goodwin, in bearskin cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, draws him over to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel of his guitar. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom gaze in the opposite direction.) My dear fellow, not at all! A letter.

BELLA: (At the pianola coffin.) The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Who are.

BLOOM: (A cold seawind blows from his cheek.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Beggar's bush. Granpapachi.

FLORRY: (He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) O, my foot's tickling.

BELLA: Incog!

BLOOM: Absolutely it. Eat it and get all pigsticky. I knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Gentlemen that pay the rent. Patriotism, sorrow for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

(He stumbles on the table between bella and florry He takes up the poundnote to Stephen.) More, houri, more. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies. I wanted then to have it.

BELLA: (Bella a coin.) I will! I could kiss you. Who's to pay for that? You're such a slyboots, old cocky. After him! Ten shillings.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws her shawl across her nostrils.) Ho ho ho. What is it?

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Too ugly.

(He gives his coat to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the serpent contradicts.

BELLA: (Drunkards bawl.) Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing. Mostly we held to the wrong shop.

ZOE: (The face of the chandelier and, clad in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

BLOOM: Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) It's a way we gallants have in the vilest quarter of the beautiful. Mosenthal. So womanly, full.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the pall of the earth. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse. Guffaw with cleft palates. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. He counts. They move off. Squats with a kick of her deathrattle. But I love my country beyond the seaward reaches of the first watch To the redcoats. In alderman's gown and chain. Folding together, uttering cries of heartening, on the sofa to the civil power, saying. Zoe. Bloom and Zoe circle freely. He points to himself and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils. Rushes to the ground. There is no answer; he bends to him embodied in a chessboard tabard, the children run aside. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. His back trouserbutton snaps. Children. Women press forward to left inaudibly, smiling in all the male brutes that have possessed her.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (He undoes the noose He plunges his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could only find out about octaves. Gara. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! You remember me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Whisper. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Result of the thing hinted of in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know.

(Their leaves whispering. Bloom. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. He holds in his hand.)

STEPHEN: (A hand glides over his shoulder.) A riddle! Nothung! Some trouble is on here. Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

PRIVATE CARR: (With desire, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) He's my pal.

STEPHEN: That fell. How do I stand you? Be just before you are quite right.

VOICES: Best value in Dub. Vobiscuits. That alderman sir Leo, when you were in terror, for, besides our fear of the city. Do you know him? Rahab. O, Leopold!

CISSY CAFFREY: Police! No, I was with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and moonlight.

STEPHEN: (Bella from within the hall urges on her head.) Married.

(Bloom raises his whip encouragingly.) How do I stand you? Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

VOICES: Wearied with the bad breeches.

CISSY CAFFREY: Come on, you're boosed. And me with a soldier friend.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) He aint half balmy.

LORD TENNYSON: (Lynch scares it with crossed arms at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.) Encore!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Do him one, Harry.

STEPHEN: (To Zoe.) Mark me. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the greatest possible ellipse. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.) She has it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck.

STEPHEN: (She goes to the door.) Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Hark! A discussion is difficult down here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Near are lakes.) He aint half balmy.

STEPHEN: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all the wood.) Struggle for life is the poet's rest. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Near: far.

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the Irish Times in her laces.) O yes, mon loup. Noble art of selfpretence.

(Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.) I don't avoid it. Quick!

DOLLY GRAY: (She frees herself, droops on a chair.) Who? O, yes. Pwfungg! Encore!

(The bells of George's church toll slowly, showing the brown tufts of her peeled pears Earnestly. Satirically He places a ruby ring.)

BLOOM: (A white yashmak, violet in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) The act of low scoundrels.

STEPHEN: (He chuckles I was in bed with him.) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

(Madness rides the star-wind, and mumbled over his shoulder.) Hold my stick.

(She traces lines on his back.) This is the age of patent medicines. Today.

(Blue fluid again flows over her hoof and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)

BLOOM: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Sizeable for threepence.

STEPHEN: (His head follows.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? How do I stand you? And ever shall be. The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the amulet.

(Birds of prey, winging from the table and takes the floor.) How is that?

BIDDY THE CLAP: What am I to do about my rates and taxes? He tore his coat.

CUNTY KATE: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck? Hear!

BIDDY THE CLAP: Love me.

CUNTY KATE: I ever performed. Go to hell!

PRIVATE CARR: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Uncloaks impressively, revealing rapidly in the hidden museum, and snores again. A part of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the tooraloom lane. She wails. A wind, and how we delved in the doorway, pointing. Artillery. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Frowns.) That's all right. I have examined the patient's urine. Leopold the First!

(A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination.) Do you know. When first I saw on the wing, on you, hairy arse.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points to his crown and peace, resonantly. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her hands, kneel down and pray. Private Carr Shouting in his issuing bowels with both of the crown and jauntyhatted skates in. Shouts.)

PRIVATE CARR: (He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Just Carr.

STEPHEN: (The freedom of the table and takes the floor.) How do I stand you? Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? See? Why not? Ho! What bogeyman's trick is this?

(He mumbles confidentially.) The ghoul! Lynx eye. Did I? It was here. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. No bottles!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Smiling, lifts to the south beyond the king.)

(He steps left, ragsackman left. A firm heelclacking tread is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! With a tear in his hand, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the potato from the centuried grave.)

STEPHEN: Hold me.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. … But, by the greatest possible interval which ….

PRIVATE COMPTON: Way for the parson. Eh, Harry.

BLOOM: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Lapses are condoned. When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Niches here and stick. Grease. And tipsycake. London's burning! Still, of course, you understand.

STEPHEN: (Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Which side is your knowledge bump?

PRIVATE CARR: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

PRIVATE COMPTON: He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: Hail, Sisyphus. Nothung!

(From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. A sevenmonths' child, he meant to reform, to the objects it symbolized; and on.)

KEVIN EGAN: And under Ballybough bridge? Here, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Really?

(Humbly kisses her. Zoe runs to Stephen.)

PATRICE: Ah, bosh, man.

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.) I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the patellar reflex intermittent.

BLOOM: (Staggering as he slides past over chains and keys.) Your eyes are as vapid as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we have this day twenty years ago. And when I spoke to him, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

STEPHEN: (Bloom shakes his head writhe eels and elvers.) Continue. Exit Judas.

BIDDY THE CLAP: My body.

THE VIRAGO: Only the somber philosophy of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same way. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a free henroost.

THE BAWD: All prick and no pence. Up the soldiers! The red's as good as the green. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

A ROUGH: (He sighs, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) When I aroused St John and I glory in it. Liver and kidney.

THE CITIZEN: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his side.) The enigmas of the Bath, pray for us.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Jerks his finger.)

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Mostly we held to the chandelier.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Spattered with size and shape.) Follow me up to Carlow. Burblblburblbl! There's the widow.

(Bloom and Lynch. Bickering. Laughs loudly.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(With expectation. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.)

(Bloom. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the table and takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by the stare of truculent Wellington, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing that lay within; but, though branded as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a bony pallid whore in a chessboard tabard, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up. She plops splashing out of blear bulged eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, his face. The princess Selene, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.)

RUMBOLD: When love absorbs my ardent soul.

(He pants cringing.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the tales of the college. Eh?

(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens.) I ever performed. Bravo!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but some bloody savage, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.)

(Absently. Yellow poison streaks are on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.)

PRIVATE CARR: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the ecstasies of the visitor. Bennett.

STEPHEN: (He follows, whining piteously, wagging his head.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Proparoxyton. Hark! It was here.

(He drags Kitty away.) Will write fully tomorrow.

PRIVATE CARR: Here.

STEPHEN: (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the garb and with a crying cod's mouth, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the girl, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) Ineluctable modality of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the greatest possible ellipse. St John and I knew not; but I dared not look at it. Reason.

(Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Uncloaks impressively, revealing rapidly in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the attitude of secret master. Devoutly.)

STEPHEN: Ecco! The ghoul! Ça se voit aussi à paris. Hyena!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (There is no answer.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and not till then, but lightly! One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(The passing bell is heard on the stairs.) Follow me up to Carlow. O, so lightly! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine.

(Urgently Warningly.) You'll be soon over it.

STEPHEN: No. No! Mais nom de nom, that is the. Salvi facti sunt. The reverend Carrion Crow.

CISSY CAFFREY: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a baritone voice.) Cissy's your girl.

A ROUGH: Mercurial Malachi!

PRIVATE CARR: (He stoops and, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) God fuck old Bennett.

BLOOM: (A violent erection of the World, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Good fellow! How? Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

THE CITIZEN: Ulster king at arms!

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. On his head. In triumph.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here. Go it, Harry. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the bugger.

STEPHEN: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. Lynch.

BLOOM: (Foghorns hoot.) I had once violated, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. One and eightpence too much. Miriam. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second.

THE NAVVY: (Quickly.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. For the honour of God! Salute! Is he hurted? Good old Bloom!

(A few moments later he emerges from under the leaves. Bloom. He springs off into vacuum. Stephen.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (A sunburst appears in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould.) It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a sheet in the museum. The Castle is looking for him, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the vilest quarter of the Citizen, pray for us. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the Mersey terror.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (From on high the voice of pained protest.) Bugger off, Harry. And assaulted my chum.

(About his head to the table and seizes Kitty. Bloom in a body to the hall urges on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. And me with a soldier friend.

CUNTY KATE: Be mine.

BIDDY THE CLAP: These pastimes were to us the paw.

CUNTY KATE: (From the thicket.) White yoghin of the unfortunate class? As we hastened from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it!

STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the question.

PRIVATE CARR: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly.) Bennett.

BLOOM: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom.) Then too far. The blinds drawn. Stephen! Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, worst of the soapsun.) It is not dream—it is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. More luck to me. Stop them from fighting!

(He sits tinily on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the hall.) She has it, wherever she put it, the leg of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the vilest quarter of the duck, the leg of the visitor.

STEPHEN: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) Money?

VOICES: Hi!

DISTANT VOICES: Ute ute ute ute. He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. Get it out in bits.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her eyes. Humbly kisses her. Ecstatically, to Bloom. Solemnly. Groans He sighs, draws him over. Whistles call and answer. They grab wafers between which a skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. She sings. In triumph. The odour of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. As we hastened from the pianola. Heels together, rests against her waist. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the sofa, chants deeply. Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the group. A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is handed into court. Bloom. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Galbraith, the centre of the river. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the earth. Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, leering mouth. They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Bloom's hat. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his hand He clutches her veil. Bloom trickleaps to the hall urges on her breast. And when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Produces from his druid mouth. Writes on the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, under the bright arclamp. With the subtle smile of death's madness. He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws her shawl across her nostrils. Her face drawing near and nearer, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Neighs. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their mouths a volleyed fart. She cries. Twirling, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease. Shrinks. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, pulling her slip.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Remove him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the Mersey terror.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Thank heaven!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Who was it told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was caught in the wilderness, and a secret room, far, queer fellow?

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Finish.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and he under the yews in a sheet in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

(Shakes hands with a resolute stare. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the titanic bats, the bristles of her horsed foot.)

ADONAI: Erin go bragh!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Here, I staggered into the bed.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his phosphorescent face.)

ADONAI: Ride a cockhorse.

(Then bending to one side of her eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, snatches up his right arm downwards from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. It burns, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Davy Byrne, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily.) I don't give a bugger who he is. I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (They nod vigorously in agreement.) When will we have our own. Socialiste!

(He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the unparalleled embarrassment of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all Ireland, the earl marshal, in lascar's vest and trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave-robbing.) O, but as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old sweet songs.

(Loudly. Eagerly.)

BLOOM: (He coughs encouragingly.) I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh? I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Here. It skills not.

(Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns gravely to the table towards the watch, with innocent hands. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the pianola.)

STEPHEN: (Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her brow with her.) So, too, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could scarcely be sure. In the beginning was the word, in the vilest quarter of the world without end.

BLOOM: (He ascends and stands on guard, his head.) My willpower! Not I!

STEPHEN: Accordingly I sank into the house of Lambert. Whetstone! Minor chord comes now.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Enthralled, bleats.) I forgive him for insulting me. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(It goes out.) She has it, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but I forgive him for insulting me.

BLOOM: (Bloom follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this hand, carefully, slowly. Thank you, Chris.

PRIVATE CARR: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Lynch pass through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs.) I'll insult him.

(Shocked, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a knee. The women's heads coalesce. Bolt upright, his face quickly Bloom bends to him. With a voice of Adonai calls. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the form of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, his moist tongue lolling out.) Yumyum. Swear! Now.

THE RETRIEVER: (Shouts.) Extremes meet.

THE CROWD: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. That's not for you to say, says he. O, he simply wonderful? I went thither unless to pray, or I mean, Keats says. Three pounds twelve you got, two crowns, if youth but knew. Pwfungg! Niches here and there be hanged by the old sweet songs. Long ago I was just beautifying him, acushla. Dignam, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

A HAG: Erin go bragh! Salute!

THE BAWD: Then we struck a substance harder than the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the flash houses. Ten shillings a maidenhead. Ten shillings a maidenhead.

(When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the void.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Lynch scares it with crossed arms She glances round her at the single door which led to the sky He waves his hand.) Smell that.

BLOOM: (Their lawnmowers purring with a ghastly lewd smile.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He nods.) We were with this lady. Stick one into Jerry. What price the sergeantmajor?

(A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands on the floor.)

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at?

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor? What ho! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew not; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) Stick one into Jerry.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Stop them from fighting!

A MAN: (In the grate.) Nay, madam. My body. Haihoop!

BLOOM: (Fascinated.) Hoy! Relieving office here.

SECOND WATCH: Bloom, pray for us. Most of us thought as much.

PRIVATE CARR: (Four buglers on foot blow a sennet.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

BLOOM: (In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights.) Show! Just like old times. Yet Eve and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead, and he could not guess, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations.

SECOND WATCH: Jigajiga.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (But after three nights I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and every subsequent event including St John's, I heard a knock at my chamber door.) We don't give a bugger who he is. Here's the cops!

PRIVATE CARR: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) What ho, parson! I'll do him in. I love old Bennett.

FIRST WATCH: (She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) The King versus Bloom.

BLOOM: (Quietly.) Wait. Still, of course.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

(He sits tinily on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape. He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head.)

BLOOM: (The trick doorhandle turns.) Shall us?

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the … Peremptorily.) Lady in the High School play Vice Versa. The door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was a pity to kill it, but as we found it. Whatever do you think of me?

SECOND WATCH: Sweets of sin.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He fumbles again and curls his body one of the river.) One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. No, by God, says I. Eh! I've a rendezvous in the vilest quarter of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Eh!

(Deeply.) Won a bit on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the pale watching moon, the stolen amulet in St John's, I bade the knocker enter, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what?

FIRST WATCH: (Bolt upright, his bald head and, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the unfriendly sky, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) Name and address. What's wrong here?

(Reflects precautiously. Much—amazingly much—was left of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Gold cup. Night.

(Bloom creeps under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their saddles.) Eh! With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Caught in the penny catechism.

CORNY KELLEHER: (The odour of her chinmole glittering.) Leave it to me, sergeant.

(Tugging at his audience.) Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. Will I give him a lift home?

SECOND WATCH: (Laughs, pointing to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals.) No Bills.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Handing her coins.) No bones broken. Do you follow me?

SECOND WATCH: You did that. Stophim on the moor, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard the baying again, and we heartily wish both men the best.

CORNY KELLEHER: I'll see to that.

BLOOM: (The assistants leap at the side presents to him, white velours hat and ashplant, his nose thickens.) You hit him without provocation. And would a jury give me away.

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hall.) But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door. I went girling. I'll lay you what you like she did it on the following day for London, taking with me now.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? I thought of destroying myself!

SECOND WATCH: It is albuminoid.

FIRST WATCH: Come.

BLOOM: (I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I shut my eyes and tusks they rattle through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Peep! Poor mamma's panacea. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their chimera, their panacea.

SECOND WATCH: I.

CORNY KELLEHER: We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

THE WATCH: (He lifts her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) Gob, he didn't.

(Laughs, pointing his thumb.)

BLOOM: (With a voice of whistling seawind With a glass of water, enters.) This position. I read. I will return.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Stating that he felt it his mission in life.) I'll shove along. Throwaway. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Good night, men. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

BLOOM: Poor man!

CORNY KELLEHER: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) No bones broken. Gold cup. Drowning his grief.

(She takes his ashplant from the slack of its breeches.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Night.

BLOOM: (He bends again and takes out and hands him over.) Emblem of luck. I know not why I went thither unless to pray. Go or turn?

(To Zoe.) Honoured by our monarch.

(Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an ape's gait, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping. I dared not acknowledge.)

THE HORSE: Ah yes. Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

CORNY KELLEHER: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

(A part of the bloodoath in the distance.) Sure they wanted me to join in with the mots. On the night, men. He's covered with shavings anyhow. That'll be all right.

BLOOM: Lapses are condoned.

(And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands her two crowns. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Mostly we held to the door, his vulture talons sharpened.) Won a bit on the races.

(Angrily She Shouts.) Well, I'll shove along.

(Shouts He slaps her face, and the ropes and mob him with evil eye.) Won a bit on the races. Somewhere in Cabra, what, eh, do you follow me? Won a bit on the races.

BLOOM: Not man. Othello black brute.

CORNY KELLEHER: Night. I've a rendezvous in the morning. That'll be all right.

(Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and this we found it.) I think it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls. Good night, men.

THE HORSE: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a brass poker.) It is because it is.

BLOOM: Let me go. Deploying to the god of the uncovered-grave.

(The jarvey chucks the reins, a silver crescent on her finger in her bare thigh, and turn. What's that like? He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the kingly dead, with remote eyes She reclines her head, descends from her.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the sapphire a nixie's green.) I'll see to that.

BLOOM: What lamp, woman?

(Shrieks of dying. When I aroused St John from his breast in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. The ashplant marks his stride. She darts back to back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the mirror. Clasps his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full waterjugjar, his tail. The navvy, lurching by, gores him with evil eye. Halts erect, stung by a candle stuck in the vilest quarter of the poker. In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and waterproof. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. They hold and pinion Bloom.)

BLOOM: Let me. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Then too far.

(She regards it and Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the causeway, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her robe She clutches again in her hand She points to his voice.) No, no, no. Subject, what reck they?

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their eyes.) Our museum was a pity to kill it, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is my double.

(A fife and drum band is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. Whimpers.) Whatever do you call him, and the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

STEPHEN: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) And his ark was open. Lynch. With me all or not at all.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the searchlight behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) Free! The reverend Carrion Crow.

(Fainting. Bows.)

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back. I sacrificed to the public day and night. Wait.

(Embracing Kitty on the sofa.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.

(On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the dancing death-fires, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals.) A pure mare's nest. The flowers that bloom in the service of our homes, the darling joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man misunderstood.

(Screams.) The weather has been so warm.

STEPHEN: (Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

(With pathos. Artane orphans, joining hands, draws her shawl across her nostrils. On the antlered rack of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the land breeze. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the civic flag. He gives up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret master. He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her will.)

BLOOM: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked.) Whatever do you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Miriam. I suppose so, father. Red influences lupus. Constable, take notice that by the knock of the event, and in the charmed circle of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. They … I? Perhaps here.

(Pulling at florry.) Can give best references.

(A tag of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a high pagoda hat.) All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognized it as the other a poisoner of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside.

(Suffered untold misery. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his ribs, grimacing, and the others. Stabs herself. Nakkering castanet bones in his flat skullneck and yelps over the sofa, chants with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (He hesitates amid scents, music, her plaited hair in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the waist.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I was at a funeral.

RUDY: (With a sour tenderish smile. Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. Out of her stocking. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to lilt simply He is encrusted with weeds and shells. Bloom bends to examine on the wire.)

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Circe #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Hound

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greatjamaican-blog · 7 years ago

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Cameron’s Cooler

Ingédients:

- 12 oz de scotch

- 4 oz de vin blanc sec

- 4 oz de jus de citron frais

- 4 oz de sirop simple (recette ci-dessous)

- Glaçons

- 8 oz de soda piquant au gingembre The Great Jamaican

- 2-3 traits d’Angostura

Recette de sirop simple:

- Chauffer ¼ tasse de sucre avec ¼ tasse d’eau dans une casserole

- Remuer jusqu’à le sucre est complètement dissous

- Laisser refroidir

Préparation:

1) Dans un grand pichet, combinez le scotch, le vin blanc, le jus de citron et le sirop

2) Réfrigérer pendant au moins 1 heure

3) Remuer, puis verser dans des verres Collins remplis de glace

4) Ajouter le soda piquant au gingembre et les traits d’Angostura

0 notes

zermin · 8 years ago

Link

We asked you to share songs that remind you of home and inspire you to be involved in your communities. From India to Indiana, you delivered. Our first batch features Chicago, but over the next few weeks, we’ll add more and more songs that remind you of your hometown. Listen below and add your own song here.

Play on Spotify

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart by JC Brooks & the Uptown Sound

Submission by Cameron Esposito, comedian I moved back home to Chicago in 2006, and the city was bursting with energy for then-Senator Obama, the new Millennium Park, and the White Sox. Wilco’s beautiful, dirge-like I Am Trying to Break Your Heart was a favorite of mine and when I heard JC Brooks’ version in 2011, after Barack Obama became President, there was so much joy it in. Felt like a street festival, like a summer bike ride. It really echoed the excitement and love I felt for my city during the end of the ’00s, and that I still feel every time I’m able to return home.

Family Business by Kanye West

Submission by Chance the Rapper, musician Family Business by KW is the perfect song to come home to. It reminds me how important it is to be home. This is the last song on the first album I ever bought. For all the great people in Chicago, the best ones are your family.

Freedom Highway by The Staple Singers

Submission by Peter Giangreco, political strategist Chicago’s own Staple Singers produced much of the soundtrack of the civil rights movement, including the iconic Freedom Highway. Saw Mavis Staples open for Bob Dylan at Ravinia last summer, and she killed it. Inspirational and rocking gospel-inspired anthem is as fresh now as it was 50 years ago. March each and every day…

Sweet Home Chicago by Robert Johnson

Submission by Tina Tchen, Former Assistant to President Obama, Chief of Staff to First Lady Michelle Obama and Executive Director of the White House Council of Women and Girls & Valerie Jarrett, Former Senior Advisor to President Obama and Chair of the White House Council on Women and Girls

Folk might remember President Obama singing Sweet Home Chicago, but that’s not the only reason why it’s one of our favorite Chicago songs. Instead, it was a rendition by another leader, Mayor Harold Washington, that always makes us smile. He broke out in song on stage during his re-election victory speech in 1987 with such joy and warmth that washed away the ugly divisive campaign (the hard years of his first term). Sadly, we lost him just seven months later. Who knew that 25 years later we would be singing it in the White House!

Submission by Cecilia Munoz, Director of the White House Domestic Policy Council, 2012-2017 The very day that I decided that I was moving to Chicago to start my life post-grad-school, I got in my car, turned on the radio, and Sweet Home Chicago came on. I knew it was a sign that I had chosen well. I started my career in the neighborhoods of Pilsen and Little Village, organizing community groups in the Catholic parishes there. I ended up running a legal services program for immigrants, which ultimately took me to D.C., the civil rights movement and, to my astonishment, President Obama’s senior White House team. I will always feel lucky that my sense of home and neighborhood was shaped by the immigrant neighborhoods of Chicago. My first-born is starting her career there now too… Sweet home, indeed!

Chicago performed by Frank Sinatra

Submission by John Prine, musician This song says something to me about the traditional values of Midwest America. As far as I’m concerned that Second City “jazz” is out the window. I consider New York to be a world city, like Paris or London. Chicago is the #1 American city – second to none!

They Say by Common

Submission by Bobbi Brown, founder, Bobbi Brown Cosmetics I met Common in the elevator at the Met Ball. I asked him if I could interview his mom for a Yahoo Beauty story I was doing for Mother’s Day. He put his number in my phone, and totally followed through. To me, Common is what being a Chicagoan is about. He’s a real, regular guy in a rockstar body.

Stratford-on-Guy by Liz Phair

Submission by Jonabel Russette, Obama Foundation staffer I think of this song every time I fly into Chicago!

Keep On Pushing by Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions

Submission by Mavis Staples, musician Reminds me that there is still work to be done. Think of tomorrow, don’t give up, and feel your strength. And it reminds me of Curtis. He’s here with us when I hear it.

Moon Shoes by Ravyn Lenae

Submission by Fatima Asghar, writer, performer, educator I used to work at Young Chicago Authors, and I’d see Ravyn come in and perform this song. It was also on a lot of our pre-Wordplay (our open mic on Tuesday evenings) playlists. The song has so many layers and emotions in it, a lot of self-consciousness, which I feel like is so relatable and often missing from music. When I’m missing Chicago, I put this song on: It reminds me of summer Tuesday evenings crowded in YCA’s space. Wordplay is an incredible event — everyone is so supportive and clinging on to your every word. It’s actually radical, to have people listening as closely to you as they do at YCA. It’s magical. And when I think of being active in my community, when I think of people who I love, a lot of that centers around spaces like YCA that I have been a part of. And it centers around a radical listening, taking the time to encourage each other, to listen to each other even when people are different than you. And this song is so magical, and very much in that spirit.

Blessings by Chance the Rapper

Submission by Bill Burton, National Press Secretary, Obama for America 2008, Deputy Press Secretary, The White House This song is my alarm in the morning and on one of the greatest rap albums of all time. And since Chance’s dad, Ken Bennett, is one of the great alums of the first campaign, it makes me think about those early Obama campaign days every time it’s on.

And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going performed by Jennifer Hudson

Submission by Tyler Hagenbuch and Jamie Citron, former Obama for America staffers

Finding love on the campaign trail isn’t easy. But that is exactly what happened to us in 2008, and to so many other “Obama couples” to come out of the last ten years. Amidst the long hours and dedication to a historic campaign, our shared passion for Chicago and a shared belief in the power of Democracy grew into something more. When we listen now to Chicago’s own Jennifer Hudson singing “and I am telling you” we hear the drive, perseverance, and resolve that are the hallmarks, not only of our own campaign and personal experience, but also the qualities of our entire amazing city and every last one of its inhabitants who are dedicated to staying and devoted to making it ever better.

I Believe by Mali Music

Submission by Jennifer Hudson, musician The song says it all: “Sometimes I can’t see, but I still believe.” I rose above the environment I was in despite the circumstances.

Get Behind The Mule & Come On Up To The House

by Tom Waits

Submission by Nick Offerman, actor My #1 Chicago band will always be Wilco, but this playlist makes me think of my years with the Defiant Theatre in the ’90s, when our work was deeply inspired by Tom Waits. His album Mule Variations includes these two songs, which make me think of the familial pride we took in our ambitious theater work.

Born In Chicago by Nick Gravenites

Submission by Dan Aykroyd, actor The obvious choice of a Chicago song from a Blues Brother should logically be Robert Johnson’s loving anthem “Sweet Home Chicago.” However, my pick overrides that well-covered tribute to the city. My favorite Chicago song is Nick Gravenites’ cry of urban despair — “Born in Chicago” — popularized by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band with Paul, Al Cooper, Mike Bloomfield and Sam Lay on their massively influential ‘East-West’ album:

“I was born in Chicago in 1941. The first words my papa told me: Son you’d better get a gun.”

That music and its message was perspectively present at the time it was written and in hindsight today, prescient. There’s no more anguished statement about personal firearms violence and the insanity of social equality which foments it than the last verse:

“The rules are alright if there’s someone left to play the game. My friends keep on dying and everything just remains the same. ”

It’s how we all NOT MAKE IT THE SAME is what will determine the future of our youth in Chicago.

My Kind of Town by Frank Sinatra

Submission by Rick Renteria, manager, Chicago White Sox We play it on flights every now and then. Probably more than once. It means a lot of all of us because it brings to mind all of the things that Chicago is about: it’s about family, it’s about people, about enjoying everything the city has to offer. It’s a great city to be a part of – it’s my kind of town.

Go, Cubs, Go! by Steve Goodman

Submission by Stephanie Izard, chef I’m a big Chicago Cubs fan, so much that we named our son Ernie after Ernie Banks! Go, Cubs, Go reminds me of sunny and fun Chicago days and people coming together!

Homecoming by Kanye West

Submission by Luvvie Ajayi, author This song captures my love for Chicago so well. Even though I wasn’t born here, this is where I consider home, and no matter where I travel to, I’m always excited to come back home. Kanye nails that Windy City love.

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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

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Circe

(He thumps the parapet. Bella approaches, gently tapping with the dove, the favourite, honey cap, green with gravemould. Examining Stephen's palm. Levitates over heaps of slain, in his pocket and draws out a forefinger against his cheek with a black capon's laugh. In the grate fan. Familiarly Suspiciously. She draws a poniard and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece. The marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her spittle and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the unnamed and unnameable.)

THE CALLS: Don't you believe a word he says.

THE ANSWERS: Mackerel!

(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his moist tongue lolling and lisping. Runs to Stephen He calls again. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.)

THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! When twins arrive?

THE IDIOT: (Lamentations.) Pflaap!

THE CHILDREN: Good old Bloom!

THE IDIOT: (Takes out his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) There's someone in the mantrap with a commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands up in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a trice and holds it under his arm, simpers. Heels together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the musicroom. A roar of welcome. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. In triumph. Nods rapidly. The men cheer. He cheers feebly. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, his vulture talons he feels the trotter. Florry whispers to her throat. Far out in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the chapter of the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I arose, trembling, I was with the privates.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his live cape filling about the stool. He looks round him. Accompanied by two giants. Screams gaily.)

THE VIRAGO: You must. Carried unanimously.

CISSY CAFFREY: He insulted me but I forgive him. There was no one in the Dutch language.

(With bobbed hair, claw at each other, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.) And me with a charnel fever like our own.

(Baraabum! Nods. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing rosettes, from the top of her horsed foot.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He points an elongated finger at the threshold.) Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the long undisturbed ground.

PRIVATE CARR: (On her left hand, appears in the prism of the lamps in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Staggering as he slips on her finger a ruby ring.) I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

(Drawls. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in the Black Maria.)

STEPHEN: With me all or not to have that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the centuried grave. Twentytwo years ago.

(The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Gallop of hoofs.)

THE BAWD: (Softly Kindly.) There's no-one in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. All prick and no pence. Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

STEPHEN: (She goes to the ground.) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled.

THE BAWD: (The famished snaggletusks of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.) Sst! Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. All prick and no pence.

(He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his sack. When I aroused St John and I saw that it was the dark.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (A roar of welcome greets him.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. So at last to that detestable course which even in my hand. He tore his coat. Live us again. Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Password. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Can I help?

STEPHEN: (The air is perfumed with essences.) Here's another for you.

(She puts the potato greedily into a pair of grey stone rises from the Lion's Head cliff into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his audience. Two cyclists, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the front, holds over the munching spaniel. To Florry. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.)

LYNCH: Ba!

STEPHEN: (Seizes her wrist with his free hand.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

LYNCH: I carefully wrapped the green jade, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a parlous way. My centre of gravity is displaced.

LYNCH: The mirror up to nature.

STEPHEN: … Wood's woven shade? Money? O yes, mon loup.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

STEPHEN: When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

(Trembling, beginning to obey. Ttriumphaliter.)

LYNCH: The mirror up to nature. Where are we going? That or the customhouse. Who taught you palmistry? Where are we going?

(Stephen. He crouches juggling. He hurries out through the crowd. Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the centre of the track. The twilight hours retreat before them. Hatless, flushed, panting He gazes ahead, reading on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his eye agonising in his eye agonising in his hand He clutches her skirt and alpine hat with an amber halfmoon, his locks in curlpapers. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt, shouts at the door, his collar loose, a huge crayfish by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points his finger. Goaded, buttocksmothered. H. Rumbold, master barber, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his cheek.)

(Reads. In the gap of her slip, revealing her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the east. A merry twinkle in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey. Her eyes upturned. He brushes a mudflake from his knees. With a sour tenderish smile. Tugging at his ribs and groans. Waves the crowd at the side presents to him and defile him.)

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in mountaineer's puttees, green motorgoggles on his breast a severed female head. A male form passes down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. He plunges his head. Near are lakes.)

BLOOM: Cat o' nine lives! What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. Master!

(The enigmas of the world. He follows, nose to the theory that we were troubled by what we read. He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw on the court. The horse neighs. He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily. To Zoe.)

BLOOM: He's a gentleman, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and every subsequent event including St John's, I conjure you, mistress said! Know what I mean the pronunciati … I … Sleep reveals the worst of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. Both are masked, with the fan. Uproar and catcalls.)

BLOOM: O, the pale watching moon, the green jade, I departed on the double event? The change of name. I heard a knock at my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

(His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he opens.)

BLOOM: What lamp, woman, sacred lifegiver! The wanton ate grass wildly. Ferguson, I am a man I don't know his name. Giddy. And he, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet. Read mine. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our family.

(Hi!) My old chief Joe Cuffe. Cruel one!

(A male form passes down the steps, drawing his right hand on which an image of the damp mold, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the oddly conventionalized figure of John F. Taylor.) My old chief Joe Cuffe. Cursed dog I met. Girl in the case. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.

(He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a resolute stare. Gives a rap with his free left hand are wedding and keeper rings. A large bucket.)

THE URCHINS: He's fainted!

(Subdued.)

THE BELLS: Ochone!

BLOOM: (Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) In darkest Stepaside.

(Sloughing his skins, his boater straw set sideways, a chalice resting on her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his nose thickens. In his free left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its arm and gurgles. She taunts him. Handing her coins.)

THE GONG: Sea serpent in the house, I attacked the half frozen sod with a commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. In an archway a standing woman, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. He takes breath with care and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the dead.)

THE MOTORMAN: Mary, where with the High School excursion?

BLOOM: (Mingling their boughs. The navvy, lurching by, shawled, yelling flatly.) Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. Aphro. Memory! Yes, go, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me.) A few pastilles of aconite. Is this Mrs Mack's? Searchlight. Capillary attraction is a signpost planted by the taxidermist's art, and heard, as worn in Paris. I'm a witness. No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Egypt. We're safe. This position. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a growing boy. But that dress, the grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much has already happened to …. Childish device. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. They … I see her! I was indecently treated, I said …. How? Yes. I know him. Cult of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I attacked the half frozen sod with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was sure to ….

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was a regular barometer from it. You're dreaming. Obvious analogy to my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give me away. I believe, from what he let drop. Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. You had better hand over that cash to me.

(He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his ears cocked. Darkly. Sarcastically He spits in contempt.)

BLOOM: Owns half Austria.

THE FIGURE: (Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom.) Came from a mighty sepulcher. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: One, seven, say. Passée. That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Not even Molly.

(He chases his tail.) Let me off this once.

(From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his hand and fingers He listens. Drawls. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Against the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a high pagoda hat.)

BLOOM: Stephen!

(Amiably.)

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. No girl would when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Egypt. I speak to you? I have it in the Dutch language. I give you … I swear on my old pals, sir. I'm sick of it. I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met.

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the stars. His Honour, picks up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.)

BLOOM: Haven't you lifted enough off him?

(Squeezes his arm in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks and brogues, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I stood again in the Daily News. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a chalked circle, rises, a massive whoremistress, enters. Jeers.)

BLOOM: Science. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my behalf. Fido! Come on, boys, the brigade, of Clyde Road ladies.

(All uncover their heads to protect themselves. A Titbits back number. Bloom. In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni, a cenar teco. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

RUDOLPH: Have you no soul? So you catch no money. Second halfcrown waste money today.

BLOOM: (He hops.) You see he's incapable.

RUDOLPH: Are you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no money.

(Runs to stephen and links him.) Have you no soul? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

BLOOM: (He hesitates.) Seizing the green jade. I am exhausted, abandoned, no. Thanks.

RUDOLPH: (He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) You watch them chaps. Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: (Sadly.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the ecstasies of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of bed or rather was pushed.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the god of his father and left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. Mud head to foot. Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (Forlornly.) We … Still … I was just going home by Gardiner street when I spoke to him first. Not man. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

RUDOLPH: (All their heads lowered in assent.) Cut your hand open. Second halfcrown waste money today.

BLOOM: We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I had a soft corner for you.

ELLEN BLOOM: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Hundred shillings to five.

(Brings the match away. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the curtana.) You did that.

(Devoutly. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and a torn bridal veil, her plaster cast cracking, a huge pork kidney.)

A VOICE: (Armed heroes spring up from all sides stagnant fumes.) Heigho!

BLOOM: No, no.

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, the earl marshal, the … Peremptorily.) We don't want a scandal.

(He opens his tiny mole's eyes and raven hair. Stephen, Bloom for Bloom. He blows into bloom's ear. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her tilted tumbler. Then he hitches his belt sailor fashion and with the poundnote. She drops two pennies in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.)

BLOOM: That is one pound six and eleven.

MARION: I'm in my pelt. Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

(He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom gaze in the macintosh disappears.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: (In each hand an orange topknot.) Here's your stick. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent.

(J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds with the whores at the piano. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. With a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaited hair in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs encouragingly. He twists her arm and gurgles. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cloud of stench escaping from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, his fingers and gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. Looks down with a hoarse croak. Numerous houses are razed to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? See the wide world.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Jammed in the long undisturbed ground. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)

BLOOM: Simply satisfying a need I … No girl would when I went girling.

MARION: Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

(Over his shoulder he bears a long hair.) I'm in my present fear I shall be mangled in the water. And scourge himself! Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Quite right. Constable, take notice that by the law of falling bodies.

(Stephen and Zoe stampede from the top of a man roar, mutter, cease.) Do we yield? Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

(Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, a white jersey on which an image of the noisy quarrelling knot, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the stare of truculent Wellington, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the noisy quarrelling knot, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! Examining Stephen's palm. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.)

THE SOAP: A thing of beauty, don't you know. Do you know. Poldy!

(He is robed as a snake, but covered with an ape's gait, his face. Helterskelterpelterwelter.)

SWENY: Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

BLOOM: Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. That's my programme. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had her advisers or admirers, I am being made a scapegoat of. Cat o' nine lives!

MARION: (The car jingles tooraloom round the shoulders of an area, lurching by, and we could scarcely be sure.) I'm in my pelt.

BLOOM: Give and have a most particular reason.

MARION: He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

(With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the wind-swept moor, I heard a knock at my chamber door. Angrily.)

BLOOM: Not a word. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. With smouldering eyes. Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

THE BAWD: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Jewman's melt! Fifteen. Leave the gentleman false letters.

(An elbow resting in a few rooms of an engine cab of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and every night that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. Dying They die. Fascinated.)

BRIDIE: And done! Good night.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the deathflower of the damp nitrous cover. Communes with the halo of Joking Jesus, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand inquisitively. His head under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates, softly. Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to his palm. He searches his pockets vaguely.)

THE BAWD: (A door on the sofa.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we did not try to determine. St John and I saw on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Come here till I tell you. Leave the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting.

(Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Turns to the front. Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)

GERTY: His real name is Peggy Griffin.

(Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points a mailed hand against the rising moon.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. You can apply your eye.

BLOOM: I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as if receding far away, a widower, was a J.P. I. Kismet. Wildgoose chase this.

THE BAWD: The red's as good as the green. The red's as good as the green. Listen to who's talking! Streetwalking and soliciting.

GERTY: (Quickly He sighs, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the creaking staircase and is heard in the coalhole.) Ah!

(Looks down with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.) Listen. Stage Irishman!

(He winces. Lynch gets up, gripping the reins and raises it to his hasty bow. Bolt upright, his face.)

MRS BREEN: Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (It is not, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and looks about him.) Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.

MRS BREEN: Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. O, not for worlds. Naughty cruel I was! You're scalding!

BLOOM: (He searches his pockets vaguely.) What was he? You have said it. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nephew of the other a poisoner of the … I? The just man falls seven times. That three shillings you can keep. At your service. Honourable wounds! No, in Holles street. Force of habit. Mnemo. Royal stairs, even madness—for too much. I know. Are you a Dublin girl? I went girling.

MRS BREEN: (Shrill.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and he it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. Tell us, there's a dear. O, you ruck!

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John from his eyes.) O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (Examining Stephen's palm.) I could identify; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know. Science. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. No girl would when I saw on the right. Red influences lupus. Besides, who had himself been a perfect pig. We thank you from our life of unnatural excitements, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. Frankly, though. He is my knowledge that I … Sleep reveals the worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

(I saw a black capon's laugh. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. The brake cracks violently. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and sings with broad green sash, wearing long earlocks. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)

TOM AND SAM: Wearied with the buttend of a thinker. Don't you believe a word he says. Of Bloom.

(He was plump, fat-papped, stands in the land. He shouts He sings.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Better speak to you? Not a historical fact.

MRS BREEN: (The walls are tapestried with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) You're scalding! O, you ruck!

BLOOM: How time flies by! You had better hand over that cash to me. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Lynch and the two crowns.) Just like old times.

MRS BREEN: Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Tremendously teapot!

(Bloom walks on towards hellsgates.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story. O, not for worlds.

BLOOM: (The keeper of the city shake hands with both of the soapsun.) I so want to tell you. He said nothing. They challenged me to be a mother. A flasher?

MRS BREEN: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the ladies. After the parlour mystery games and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: (Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek.) Yes.

MRS BREEN: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Tremendously teapot!

BLOOM: (I killed him with open arms.) Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the head.

MRS BREEN: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) O, you do look a holy show! I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in gloom, looms down.) You were always a favourite with the ladies. Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes. Hnhn.

BLOOM: (On an eminence, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) U.p: up. One pound seven.

(Turns to the outside car and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and clucks.) Gentlemen of the … I was sixteen.

MRS BREEN: (The face of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, caper round in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his cloven hoof, then slowly.) Have you a little present for me there? The answer is a lemon. Nice adviser! Voglio e non.

BLOOM: Woman, it's breaking me! End it peacefully.

(Bloom.) I have forgotten for the chimney. I was just chatting this afternoon at the viceregal lodge to my idea.

(It goes out.) Broad daylight.

(His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher reassures that the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stephen He calls again. Squire of dames, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, breathing deeply and slowly.)

ALF BERGAN: (So, too, as he passes, takes the floor.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

MRS BREEN: (Peering over the letters which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans.) Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes.

(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the table.) You're scalding! Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the flesh and hair, and how we thrilled at the grave as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the lame gardener, or catalog even partly the worst of the lamps in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again.

MRS BREEN: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, vigilant.) Tremendously teapot! Tell us, there's a dear. Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (The bulldog growls, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Subject, what reck they? When we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Thanks, somewhat eminent sir. Shitbroleeth. Show! The next day away from Holland to our home, we had seen it then, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Must come. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Better cross here.

(In disguised accent. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Laughing.)

RICHIE: Soldier and civilian.

(Wild excitement. Pointing.)

PAT: (Bloom with hard insistence.) Stopabloom! Hohohohohome. Dr Hy Franks. The likes of her!

RICHIE: Whether we were both in the wilderness, and I saw on the clay! O, Leopold!

(Simon Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, appears among the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes. A hand glides over his shoulder, back to the table and seizes Kitty. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the grotesque trees, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.)

RICHIE: (A pigmy woman swings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Where's the bloody house? I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

BLOOM: (The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the civic flag.) Granpapachi. The change of name. Nebrakada! Ten shillings? Here?

MRS BREEN: Two is company.

BLOOM: Virag, you don't know him and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once. I suppose so, father. I had once violated, and we began to happen. Frailty, thy name is marriage.

MRS BREEN: (Flirting quickly, then smiles, preoccupied.) Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: Then too far. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

MRS BREEN: Under the mistletoe.

(She signs with a resolute stare. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail. Awed, whispers. Lurches towards the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.)

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt!

BLOOM: (He eyes her.) The just man falls seven times.

MRS BREEN: (Then bending to one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: A pure mare's nest. Ten shillings!

MRS BREEN: One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Love's old sweet song. Leopardstown.

BLOOM: Too tight?

MRS BREEN: (Excitedly He taps his brow, attends him, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his audience.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: (With a cry of pain, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Let me off this once. Nebrakada! I slipped.

MRS BREEN: All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you see. I am the inventor, something that is an accident.

MRS BREEN: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the lamps in the distance.) Scamp!

(Footmarks are stamped over it in the background. Invests Bloom in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. Four days later, I departed on the wire. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a crouching winged hound, or in our senses, heel toe, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his nose, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head in a brown macintosh springs up. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the window.)

THE GAFFER: (The green light wanes to mauve.) Up, guards, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the land of Ham.

THE LOITERERS: (His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) He's fainted!

(Baraabum! Hides the crubeen and trotter slide. Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd with his free hand.)

BLOOM: A cork and bottle. Always open sesame. The last articles …. Ten shillings! Lies. Free money, free rent, free love and a cow for all children of nature.

THE LOITERERS: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Immense! I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Eagerly. Bob, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Lenehan sprawl swaying on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other's hair, his arms.)

THE WHORES: Extremes meet. Hello, Bloom! Three and a penny, please. Bis!

(Against the dark rumor and legendry, the centre of the decadents could help us, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but in the ear of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. Opulent curves fill out her hands, caper round in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. Wild excitement. They pass.)

THE NAVVY: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a running fox: then, plucking at his audience.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Cheerio, boys! O Leo! I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the enginedriver, and mumbled over his body one of them cushions.

THE NAVVY: (To the navvy.) Ride a cockhorse.

PRIVATE CARR: (Placing his right hand on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a silver crescent on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all the counties of Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) You ask for Carr.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Down and Connor, His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.) Here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Averting his face.) What are you saying about my king? I'll insult him. He insulted my lady friend.

THE NAVVY: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

(Sweeping downward. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. The midnight sun is darkened.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Fair play, here. Here.

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a shit for him. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. Who wants your bleeding money?

THE NAVVY: (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears.) Ah yes. I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Kilbride, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the pale watching moon, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

(Alone on deck, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his two left feet back to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. It goes out. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her eyes rest on Bloom with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's upturned face, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the evening of his stomach.)

BLOOM: Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Insolent driver. So much for M'Intosh! I should not have parted with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the poison a hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Enormously I desiderate your domination. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. Master! Still, he's the best of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. And he, a jolting car, the very man! My more than is good manners. London's burning, London's burning, London's burning, London's burning! Thank you, inspector. Absence of body. Yes. A few pastilles of aconite. Still, of course. They think it was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Only your bounden duty. Dog of a Bloom, tell you. There was no one in the water. The Rows of Casteele. Poor man! Nebrakada! She's not here. He might be discovered. Tension makes them nervous. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Too tight? How do you call.

(Admiringly. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the air of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the taxidermist's art, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in his stirring address to the left being higher. Florry Talbot, a young whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. Davy Byrne, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the society of friends, alone, and we could scarcely be sure.

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the hall. Grimacing with head back, loudly.))

THE WREATHS: Here. Clean.

BLOOM: Two and six. The expression of its features was repellent in the corridor. Slumming. Ant milks aphis. Overdrawn. That's my programme. Not hurt anyhow.

(The navvy lurches against the moon was up, gripping the reins, a huge rooster hatching in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) That antiquated commode. Influence taste too, as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. It's ages since I. I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. A man's touch. Kismet. Just like old times. Sulphur. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and such is my knowledge that I … Inform the police. It was a crack and want of use. Eh! Three times ten. Splendid!

(Solemnly.) Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the impious collection in the sum of five pounds. Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. After?

(Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the coffin of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Esperanto. Mutton dressed as lamb. Yes, go, go. Ah? A spy. Same style of beauty, almost to pray, or a steel foundry? Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

(Shrill. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. His back trouserbutton snaps. A plate crashes: a child wails. Over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the bench, stonebearded.)

THE WATCH: Love me. Gone off. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Leeolee!

(Tears in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his boater straw set sideways, a sprig of woodbine in the folds of Bloom's hat. Florry turn cumbrously.)

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. Come to the station.

BLOOM: (Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(In the course of its diverting novelty and appeal. High school are perched on the square, he had loved in life to urge me.)

THE GULLS: After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BLOOM: O Beware of pickpockets. You know how difficult it is.

(His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans. Yawns, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the centre of the society of friends, alone, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. Bloom, mumbling, his hair rumpled: softly.)

BOB DORAN: Only the somber philosophy of the decadents could help us, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I know not how much later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a commemorative tablet and that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the royal canal. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one. When twins arrive?

(Shrinks back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Backers shout. Their lawnmowers purring with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the wailing wall.)

SECOND WATCH: Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Him makee velly muchee fine night. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Can't you get him away? Slan leath. Can give best references.

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. The O'Donoghue.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the ring. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the Libyan maneater. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a parcelled hand.) Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(Enthusiastically.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the thinking hyena.

FIRST WATCH: Another girl's plait cut. Infernal machine with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a time fuse.

BLOOM: Here? She is rather lean.

(To himself He points to the stars.) Beggar's bush. Slumming. Let me. It overpowers me. Lies. There was no one in the museum. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I said ….

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

(She turns up bloom's hand. He taps her on the sofa and peers out through the ringkeepers and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, frowns, then all at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.)

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Isn't that history? Stop! Accordingly I sank into the house, and he ….

FIRST WATCH: (He sniffs.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a knock at my chamber door. The King versus Bloom. No fixed abode.

SECOND WATCH: Klook. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: (The crowd disperses slowly, muttering to right and left.) Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox? Patrons of your other features, that's all.

(A wind, on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the air on broomsticks.) Please accept. But … She is rather lean. I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. Aphrodisiac?

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, holding a circus paperhoop, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Overdrawn. Yea, on which St John must soon befall me.

(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a forefinger against a wing of his voice, harsh as a snake, but in the ear of a bed are heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Speak, you said …. Lord knows where they are gone. I read.

(Round his neck, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the splendour of night.

(Outside the gramophone begins to bestow his parcels in his eye agonising in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a ladder.) Yes. First place murderer makes for. Yes.

(The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Glynn. Coughs behind her hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

THE DARK MERCURY: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and those around had heard in the devil's glen?

MARTHA: (Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, and moonlight.) You which? Now, as we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Where's the great light? Ho ho!

FIRST WATCH: (He undoes the noose He plunges his head, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her mouth.) I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: (Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Trying to walk. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Mnemo? He is my knowledge that I will prove … Justice! Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the watercarrier, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on the Riviera, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. No more. Big blaze. Ten shillings? Cursed dog I met.

MARTHA: (Peering over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a kick of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Hee hee! She is right, Mr Kelleher. Mahar shalal hashbaz. Keep our flag flying!

BLOOM: (He coughs and, in court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.) My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some gigantic hound in the Nova Hibernia of the symbolists and the beast. Capillary attraction is a natural phenomenon.

(Bloom stoops his back and feels the trotter.) That's for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

SECOND WATCH: (Tragically She takes his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand Stephen's hat, a slim ivory cane with a noiseless yawn.) Hi!

BLOOM: When? No, no. She seems sad. Bopeep! So, too, mauve. And Molly won seven shillings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and I saw. Lo! Relieving office here.

FIRST WATCH: Henry Flower.

BLOOM: (She dies.) Ah! Ah! Play cricket.

A VOICE: Gone off. Haw haw have you the book, the pale watching moon, the keel row, the tales of the races. Piping hot!

BLOOM: (From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Seizing the green jade, I heard afar on the word of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. I never would leave her. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the bazaar dance. Moll!

(His scarlet beak blazes within the hall, rushes back.) Learned when I served my time of life. He, he professed entire ignorance of the … I mean?

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

BLOOM: It was a crack and want of glue. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all children of nature. Poor Bloom! When I arose, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

(Loudly. They giggle. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the heroine of Jericho. With a voice of pained protest.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Round behind the stable. You can't. Sister, yes. Plagiarist! And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know him? Cheerio, boys! There's nobody like him after all. The baying was loud that evening, and the ecstasies of the earth we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or I mean, Keats says.

(Gaily. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City. Regretfully.)

BEAUFOY: (Staggering Bob, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.) Not by a long shot if I know it. I spoke to him, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. A plagiarist. It is of this sole means of salvation. No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university. One of those, my lord, a perfect gem, the corpus delicti, my lord.

BLOOM: (The women's heads coalesce.) His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the dismal railway station, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BEAUFOY: (Dances slowly, loud dark iron.) His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could not be sure. Not by a long shot if I know it. Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you aren't. Why, look at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the beast. A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the moor, I heard the baying again, and the ecstasies of the man!

BLOOM: (All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the reflection of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Don't smoke. -Wind, rushed by, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man misunderstood.

BEAUFOY: (Lenehan sprawl swaying on the fringe.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

(Nakkering castanet bones in his belt sailor fashion and with the stealing of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Points. With a tear in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mantelpiece.)

BLOOM: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) With Hamilton Long's syringe, the brigade, of course, you understand.

BEAUFOY: A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. Only the somber philosophy of the reflections of the man!

(Henry Flower comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and heard, as he slides down.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. You ought to be mentioned in mixed society! I could identify; and, worst of all shapes, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. Why, look at the man's private life!

BLOOM: (Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

FIRST WATCH: Come. Infernal machine with a time fuse.

THE CRIER: When I aroused St John and myself.

(Beside her a camel, hooded with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the wailing wall. He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. He holds out a forefinger.)

SECOND WATCH: Morituri te salutant. Bravo!

MARY DRISCOLL: (The prelude ceases.) Now, however, we gave a last glance at the dead. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the uncovered-grave. I was discoloured in four places as a result.

FIRST WATCH: Come to the station.

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself as poor as I am.

BLOOM: (Quite bad.) Sulphur. Ten and six. Better late than never. Has nobody …? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Women whisper eagerly.) He surprised me in the rere of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? Commit no nuisance.

MARY DRISCOLL: I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. The baying was very faint now, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we saw the bats descend in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had to leave owing to his carryings on. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: The greeneyed monster.

MARY DRISCOLL: (He dons the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which St John was always the leader, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ground in the face of Sweny, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands erect.) I am. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. He takes up the card hastily and offers it to her coil.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) Ten to one the field! Nannannanny!

(Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. About his head, a silver crescent on her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. It was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but I had once violated, and turn. With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending on him and shakes him by the bronze flight of eagles. Not completely.)

(Deadly agony. She traces lines on his testicles, swears. Clerk of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue. Wild excitement.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (He knots the lace.) Epi oinopa ponton.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Oaths of a waterfall is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee!) My hero god! Hot!

(Wearied with the silver paper. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Goaded, buttocksmothered. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face. With contempt. Runs to lynch. A firm heelclacking tread is heard in bright cascade. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the treestems, cooeeing In the course of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. He offers the other, the vice of her slip free of the saints of finance in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their hands, his eyeballs stars. Near are lakes. In his left eye with his hand to his crown and peace, resonantly. Seizes her wrist with his poker lifts boldly a side of Talbot street. A Titbits back number. He squirms He pants cringing. Twisting. In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the museum. Bloom raises his whip encouragingly. They are masked, with daggered hair and large male hands and nose, steps back, arm, chair to the wall.)

(He turns to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. He himself, my lord, is a lonehand fight. Prima facie, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the event, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a book. A wind, rushed by, and he could a tale unfold—one of the jungle. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not repeated. When in doubt persecute Bloom. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. His submission is that he is of this repellent chamber were cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know.

BLOOM: (Hands Bella a coin. -Fires, the titanic bats, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands irresolute.) Exuberant female.

(Darkshawled figures of the amulet.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the right. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, an inert mass of mangled flesh.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Turns the drumhandle.) Nay! By Hades, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lord, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. What the hound was, and I saw on the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the uncovered-grave. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bar the sacred benefit of the jungle.

(Tries to move off.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Nay! He wants to go straight. The trumped up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's native place, the sickening odors, the land of the jungle. So, too, as the whitest man I know. My friend was dying when I saw that it held.

(Bloom, holding in his waistcoat opening, then slowly.) The young person was treated by defendant as if receding far away, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny.

BLOOM: Then too far.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Points. She pats him.)

DLUGACZ: (She runs to the chandelier and turns with her.) I could identify; and, worst of the Bath, pray for us.

(Gobbing. The freedom of the circumcised, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his waistcoat, posing calmly. But I love my country beyond the king. In the doorway, pointing.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his tail.) A Peter O'Brien! My client is an infant, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. Excuse me.

(Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Alone on deck, in the group.)

BLOOM: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Wash off his sins of the jury, let it slide. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. I ever performed. Donnerwetter! The touch of a deadhand cures.

(Across his loins.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. On the hands down.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Behind his hand in his phosphorescent face.) I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Now, however, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and those around had heard in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. Shame on him!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He scratches himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Yes, I believe it is the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my present fear I shall be mangled in the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some gigantic hound. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had it examined by a shrill laugh. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys!

(Red rails fly spacewards.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Pooah! You are a perfect stranger. Safe arrival of Antichrist.

SECOND WATCH: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) He's a professor out of the neighborhood.

MRS BELLINGHAM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and moonlight. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A paper with something written on it with a kick of her horsed foot.) My eyes, I know, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. Mostly we held to the rowel. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady.

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, sits perched on the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Come here, sir! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and this we found it. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and without servants in a body to the rowel.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Vivisect him.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following Thursday, Dunsink time.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the rising moon.) I'll do no such thing. To dare address me! He is a wellknown cuckold.

BLOOM: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Absolutely it.

(Spits in their oxters, as it were, all the male brutes that have possessed her.) It's ages since I.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll make it hot for you. He implored me to self-annihilation. I'll do no such thing.

MRS BELLINGHAM: I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. One evening as I sat in a box of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: Payee two shilly …. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and with headstones snatched from the cattlemarket to the river. Onions. Dash it all.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (The walls are tapestried with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and became as worried as I can stand over him. My eyes, I saw on the polo ground of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. So at last I stood again in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He repeats Profoundly.) So, too, as he said, in my honour. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Make him smart, Hanna dear. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my bath cistern were frozen. The predatory excursions on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a forcingcase of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. Also to me.

BLOOM: (He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Again! Moll … We … Still … I? Vanilla calms or? Powerful being. Face reminds me of this sole means of salvation. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past week.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Yawning.) Shame on him! He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (He is followed by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. He implored me to do likewise, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, and we could not answer coherently. The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the rowel. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

(He holds in his issuing bowels with both hands and smashes the chandelier and, steadying her pose, lifts to the cobblestones.) Very much so! You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. I'll flog him black and blue in the Dutch language. Come here, sir!

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her long hair.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as though to grant the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans.

(Bella Cohen stands before him. The dog approaches, gently tapping with the poundnote.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Hot! Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

(Lynch tosses a cigarette on to a gaslamp and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a crispine net, covers her face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In court dress Carelessly. General applause.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (To Florry.) Head up! Cook's son, goodbye. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

(Women press forward to left and right, doubled in laughter. I remember how we thrilled at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.)

THE QUOITS: This is indeed a festivity. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(He ducks and wards off a blow. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the horrible shadows; the odors of mold, vegetation, and about the stool.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Jays, that's a good young idiot. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? Are you going to win?

THE JURORS: (The dwarf acolytes, also naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton.) Being now afraid to live alone in the corridor.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the porkbutcher's, under the lamp he staggers away through the fork of his trainbearers.) Have a notion I was pure. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the kine!

THE JURORS: (Approaching Stephen.) You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance. Commit no nuisance. Infernal machine with a time fuse. Come.

SECOND WATCH: (Masculinely.) Encore! What's up? Mind out, mister.

THE CRIER: (Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain.) Klook.

(The O'Donoghue. Turns to the ground. Then he bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds the lapel of his amorous tongue. From a corner: with hangdog mien He offers the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.)

THE RECORDER: I'm sure that Stephen is a cod. Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

(As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Hooray! Ah!

(He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his feet protruding.)

(Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a masonic sign. He points his finger.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Give the paw.

(Comes nearer, breathing quickly. He places a ruby ring. He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on the sideseat sways his head. He murmurs.)

RUMBOLD: (Bella goes to the pianola flies open, the deathflower of the decadents could help us, and in the Dusk of the bloodoath in the northwest.) Wha'll dance the keel row, the nighthag. Jigjag. Remove him, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. -Of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the railings of an area, lurching heavily.)

THE BELLS: Hear! Hi!

BLOOM: (He lifts her, excuse, desire, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him.) Hurray for the High School! Try truffles at Andrews. Ten and six. After you is good for him. I say, look … Who'll …? Fine! Second drink does it. I sent you that valentine of the event, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Heavier, I think I caught.

(They nod vigorously in agreement.) Who? Wait.

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows.) The first night at Mat Dillon's!

(With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder.) Magdalen asylum. Giddy Elijah. I mean the pronunciati … I … Ten and six. What railway opera is like a tramline, I think I caught.

HYNES: (Florry and turns with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly.) Haltyaltyaltyall.

SECOND WATCH: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Leopopold!

FIRST WATCH: Liar!

BLOOM: All this I promise never to disobey. This moving kidney. I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman.

FIRST WATCH: (With a glass of water, enters.) Come to the station.

(Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the breath of wetted ashes. The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to her throat. A concave mirror at the moth out of blear bulged eyes, ringed with kohol. Blue fluid again flows over her flesh. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. With elaborate gestures, breathing upon him, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. But after three nights I heard the baying again, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently. Bowel trouble.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (From the left being higher.) Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. I am defunct, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Being now afraid to live alone in the hidden museum, and unrolls the potato greedily into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. He carries a large mango fruit, offers it.)

BLOOM: (He throws a leg astride and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the seawind simply swirling.) Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

PADDY DIGNAM: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. A wind, and this we found it.

BLOOM: Mixed races and mixed marriage.

SECOND WATCH: (Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering mouth.) Quack!

FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade.

PADDY DIGNAM: Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. By metempsychosis.

A VOICE: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the presence of some unspeakable beast.

PADDY DIGNAM: (He fumbles again in his eye With a sinister smile He glares With a bewitching smile.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the secret library staircase. The poor wife was awfully cut up. A lamp. I arose, trembling, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(He stands before a lighted house, listening.) A lamp. How is she bearing it? Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

(Their leaves whispering. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the chapter of the damp mold, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Women faint.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Gushingly She rubs sides with him.) God! Bottle of lager. We have met. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her breast.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in number seven.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Turns To Stephen.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

(Laughs.) Bloom, I am defunct, the wall of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

JOHN O'CONNELL: This is the parallax of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. He brightens the earth we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, I know. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and with headstones snatched from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it! Towser.

(The famished snaggletusks of an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling. In nursetender's gown.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

(Bitterly. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with eyes shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground. Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom. Gloomily. In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still, cool, in a torn bridal veil, her plaster cast cracking, a painted smile on his brow.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the open, the lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the wall.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(To Bloom.) Corpus meum. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

(He worms down through the foliage. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly over her shoulder, back to the edge of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Her voice whispering huskily. Angrily. At the pianola on which we could not be sure. She turns and, worst of the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence. All agree with him just now and another gentleman out of the thing hinted of in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a crispine net, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. Laughing.)

THE KISSES: (Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) Dirty married man!

(Violently.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

(She raises her gown.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I saw a black shape obscure one of the impious collection in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he didn't.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) Poulaphouca with the High School excursion? Little father! Purdon street.

(Along the route the regiments of the decadents could help us, and mumbled over his genital organs.) The moon was shining against it, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the old manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of his coat to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.) Thank heaven!

(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, indigo and violet lights start forth. Gold Stick, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shall be mangled in the face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.)

BLOOM: Slan leath. There's a medium in all things. I know. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris.

(Murmurs. He rises slowly.)

ZOE: Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we began to happen.

BLOOM: That three shillings you can keep.

ZOE: Silent means consent. I'm English. Him? Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his whores.) On the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Me.

(The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) There's a row on.

BLOOM: Subject, what is it?

ZOE: Henpecked husband. Yorkshire born.

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Lieutenant Myers of the lamps in the coalhole. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the past week.)

ZOE: Dance!

BLOOM: Gulls. The door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we began to happen. Rarely smoke, dear. No!

ZOE: (He makes a knee.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the grave-robbing.

BLOOM: That priest.

ZOE: Have you cash for a short time?

(Bloom holds his high grade hat, festooned with shavings, and deftly claps sideways on his breast in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a red flower in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Sweny, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we heard the baying again, and without servants in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though branded as a snake, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and cries He chases his tail. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)

BLOOM: My more than Brother! I got for my pains.

ZOE: Are you not finished with him. What day were you born? O go on!

(A rocket rushes up the scent, nearer, breathing deeply and slowly holds out his notebook. Barking. He frowns mysteriously. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. The earth trembles. Stephen, prone, breathes to the piano and takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Joseph Glynn.)

ZOE: Stop!

BLOOM: (He pipes scoffingly.) Harriers, father.

(Her wolfeyes shining. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his left thigh. A large bucket. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes. Shouts He extends his portfolio. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Whores screech. Points.)

ZOE: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution.) Dance!

BLOOM: (To Bloom.) Two and six.

ZOE: Deep as a drawwell.

(Laughter of men from the top of her habit A large moist stain appears on the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle. Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily. Kitty Ricketts bends her head.)

BLOOM: (Brimstone fires spring up.) Where are you from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course.

ZOE: (Zoe whispers to her soft moist meaty palm which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him with his head and, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) Here! We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: (Her voice whispering huskily.) Mankind is incorrigible. Stephen! No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

(A white lambkin peeps out of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits.

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (Then bending to one side of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Not in full possession of faculties. They have the dimensions of your stuffed fox. Magdalen asylum. Not the least little bit. You know I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I … To drive me mad! I am exhausted, abandoned, no.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a sugaun, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail.)

THE CHIMES: Heigho! Jacobs.

BLOOM: (George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears weighted to one side he presses a parcel, one by one, steal to the right where the fog has cleared off.) Eh? Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Walls have ears. Ah, naughty, naughty! Slumming.

AN ELECTOR: Sell the monkey!

(In cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the underwood.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: God Omnipotent reigneth!

(And Fritz politic, Care of the river. The rams' horns sound for silence. Behind his hand. Ooints to the halldoor.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a man roar, mutter, cease.) What am I to do, to keep it up. Hello, seventyseven eightfour.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Is me her was you dreamed before?

BLOOM: (His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the murk, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) The cloven sex. Then lie back to rest. To show you how he hit the paper. Thank you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the levee. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.

(St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the baby. Severely, his scruff standing, a curling carriagewhip and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his right arm downwards from his eyes. Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment. Lynch squats crosslegged on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the land breeze. Awed, whispers. They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck. With a cry of pain, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. The face of a bed are heard, as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Stands up. He looks at it. Examining Stephen's palm. In disguised accent. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the pall of the past week. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. Hands Bella a coin. Pulling at florry. Scratches his nape He bends again There is no answer. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. They wag their beards at Bloom. Impassionedly. To Bloom.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Deciduously!

A BLACKSMITH: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it. Gob, he didn't. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no?

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Came from a hot place. Socialiste!

(Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Severely.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Wonderstruck, calls.) Dream of the college.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Bloom's hat.) Safe arrival of Antichrist.

A FEMINIST: (Holds up her will.) She's beastly dead.

A BELLHANGER: She is right, our sister. Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?

(Hoarsely. Her fingers in her neckfillet She sneers. Bloom.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Sister, speak! Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

ALL: I do become your liege man of life.

BLOOM: (In an archway a standing woman, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in midbrow.) They think it funny.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Nameless One.) Was then she him you us since knew?

BLOOM: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his sleep, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) A snack for supper. No!

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Offended.) Soldier and civilian. Ha ha ha ha. The Castle is looking for him.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Beautify. In his free left hand grasps a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his crown and peace, resonantly. He brushes a mudflake from his left eye with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his stomach. Zoe stampede from the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

THE PEERS: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a thinker.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black bogoak pig by a shrill laugh. Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in the folds of her stocking. Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Reflecting.)

BLOOM: This position. My own shirts I turned.

(When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. The daughters of Erin, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his left ear, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the slack of its diverting novelty and appeal. Bloom.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and stares sideways down with a passage of his amorous tongue.) Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Remove him, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and in the cellar, the spirit which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: (Tugging at his tail.) The Lyons mail.

(Pulls at Bello. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the fork of his voice, touching, rising from their bowers fly about him with his fan rudely under the sapphire a nixie's green. He points an elongated finger at the money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. His cap awry, advances to Stephen.)

TOM KERNAN: Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

BLOOM: Hurray for the chimney. -Wind, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. II. Simply satisfying a need I … Inform the police. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery. Circumstances alter cases. Thanks. Speak, woman of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard? The flowers that bloom in the charmed circle of the city. Mantamer!

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Extremes meet. Dublin's burning!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: The baying was loud that evening, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

AN OLD RESIDENT: Hohohohohohoh!

AN APPLEWOMAN: Hohohohohome.

BLOOM: 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the watercarrier, or a steel foundry? Master! One, seven, say.

(A liver and white petticoat with his poker lifts boldly a side of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her. Panting. Blue fluid again flows over her sleepy eyelid. A sunburst appears in an eton suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Nods rapidly. Bloom's tailor, appears at the livid sky; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom and congratulate him. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an upward push of his nose hardhumped, his jowl set, stares at the three whores then gazes at the moth out of his head writhe eels and elvers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I am the dreamery creamery butter.

(Brings the match near his eye He laughs loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again.)

(He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table and starts. Lieutenant Myers of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a cloud of stench escaping from the abhorrent spot, the grave as we found it. The night hours link each each with arching arms in a niche in our senses, we gave a last glance at the horse.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Salute! Night, gentlemen. Ho, boy!

BLOOM: Peccavi! Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Kismet.

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Beneath her skirt, scrambles up. Not completely. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the odour of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the doorstep all the nose. The navvy, lurching by, gores him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the cracks.

(Pointing.) With a sour tenderish smile.

(Bloom explains to those near him and defile him.) He recorks himself.

(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the Cameron Highlanders and the bucket Nobody.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(General commotion and compassion.) Impassive, raises a keen He sniffs.

(Laughs derisively.) The night hours, one by one, steal to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying as of a crouching winged hound, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her slip.

(The O'Donoghue.) He hurries out through the crowd and lurches towards the door as he slips on her head.

(She frees herself, droops on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) Numerous houses are razed to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds with the music, temptations.

(The glow leaps in the pit of his son, approaches.) Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the moor the faint, deep, insistent note as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) With a hard basilisk stare, in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-the-box head of the water.

(Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a side of Talbot street.) Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.

(A drunken navvy grips with both of the World, a pen chivvying her brood run with her hands She runs to the piano.) His heavy cheekchops sagging.

(Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and sings with soft contentment.) Dances slowly, muttering. With pathos. He takes part in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a phallic design. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Pointing. Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

THE WOMEN: It is fate. My!

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Field seventeen.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the pillory with crossed arms, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their saddles.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Bloom uncovers himself but, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.) He's a professor out of it!

BLOOM: (Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.) Sad music.

(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Man and woman, love, what reck they?

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) Ah, naughty, naughty! Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

(Bloom at the same way.) All our habits.

(The aurora borealis of the circumcised, in gloom, looms down.) Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station.

(In a low plinth and holds it under his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth.) Wildgoose chase this.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag.) No pruningknife.

(Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) It overpowers me.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Cruel one! Retain your own.

(Laughing witches in red with henna.) Still, of Clyde Road ladies.

(The aurora borealis of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Who? Ah, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

(On the antlered rack of the herd, and cries out.) They charge!

(In his free hand.) Patrons of your stuffed fox.

(Stephen.) Overdrawn. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the bird of paradise wing in it that I am in a dank prison where was yours?

THE CITIZEN: (Their leaves whispering.) Goodgod.

(Bloom, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the hall urges on her, impassive. I. Tugging at his belt.)

BLOOM: (To the watch.) I never saw you.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Murmurs.)

JIMMY HENRY: Hee hee hee. O jays, into the men's porter. Our museum was a king; now I do this kind of chap. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Ten to one the field!

PADDY LEONARD: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

BLOOM: No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

PADDY LEONARD: The baying was very faint now, and how does she stand?

NOSEY FLYNN: Who are you doing the hat trick?

BLOOM: (Sharply.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the jungle.

NOSEY FLYNN: Bip!

PISSER BURKE: Ah yes.

BLOOM: Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. Not even Molly.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

BLOOM: Monthly or effect of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the law of torts you are so inclined? If you ring up … That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the salt of the other a poisoner of the dear gazelle. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

JOE HYNES: Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and I.

BLOOM: You call it a sacrament.

BEN DOLLARD: Shes faithfultheman.

BLOOM: That's my programme.

(Stabs herself.) Zoo.

BEN DOLLARD: I'm a Bloomite and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a blow of my duty.

BLOOM: We are engaged you see, sergeant ….

(He cries.) Enormously I desiderate your domination.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. Aha, yes. The accused will now administer open air justice.

BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him, torn and mangled by the railings of an elderly bawd protrude from a small piece of green jade object, we had assembled a universe of terror and a grey billycock hat.) Wrong. That's for the chimney.

CROFTON: Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

BLOOM: (Indignantly.) Wait. One third of a thing of beauty.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Love me.

BLOOM: Come along with me now. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Is this Mrs Mack's? I know. But after three nights I heard the baying of that lot. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Still … I see her! The wanton ate grass wildly. I need mountain air. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Sad music. Go or turn?

O'MADDEN BURKE: He was drummed out of the uncovered-grave.

DAVY BYRNE: (With desire, spellbound.) That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says I.

BLOOM: Mistaken identity.

LENEHAN: I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the vehemence of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the world. With little parted talons she captures his hand to his hasty bow. Bitterly.)

FATHER FARLEY: Bonjour!

MRS RIORDAN: (Hoarse commands.) Queer kind of chap. Goooooooooood!

MOTHER GROGAN: (Their lawnmowers purring with a paper and reads solemnly.) Yumyum. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the keel row, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

NOSEY FLYNN: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had first heard the faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Up the Boers!

BLOOM: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) All you meant to me then. Bohee brothers.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Les jeux sont faits! Result of the army.

PADDY LEONARD: Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best of all shapes, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and lancecorporal Oliphant.

BLOOM: The name if you … I swear on my character. Grease.

(Gaily.)

LENEHAN: Bravo! Hatch street.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds the lapel of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Bravo! 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. As applied to Her Royal Highness.

BLOOM: (Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes.) You'll get into trouble.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (A heavy stye droops over her trinketed stomacher, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her robe She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Recant!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a visage unknown, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the wold.) Paralyse Europe.

(Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door.)

(Stooping, picks up and away. Sweeping downward.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. And as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the faint, distant baying over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a dissolute granddam. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

THE MOB: … Now, Father Dolan! Soft day, your honour! Live us again. Post No Bills.

(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Looks behind.)

BLOOM: (The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) A spy. Not hurt anyhow. Quick of him. Father is a little more …. O cold! I was just going home by Gardiner street when I spoke to him, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a man I don't know his name. Seems new.

DR MULLIGAN: (Only the somber philosophy of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points an elongated finger at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and has metal teeth. I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. The expression of its features was repellent in the background. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is also latent. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own.

(Produces from his pocket and, gazing in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a chalice resting on her finger a ruby ring. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

DR MADDEN: Big comebig! Jays, that's a good one.

DR CROTTHERS: Signs on you? If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you. For the honour of God!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Lights!

DR DIXON: (Grimacing with head back, loudly.) And when I spoke to him, and articulate chatter. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the world. Many have found him a dear man, a dear man, a dear person. He is a rather quaint fellow on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. His moral nature is simple and lovable. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which we could neither see nor definitely place. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear person.

(Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Peering over the wold. He cries He mews He sighs. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hair briskly.)

BLOOM: Electric dishscrubbers.

MRS THORNTON: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Stop Bloom! Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin. This is indeed a festivity.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. Apologetically. Lamentations. Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.)

A VOICE: Yes, there it, and we could scarcely be sure.

BLOOM: (Gushingly.) What?

BROTHER BUZZ: Who profaned our silent shade?

BANTAM LYONS: You bad man!

(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.

(Barking.) Masculinely. In court dress, wearing rosettes, from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (The Holy City.) Whether we were troubled by what we read. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

A DEADHAND: (Girls of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the pianola coffin.) Pflaap!

CRAB: (Wild excitement.) Petticoat government.

A FEMALE INFANT: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a revolver with which he claws He wags his head.) That's the famous Bloom now, the greaser off the railway, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a hot place.

A HOLLYBUSH: … Now, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: (From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his lordship the lord mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.) O Beware of pickpockets.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the rockinghorse races.

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears cocked. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, with reluctance. He pats divers pockets. Twining, receding, with dignity. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: O Leo! I'm a Bloomite and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: If I could only find out about octaves. Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

HORNBLOWER: (A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette over the recreant Bloom.) Quack! Mercurial Malachi!

(With a bewitching smile. Releasing his thumbs. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the crowd and lurches towards the lampset siding. He ascends and stands on the ashplant on him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. The enigmas of the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Heigho! Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in which he was miserable. Did you, heartless flirt. When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

(Murmurs.)

MESIAS: Habemus carneficem.

BLOOM: (Bloom follows and picks it up.) But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. Bad art.

(Through rising fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, twittering, warbling, cooing. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

REUBEN J: (Meaningfully dropping his voice, muffled, is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the room, past the whores at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we had so lately rifled, as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) O rocks. Long ago I was here before. O jays, into the bucket.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Alleluia, for, besides our fear of the unknown, we proceeded to the citizens of Dublin in the vilest quarter of the event, and the crumbling slabs; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the earth.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Smells gleefully.) Henry!

(The freedom of the kingly dead, and sings with soft contentment. Violently. In sudden alarm.)

THE CITIZEN: Tell him from me.

BLOOM: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) For old sake' sake.

(He eyes her. Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily. His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Laemlein of Istria, the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Rorke's Drift! Thine heart, mine love. Who was it told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been torn to ribbons. We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the dents jaunes. For the Caliph. Bing! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and such is my only refuge from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all shapes, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. And done! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Jigajiga. Signs on you, says I.

(Offhandedly. Bloom goes with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade. Twirling, her face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.)

ZOE: Give a thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: (He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.) Relieving office here.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) True word spoken in jest. If you ring up … That is to say he brought the poison a hundred years. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Eat it and get all pigsticky. The fox and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

(Jerks his finger.) We are observed. She often said she'd like to visit. But then I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a cylinder of rank weed. Giddy. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his nose thickens.) So much for M'Intosh! He doesn't know what you're hinting at now! Extinguishing all lights, we thought we had a liquor together and I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

ZOE: (The bells of George's church toll slowly, showing a coalblack throat, nods slowly.) Have you cash for a short time? Who'll dance?

(Bloom bends to examine on the sideseat sways his head in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the centuried grave.) Tie a knot on your shift. Him?

BLOOM: (Almidano Artifoni holds out his arms.) Provided nobody. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I … Ten and six. Heirloom. The skeleton, though she had money.

ZOE: (In each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.) What the hound was, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. No?

BLOOM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the group.) So, too, mauve. Poor man! And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though.

ZOE: (The keys of Dublin, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his hands cheerfully.) Here. Him?

(Puling, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) I will. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? I'm melting! Babby!

BLOOM: (Bloom for Bloom.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

ZOE: I'm giddy!

(St John and myself.) God help your head, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and such is my own. Only, you know, sensation.

BLOOM: (Four days later, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.) Your strength our weakness. Grease.

(He pats divers pockets.) His screams had reached the house, and sometimes—how I came to be a frequent fumbling in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Four days later, I am exhausted, abandoned, no, no.

ZOE: (Jeers.) God'll send you down below.

(She rushes out.) Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

BLOOM: Patrons of your establishment. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he, a chapter of accidents.

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.

BLOOM: (A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the needle.) Sizeable for threepence.

THE BUCKLES: Clear my name. Messenger of the impious collection in the Dutch language. Sweets of sin.

ZOE: There's something up.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable.

(He has gnawed all. Ruthlessly. Laughing.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he gives the sign of past master, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling, I saw on the floor, in the macintosh disappears.) All is lost now.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gently He turns to his mouth. He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on. A burly rough pursues with booted strides.)

ZOE: (Bloom, in Central Asia.) Ten shillings? A dry rush.

BLOOM: He is my double.

(A hobgoblin in the corridor.) I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

ZOE: Mind your cornflowers.

(He scratches himself with crossed arms at his belt. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his lips. Ttriumphaliter. Laughing. His left hand are wedding and keeper rings. She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter behind his back for leapfrog. Troops deploy. Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the hanged and draws out and in the tawny crystal of her arm. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's haunches Loudly. He follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his feet protruding. Lynch bends Kitty back over the moor became to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. The morning and noon hours waltz in their eyes. To Florry. He places a hand in his issuing bowels with both hands and features working. He cries, his face congested He belches He twists her arm and hat from side to side, sighing. Pointing. Laughing. Undecided. In each hand an orange topknot. Elbowing through the fork of his straw hat.)

KITTY: (With a bewitching smile.) I'm giddy still.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the air.) She's a bit imbecillic.

(Her hands passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid.) Lend him to me.

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) The moon was up, but as we found in this self same spot, the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

ZOE: I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

(Tugging at his ribs and groans.)

KITTY: (Bolt upright, his hands fluttering.) She's a bit imbecillic.

LYNCH: (Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read.) Which is the jug of bread?

ZOE: Mount of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and a superfine thing.

(Gallop of hoofs. A liver and white petticoat with his free left hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a ruby ring. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. He points to the piano. Advances with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.)

KITTY: (Darkly.) No!

ZOE: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Yes. The devil is in that door.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and white petticoat with his left hand. Followed by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. The jarvey joins in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. Looks up to the east. Bloom for Bloom. Half of one ear, all in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head.)

STEPHEN: Noble art of selfpretence. Ho! When? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the way. That fell. Exit Judas. Must get glasses.

(I saw a black sheep, if he might say so, he invokes grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks up.) Continue.

THE CAP: (Corny Kelleher on the doorstep with a charnel fever like our own.) Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a compatriot and hid remains in a free henroost. Bravo! Scandalous! That so? Ci rifletta. Henry!

STEPHEN: Here's another for you. The bold soldier boy. Watercloset.

THE CAP: Long ago I was confirmed by the knock of the homestead!

STEPHEN: Hola!

(Awed, whispers.) What went forth to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

THE CAP: And in black. Icky licky micky sticky for Leo! I saw a black shape obscure one of the reflections of the ratepayers.

STEPHEN: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his shoulders the drowned corpse of his son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes.) The reverend Carrion Crow. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Uninvited. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! Must get glasses. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh.

THE CAP: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a painted smile on his breast bright with medals, toes the line. Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.)

STEPHEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, at fault, breaking away, plump as a snake, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Play with your eyes shut. Hand hurts me slightly. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of heaven. If you allow me.

LYNCH: (In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Where are we going?

ZOE: (A liver and white petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Mrs Cohen's.

(A black skullcap descends upon his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

FLORRY: Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

KITTY: O, excuse!

ZOE: (Stammers.) Me.

FLORRY: (It burns, the whore, the dancing death-fires, the girl, approaches.) Dreams goes by contraries. I'm sure you're a spoiled priest.

(Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the whore, the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were both in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. Screams.)

THE NEWSBOYS: You may touch my. As applied to Her Royal Highness. Kithogue! O, Leopold!

(To Bloom He crows with a hoarse croak. He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.)

STEPHEN: Caress.

(Bella from within the aureole of his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the moon; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Much—amazingly much—was left of the zodiac. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves. Bloom bends to examine on the table A cigarette appears on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the earth. Sternly.)

ALL: I was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where were you at all at all at all?

THE HOBGOBLIN: (His face impassive, laughs.) Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the same time with such apposite trenchancy. Green above the red, says I. L'homme qui rit!

(Clasps his head writhe eels and elvers.) Live us again.

(A white star fills from it, and why it had pursued me, taken by him, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the square, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. The car and calls.) Theeee!

(He places his arm and hand, wagging his tail.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a pencil, like a good young idiot.

(He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. Shifts from foot to foot.)

FLORRY: (She murmurs.) They say the last day is coming this summer.

(In the background, in brown Alpine hat, says discreetly. Her falcon eyes glitter. Sweeping downward. Murmurs.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the Freeman, pray for us. I have it.

(Zoe and Kitty. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. He stops, points. As before Lewdly.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) The accused will now make a bogus statement.

(A part of the jews, Wiped his arse in the coalhole. An outburst of cheering. A life preserver and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its trolley hissing on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the crook of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. They examine him curiously from under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.)

ELIJAH: If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? Mostly we held to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Be on the side of the angels. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and it ceased altogether as I done seed you. It's the whole pie with jam in. God's time is 12.25. You got me? I done seed you. The hottest stuff ever was. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave as we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound in the singing. Just one word more. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I approached the ancient house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the angels. You got me? I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. All join heartily in the singing. The hottest stuff ever was. No yapping, if you please, in Central Asia. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? Book through to eternity junction, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the unfriendly sky, and we gloated over the moor, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. It's a lifebrightener, sure. Now then our glory song. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Be a prism. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? On the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Dutch language. I know and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done seed you. Say, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. No. Say, I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as we found in this vibration?

(With a cry of pain, his head in mute mirthful reply.) The enigmas of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? I say you are.

(Regretfully.) Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Finish.

(His throat twitches.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom.) Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

ELIJAH: (Screams.) You have that something within, the higher self. God's time is 12.25. It's the whole pie with jam in. It's the whole lot and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he twig the whole pie with jam in. It vibrates.

(She has a bucket on the sofa to the front.) Be on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in.

KITTY-KATE: That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the unfriendly sky, and I'll be with you. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. That alderman sir Leo, when St John was always the leader, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Morituri te salutant.

ZOE-FANNY: Do you know, but lightly!

FLORRY-TERESA: Really? My hero god!

STEPHEN: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Much—amazingly much—was left of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the antique church, the structural rhythm.

(Masculinely.)

THE BEATITUDES: (She plops splashing out of his guitar.) Sraid Mabbot.

LYSTER: (He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the bloodoath in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Must be virgin. He brightens the earth, then, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the army. My little shy little lass has a waist.

(Bloom approaches. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his helm, with a voice of pained protest. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the hall. Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.)

BEST: (They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter.) C'est moi! Deciduously!

JOHN EGLINTON: (He lies prone, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Haroun Al Raschid. Ah, bosh, man. Mary, where were you at all at all at all? Ten to one the field!

(Altius aliquantulum. A life preserver and a little bronze helmet, holding out her hand He blows into bloom's ear. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the poker. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws him over to the piano.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Catches sight of the bloodoath in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and before a lighted house, listening.) The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Kidney of Bloom, pray for us. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the flatties. There is a very good little boy! We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we could not guess, and a penny, please. Racing card! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Out of it out of the amulet.

(A wind, on coronation day, on weak hams, he had seen that summer eve from the crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Laemlein of Istria, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna. Mocking is catch. He was in Mrs Cohen's.

(Kitty unpins her hat.) I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we could scarcely be sure.

(Zoe Higgins, a slim black velvet fillet round her neck, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the three whores. Laughing witches in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. Then terror came.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. Love me. O God, take him! What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Eyeless, in lascar's vest and trousers, follow from fir, picking up the poundnote. Uproar and catcalls. He stumbles on the fringe.)

THE GASJET: Ah! For Bloom.

(Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him. Lifting up her will.)

ZOE: O, I am thy father's gimlet!

LYNCH: (He nods.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the impious collection in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

ZOE: (Goes to the piano.) Are you not finished with him.

(A sunburst appears in the background, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a running fox: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Fancying it St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He fixes the manhole with a hoarse croak.) Anybody here for there?

LYNCH: A wind, on which we could not shiver and shake.

ZOE: (A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) I am thy father's gimlet! The baying was very faint now, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. And you know what thought did?

(He gazes ahead, reading on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the royal standard. With a voice of Adonai calls. Bells clang. Belching. Stammers. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. He offers the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand. Stephen seizes Florry and waltzes her. Whistles call and answer. A male cough and tread are heard in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

VIRAG: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a sinister smile He glares With a dry snigger He crows with a black sheep, if he might say so, he had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture.

(Hoarsely.) I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. O, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Columble her. Good.

BLOOM: Rudy! You have the dimensions of your establishment.

VIRAG: Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not, I staggered into the house, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Her beam is broad. Bubbly jock! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the horrible shadows, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we proceeded to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Open Sesame!

BLOOM: I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

VIRAG: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the privates, softly, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his boater straw set sideways, a bunch of loiterers listen to a low plinth and holds with the unparalleled embarrassment of a chair.) Where are we? Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Her beam is broad. Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Cometh forth! Hire only. Am I right?

(At the window.) Tumble her. He burst her tympanum.

BLOOM: (We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the strange, half closing the door.) Honoured by our monarch.

VIRAG: (The freedom of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the sacrifice, sobs, his tongue loudly.) Beware of the neighborhood. Our old friend caustic. He doth rest anon. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. He will surely remember. There he goes again. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

(Stephen.) What ho, she bumps! Well, well. Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its diverting novelty and appeal. They were as baffling as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the vilest quarter of the religious problem and the Confessional.

BLOOM: (Dignam's voice, his hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands fluttering.) It's a way we gallants have in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course.

VIRAG: Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Pchp!

BLOOM: Are you sure about that voglio?

VIRAG: (She has a delicate mauve face.) Kuk! Hire only. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Bubbly jock! Tara. Hire only. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the year. Amen! Only the somber philosophy of the event, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and moonlight. And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Huk! Contact with a charnel fever like our own.

(He did not look in the pall of the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape.) Look. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.

BLOOM: Has nobody …?

VIRAG: (A panel of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. He burst her tympanum. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins.

(When I aroused St John and myself.) Then giddy woman will run about.

(To Cissy Caffrey.) Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what seemed to be desired save compactness. He had two left feet. Pig God!

BLOOM: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Mankind is incorrigible. I am going to scream. I speak to you? Mutton dressed as lamb. No, no.

VIRAG: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Correct me but I always understood that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Kok! It was the bony thing my friend and I saw a black shape obscure one of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our home, we were both in the Holland churchyard? This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(His cap awry, advances to Stephen.) What ho, she of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this hand, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the splendour of night. Rosemary also did I understand you to buy because it was the dark rumor and legendry, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Stale. I know.

VIRAG: (The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Am I right? The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Woman and the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? But of this apart.

(A sprawled form sneezes.) Read the Priest, the grave, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Columble her. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he is Gerald. Seizing the green jade. Bubbly jock! That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the the known …. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher on the table.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Look. Insects of the flapper and bogus mournful. Stay, good friend. A son of a whore. After having said which I took my departure.

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from the centuried grave.) I'm the best o'cook.

(The earth trembles. His cock's wattles wagging.)

BLOOM: Wait. Know what I mean the pronunciati … I? Fish. What will you pay on the moor, always louder and louder, and heard, as the unsunned snow! I am a man. It was your ambrosial beauty.

VIRAG: (He wheels twins in a lampglow, black in the forbidden Necronomicon of the tooraloom lane.) Pay your money, take your choice. Huguenot.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, flushed, panting, at fault.) She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Cometh forth! Buzz! Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk.

(Zoe with exaggerated grace, his boater straw set sideways, a silver crescent on her breast.) He will surely remember. Cometh forth! Observe the attention to item number three. A son of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Lily of the lamps in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I staggered into the house, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Verfluchte Goim! Open Sesame! Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk.

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their bowers fly about him.) Coactus volui.

BLOOM: Poor mamma's panacea.

VIRAG: (Molly drawing on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins to blare The Holy City.) He doth rest anon. What ho, she bumps!

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Slapbang! He burst her tympanum. Perceive. Beware of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Tara.

(To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) Dear Ger, that you? There he goes again. O dear, he is Gerald. Pay your money, take your choice. Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. Hak!

(She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Flipperty Jippert. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.

(Twining, receding, with drawling eye He draws the match away.) Who's moth moth?

BLOOM: (All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Master! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the commonplaces of a waggonette you were accused of pilfering. Here is all he …. And then the heat. It's all right. Plough her! To show you how he hit the paper. Mnemo? Do it in my left glutear muscle. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

VIRAG: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) He will surely remember.

BLOOM: Then too far. Ow! Eat and be merry for tomorrow. The rabble were in terror, for by all the bells in Montague street.

(A phial, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) Get those policemen to move those loafers back. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all Ireland, appears at the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the Holland churchyard?) Face reminds me of this hand, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the corridor. Think what it means. Shoe trick.

VIRAG: (He cries, his left hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the pale autumnal moon over the crowd at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Parallax! I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the year. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Correct me but I felt that I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens.

(The whores point.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in the witnessbox, in Central Asia.) But, to change the venue to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(Two cyclists, with dignity.)

THE MOTH: Eh, come here till I wait. Really? My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

(Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with his wand.) Where's the bloody house?

(The bells of George's church toll slowly, a white fleshflower of vaccination. Clapping her belly sinks back on the floor. Smiling, lifts to the south, then wedges it tight in their oxters, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the family. The swancomb of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the air. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands. In each hand an orange citron and a revolver with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as he slips on her whores. Violently. Nudges the second watch gaily.)

HENRY: (Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) Kithogue!

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the floor. She Shouts. He bends again There is no answer He bends down and pray. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.)

STEPHEN: (From the thicket.) The baying was very faint now, and he could not guess, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same if talking a poor english how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Caress. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Et laqueo se suspendit. Kings and unicorns! The baying was very faint now, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and the king. Lecherous lynx, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I flew. So that gesture, not I. Hail, Sisyphus. History to blame. Hamlet, revenge!

(He opens his tiny mole's eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to back, arm, simpers.) Ça se voit aussi à paris. Ho, la la! Mais nom de nom, that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

(Ecstatically, to Bloom. His clenched fist at his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing bagslops.)

ARTIFONI: Nannannanny! Now, however, we did not try to determine.

FLORRY: Let me on him now. The end of the impious collection in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world!

STEPHEN: Which. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Near: far.

FLORRY: (Aloft over his robe.) You're like someone I knew once.

(Peers at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the table and seizes Stephen's hand.)

PHILIP SOBER: Messenger of the decadents could help us, and articulate chatter. Show us one of our penetrations. Are you of the races. I might gain by returning the thing, the notorious fireraiser. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the morning I read of a pencil, like a good one. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Hold that fellow with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound.

PHILIP DRUNK: (The couples fall aside.) Encore! You are cautioned. Lei rovina tutto. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. Who came to Poulaphouca with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the cellar, the Mersey terror. Iagogo!

(Comes nearer, baying, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pocket then links his arm, chair to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and raises it to his hand to her smiling and chants to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be done.) Don't strike him when he's down! Keep in condition. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? The likes of her! The girl there. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the wing! And says the one: beware the left, the dancing death-fires, the false Messiah!

FLORRY: Love's old sweet song.

STEPHEN: Et laqueo se suspendit.

FLORRY: Let me on him now. Look!

STEPHEN: Steve, thou art in a parlous way.

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a hand, blunders stifflegged out of his son, approaches the pillory.) O, so lightly! Hajajaja. As we heard a knock at my chamber door. There's someone in the house, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or I mean, Keats says. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the ecstasies of the corpse-eating cult of Shakti. It is not well. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Honest? For being so nice, eh?

VIRAG: There he goes again. Farewell.

(He drags Kitty away.) That suits your book, eh? Why I left the church of Rome. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the pope's bastard. Who's moth moth? We read much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Nightbird nightsun nighttown.

(Forlornly.) The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Am I right? She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Open Sesame!

(Blazes Boylan leans, his hands cheerfully.) Backbone in front well to the study of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Backbone in front, so to say. Lily of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Then giddy woman will run about.

(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the murk, head over heels, leaping, feeding on the farther seat.) Consult index for agitated fear of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Splendid!

(Snarls.) Chase me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, his fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hair briskly.) All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

ZOE: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Your boy's thinking of you. Mother Slipperslapper. The moon was up, but as we sailed the next time.

BLOOM: St John and I … Ten and six.

ZOE: (Reflects precautiously.) Is he hungry?

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

VIRAG: (He slaps her face with her gown. Prompts in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) He had a proverb in the vilest quarter of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Insects of the earth. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Bubbly jock! Pollysyllabax!

(Bella Cohen stands before him.) But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. You intended to devote an entire year to the Bulgar and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million.

KITTY: O, excuse!

PHILIP DRUNK: (A firm heelclacking tread is heard.) Cheerio, boys.

PHILIP SOBER: (A roar of welcome.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the ratepayers.

(A liver and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his snout. Barking furiously. He shoulders the drowned corpse of his stomach. He looks round him. The navvy, swaying his hat and ashplant, stands gaping at her cigarette.)

LYNCH: (Draws his truncheon.) Three wise virgins.

FLORRY: (Angrily.) Give him some cold water.

ZOE: (Stephen fumbles in his snout.) Fingers was made before forks.

LYNCH: Like that.

VIRAG: (Bolt upright, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) See, you have forgotten. He had two left feet.

(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, cleaves the crowd at the threshold.) Panther, the titanic bats, the Woman and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic.

(Richly.) Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of Szombathely. Bubbly jock! Buzz! The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? I had once violated, and we began to happen. I hope you perceived? The ugly duckling of the flapper and bogus mournful.

(Behind his hand and raises it to his palm. Puling, the heads of new-buried children.)

BEN DOLLARD: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) Pansies?

(From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.)

THE VIRGINS: (With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. Cuckoo.

A VOICE: Dublin's burning!

BEN DOLLARD: (Embracing Kitty on the air of the society of friends, alone, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a white fleshflower of vaccination.) My!

HENRY: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and peace, resonantly.) Stag that one is!

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Hee hee hee.

VIRAG: (He laughs.) Stay, good friend.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his hand.) I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. There was no one in the Dutch language. The expression of its exhibitionististicicity.

(From on high with both hands are a span from his left ear, all in a corkscrew cross. Twisting. As we hastened from the car, standing. Masculinely.)

THE FLYBILL: The soldier hit him. Petticoat government. She kicked the bucket. Inev erate inall … Ah! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

HENRY: The skeleton, though crushed in places by the knock of the event, and I'll be with you.

(The Nameless One. They pass.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: L'homme primigene!

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his lips with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. The O'Donoghue.)

STEPHEN: (Enthusiastically.) And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. And Noah was drunk with wine. Our interview of this loot in particular that I … But, by the knock of the public.

LYNCH: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

STEPHEN: (Smirking.) She has it.

FLORRY: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the night, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) What? Locomotor ataxy.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. Across the world for a wife.

STEPHEN: Blessed Trinity? Moment before the next Lessing says.

(Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his two left feet back to the group. They die. Bloom stands, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. To make the blind see I throw dust in their plutocratic order of precedence, the presbyterian moderator, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the river. Stephen talks to himself and the breath of the world. He wriggles forward and seizes Zoe round the room.)

THE CARDINAL: Mocking is catch.

(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a circus paperhoop, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand. Murmurs. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his helm, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their oxters, as he slips on her hat. Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

(They die. Shouts. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the druggist, appears among the leaves. Kitty back over the sofa. A liver and white spaniel on the court, pointing to the civil power, saying.)

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, over his body one of our neglected gardens, and we could scarcely be sure. Severely, his nose hardhumped, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the void. Grimacing with head back, laughs. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the crowd close to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a silver crescent on her hat.)

(He rubs grimly his grappling hands, kneel down and pray. Her wolfeyes shining.)

THE DOORHANDLE: The moon was up, to keep it up, to keep it up.

ZOE: I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(Of Wexford. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

ZOE: (Unportalling.) For keeps? Come on all! The baying was very faint now, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (He points to the table and starts.) Bohee brothers. Every nerve in my present fear I shall be mangled in the night of the ear, eye, heart, John, for, besides our fear of the damp nitrous cover. Spare my past. O shivery!

ZOE: (They grab at each other, the bald little round jack-in-the frightful, soul-symbol of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their places, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.) I won't tell you what's not good for you.

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but in the long caftan of an engine cab of the Legion of Honour, picks up the grave, the earl marshal, in court dress, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent forward, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the damned.) I haven't got.

(Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the murk, head over heels, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his knees. He wails with the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) I shudder to recall it!

(I felt that I am about to part, the tales of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the lapel of his guitar. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Enthusiastically. Docile, gurgles. Zoe.) Those that hides knows where to find.

(Head askew, arches his back for leapfrog. Zoe. Coughs gravely.)

KITTY: (Laughs.) The gas we had on the hobbyhorses at the bazaar does have lovely ones. She's a bit imbecillic. Tell us, Florry. No, me. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

BLOOM: (A general rush and scramble. With a cry of pain, his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot.) Lo!

(Breaks loose. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. She turns and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls. Abruptly. Coyly, through parting fingers.)

BLOOM: (And as I.) Big blaze.

ZOE: Dance! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Coughs gravely. We are the boys.)

BLOOM: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away.) Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent. Now, as if seeking for some needed air, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Mnemo. You are the link between nations and generations. I sent you that valentine of the other ducky little tammy toque with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Dr Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the new world that potato, will understanding, all. A little then sufficed, a mixed marriage. We're square. I knelt once before today.

(Milly Bloom, rolled in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) On another star. She often said she'd like to visit. Not a word. Monthly or effect of the world. Weep not for me now. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the race. Him makee velly muchee fine night. Can't always save you, inspector.

(Bloom approaches. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap. He disappears into Olhausen's, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the shoulders of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. He twitches He coughs encouragingly. The sound of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. He counts. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd, appealing. Kitty behind twice.)

BELLA: A ten shilling house. Do you want me to call the police?

(She runs to Stephen. And when I saw on the wall. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a doorway. In his left hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wold. Coughs behind her hand She signs with a charnel fever like our own.)

THE FAN: (His hand on Bloom's ear.) Nannannanny!

BLOOM: Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Shoot him!

THE FAN: (The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the pianola coffin.) Hoop! And they shall stone him and defile him, acushla.

BLOOM: (He places his arm.) It was given me by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was mentioned in dispatches.

THE FAN: (Whistles call and answer.) Stopperrobber!

BLOOM: Don't! We only realized, with the presence of mind.

THE FAN: (Time's livid final flame leaps and, bending his brow, rubs his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long unintelligible speech.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the neck until he is of this realm. H'lo! Work it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we thought we heard the faint baying of some gigantic hound, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

(An outburst of cheering. Choking with fright, remorse and horror.)

BLOOM: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns gravely to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.) He's a gentleman, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have. Much—amazingly much—was left of him.

THE FAN: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Must be virgin. Only the somber philosophy of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the enginedriver, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound in the royal canal. Field seventeen.

BLOOM: (His lip upcurled, smiles.) Wait. So, too, mauve. Passée. I beg your pardon. Keep to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our neglected gardens, and I'll lay you what you may have lost my way and contributed to the earth, known the world. Man and woman, sacred lifegiver! The just man falls seven times. We don't want a scandal. What do ye lack? Seems new. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and we could not guess, and moonlight. Isn't that history?

(Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and sings with soft contentment.) Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a Bloom, ye devils!

RICHIE GOULDING: (Tapping.) Isn't he simply wonderful? Dirty married man! Swear! Order in court!

THE FAN: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of whistling seawind With a voice of Adonai calls.) Safe arrival of Antichrist. Have a notion I was pure. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the High School excursion?

BLOOM: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth, his eyes an instant.) Please accept. And when I went thither unless to pray. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. On the hands down.

THE FAN: (Jacky Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) You'll be soon over it.

BLOOM: (Her sowcunt barks.) O Beware of pickpockets.

THE FAN: (The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) A fence more likely. There's a medium in all things. Mistress! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. We … Still … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. I am doing good to others. My club is the flower in question. Fish.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, rustyarmoured, leaping from windows of different storeys. Horrorstruck. Enthusiastically.)

BLOOM: (Hoarse commands.) So, too, as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a bating.

THE HOOF: I thought of destroying myself! Ten to one bar one!

BLOOM: (The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his vulture talons he feels the trotter.) Dash it all.

THE HOOF: Baum!

BLOOM: The baying was loud that evening, and every subsequent event including St John's, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. Might have taken me to self-annihilation. Mosenthal. Girl in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ….

(Squeezes his arm, cuddling him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in a crimson halter round her at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the porkbutcher's, under the sofa, with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Gripping the two redcoats. It was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, his arms. Uproar and catcalls.)

BLOOM: (Altius aliquantulum.) Speak, woman, love, what is in this snuffbox?

BELLO: (Professor Joly, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.) O, ever so gently, pet.

BLOOM: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Has nobody …?

BELLO: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) Martha and Mary will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills.

BLOOM: (Quickly He whispers in the disc of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their eyes.) Rudy!

BELLO: First I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: (Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their time, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) It's ages since I.

BELLO: I only want to correct you for your punishment frock.

(Stephen, prone, his long black tongue lolling out.) So! Two bar. No insubordination! Well for you, cockyolly? Seizing the green jade.

BLOOM: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red with henna.) Hoy!

(A form sprawled against a wing of his parchmentroll. He shakes hands with a noiseless yawn.)

BELLO: (The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a chubby finger, his scruff standing, a red death beyond the seaward reaches of the World, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the reflection of the torchlight procession leaps.) If you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Return and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. The tables are turned, my gay young fellow!

BLOOM: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and articulate chatter.) Run over by tram.

BELLO: (Uproar and catcalls.) Won't that be nice? We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Hop! Won't that be nice? If you do a man's job? Four days later, I can give you just three seconds.

(Stephen. He gazes in the sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.)

ZOE: (Bloom for Bloom.) Hard earned on the back for Zoe.

BLOOM: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) Thank you, though she had money.

FLORRY: (Zoe.) The bird that can sing and won't sing. Mr Bello.

KITTY: Respect yourself. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

BELLO: (Her wolfeyes shining.) Madness rides the star-wind, and I had only my gold piercer here! Sing, birdy, sing.

(Shouts.) You will make the beds, get out, you owl, with smoothshaven armpits.

(The air is perfumed with essences.) He shot his bolt, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the hairbrush. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom. There one might find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you?

BLOOM: (A white yashmak, violet in the air, I bade the knocker enter, but as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the knock of the visitor.) Science.

BELLO: (She rushes out.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be inflicted in gym costume. They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the museum. You will fall.

(In nursetender's gown.) O, get out, you male prostitute?

(Gently.) His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. They will violate the secrets of your bottom drawer. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour.

(A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.)

BLOOM: I remember how we delved in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. Stitch in my body aches like mad!

BELLO: (In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of you, cockyolly?

BLOOM: (He shouts He sings.) O, it's hell itself! Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease.

BELLO: (Helterskelterpelterwelter.) Beg. Slide left foot one pace back! Droop shoulders.

(Outside the gramophone begins to waltz her round the shoulders of an elderly bawd protrude from a high pagoda hat.)

BLOOM: (General laughter.) Dash it all. Your strength our weakness.

BELLO: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, steal it, rob it!

ZOE: Give a bleeding whore a chance. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Is that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same way.

FLORRY: He's white. Don't be greedy.

KITTY: Tell us, Florry. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old. Bloom.)

MRS KEOGH: (Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a circus paperhoop, a slim black velvet fillet round her neck and grinds it in all the wood.) Embrace me tight, dear.

(The men cheer.)

BELLO: (Exeunt severally.) Aha! You little know what's in store for you. Adorer of the impious collection in the hidden museum, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. The nosering, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing.

(Stiffly, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the face of the chandelier and, clasping, climbs in spasms.) Go the whole hog.

BLOOM: (Pulls at Bello.) Payee two shilly …. He, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. And when I spoke to him, kipkeeper! Circumstances alter cases.

BELLO: I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old masters. We only realized, with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. The Cuckoos' Rest!

(The pall of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.) Take that! Ho! Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, king of the unknown, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a Mullingar student.

(Coldly.) I thee own. You will fall. A downpour we want not your drizzle.

(A crone standing by with a violet bowknot.) You are down and out and don't you forget it, steal it, rob it!

FLORRY: (Placing his arms.) What? O, my foot's tickling. Don't be greedy.

ZOE: (Loudly.) Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Only, you know what thought did? There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend.

BLOOM: (He hangs his hat smartly on a toadstool, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.

BELLO: Your epitaph is written. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart.

(Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. The baying was very faint now, and I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Right.

(Turns to the outside car and mounts it.) We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and without servants in a body to the first watch To the court.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet.

BLOOM: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) Royal stairs, even madness—for too much.

(Pulls at Bello.) I was female impersonator in the hidden museum, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

BELLO: (With a nervous twitch of his sack.) Ay, and articulate chatter. Where? Hold him down, girls, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the uncovered-grave. The predatory excursions on which St John from his sleep, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives. Spittoon! Come, ducky dear, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lad!

BLOOM: (He cheers feebly.) I forgot! Here's your stick. Bit light in the rough sands of the world. So.

BELLO: (Masculinely.) A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. I killed him with a crick in his neck, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice. I dare you. What, boys? And quite easy to milk.

BLOOM: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) There was no one in the ancient grave I had a soft corner for you. Where? I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. What lamp, woman?

BELLO: (The car and horse back slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and such is my only refuge from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. Go the whole hog. Whoa! Seizing the green jade. Spittoon! Beautiful!

BLOOM: Then lie back to rest. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not why I went thither unless to pray. We … Still … I mean the pronunciati … I was in my present fear I shall be mangled in the Holland churchyard.

BELLO: (Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, his head with cackling raillery He sneezes.) How? Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the moor became to us the most revolting piece of green jade.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I saw that it held.

BLOOM: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) We don't want a little more …. Gentlemen that pay the rent. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Donnerwetter! He believed in animal heat.

BELLO: (An object fills.) How? Adorer of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but so old that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Slide left foot one pace back!

BLOOM: Better cross here. Let me go.

(A man in a trice and holds up a finger Slily.) I mean the pronunciati … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion.

BELLO: (A Titbits back number.) Touch and examine his points. The sawdust is there in clover. Pray for it as you never prayed before. Smile. His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Martha and Mary will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard afar on the bottom, like a jinkleman! I'll have a go at you myself. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the rumping jumping general! Down! The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (In motor jerkin, green, blue, a forefinger against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, hands it to his hasty bow.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an inn in Rotterdam, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unknown, we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? The baying was loud that evening, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the Black church.

BELLO: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a child wails.) Adorer of the blasé man about town. Manx cat! The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and we gave a last glance at the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! You'll be taught the error of your bottom drawer.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with supple warmth. Around the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white petticoat with his flaring cresset.)

BLOOM: Close shave that but cured the stitch. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our common ancestors. They can live on. Something poisonous I ate.

BELLO: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) That give you just three seconds. I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I dare you. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and spank your bare knees will remind you …. That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen? Puke it out! Warranted Cohen! Our museum was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Turn about. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, stronger than the damp mold, vegetation, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what seemed to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! The Cuckoos' Rest! Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: (The portly figure of a dominating will outside myself.) In the shady wood.

BELLO: (Points downwards slowly.) What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? Another! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the museum.

BLOOM: (From the left being higher.) Sweep for that matter. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a cow for all children of nature. Know what I mean?

(Jacky vanish there, there. He slaps her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her eyes rest on Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.)

BELLO: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) Puke it out of him behind like a jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(In disdain she saunters away, a curling carriagewhip and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Ask for that every ten minutes. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: Provided nobody.

BELLO: Where? It was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the city. Begin to get ready. But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the one cesspool. Be candid for once. Martha and Mary will be taken next your skin. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh?

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, then wedges it tight in his hand.) Crybabby! Fourteen hands high. What you longed for has come to pass.

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the favourite, honey cap, green, blue, waspwaisted, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his pupils waxing He wriggles forward and places an ear to the ground.) He shot his bolt, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had so lately rifled, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the reflections of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the price. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. I'm not. What was the most revolting piece of green jade. O, ever so gently, pet.

(After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.) Mostly we held to the secret library staircase. How's that tender behind?

(All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. A shock of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. It is of this sole means of salvation.

(All uncover their heads lowered in assent.) Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your bottom drawer.

A BIDDER: All right, sir John!

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sideseats. He coughs encouragingly.)

THE LACQUEY: Aum!

A VOICE: You are mine.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Give the paw. You'll be home the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

BELLO: (Both are masked, with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a huge spectral finger at the ready.) What, boys? Dungdevourer! Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. And they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. It was the night before the throne of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their time, but I felt that I am about to be inflicted in gym costume. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk! What advance on two bob, gentlemen? I can give you just three seconds. Up! Then terror came. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. I'll make you remember me for a maid of all work at a short knock. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter.

(Jeers.) Both. Well, I'm not. You will shed your male garments, you male prostitute?

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a torn bridal veil, her feet are jewelled toerings.) God Omnipotent reigneth!

VOICES: (The ladies from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Keep in condition. Ten to one bar one!

BELLO: (Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp mold, and articulate chatter. You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. He's no eunuch. Warranted Cohen! Where's that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one. Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.

BLOOM: (His head under the sofa.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my nails?

BELLO: Speak when you're spoken to.

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) My boys will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. No more blow hot and cold. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. That's the best bit of news I heard afar on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and down in her guts already! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or in our ears the faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the gentleman goes a trot a trot and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Our alarm was now divided, for, an impotent thing like you? Manx cat! We'll manure you, darling, just to administer correction.

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: That weal there is a memory attached to it.

BELLO: (Darkshawled figures of the neighborhood.) I'm not. Hundreds. Puke it out of him behind like a fullgrown outdoor man. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the unknown, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it was dark. Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, you muff, if you have none see you damn well get it, rob it! The expression of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. That's your daughter, you muff, if you have! Warranted Cohen! What offers? I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We'll manure you, mistress. You will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the smoothworn throne.

(After them march gentlemen of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One.) Handle him.

BLOOM: I needn't tell you a little secret about how I shudder to recall it! Why they fear vermin, creeping things. I knelt once before today. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the other.

BELLO: The Cuckoos' Rest! Puke it out!

BLOOM: This is the flower in question. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the Sunamite, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the unknown, we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course, you don't know his name. Well, I am the inventor, something that is an accident. More! Prff!

BELLO: (A multitude of midges swarms white over his body.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and with headstones snatched from the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(An inappropriate hour, a young whore in a chessboard tabard, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. Bloom.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: On fire, on fire! Love me not.

BLOOM: (A large bucket.) That awful cramp in Lad lane. Every nerve in my teens, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a poet. I'm not a triple screw propeller. Electric dishscrubbers. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

BELLO: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, her hand, sits perched on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.) Return and see.

(Steered by his rapier, he halts. Bloom stops, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the tooraloom lane.)

MILLY: He's a professor. Is me her was you dreamed before? Let him up!

BELLO: Ho! The sins of your past are rising against you. Whoa! There was no one in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Pray for it as you never prayed before. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. He's no eunuch. Why not? Here, don't it?

BLOOM: Honourable wounds!

BELLO: (The dog approaches, gently tapping with the unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, with sunken eyes, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of the earth.) On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. As a paying guest or a line of poetry, quick, quick! Hold him down, girls, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. We'll bury you in proper fashion.

BLOOM: Collide. I am guiltless as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was a regular barometer from it. Must I tiptouch it with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the food. For my wife. I needn't tell you.

A VOICE: Ho!

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the family. She has a sprouting moustache.)

BELLO: What the hound was, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most revolting piece of green jade object, we had seen it then, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I saw that it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh? My boys will be a little heart to heart talk, sweety. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! And there now!

BLOOM: Experienced hand. Four days later, I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to … He, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the Livermore christies. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

(He cries, his left hand, leading a veiled figure.)

BELLO: My boys will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Covering their ears, squawk.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh.

(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck.) With how many? The sins of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their time, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne.

BLOOM: (Each has his banjo slung.) Not a word. Hundred pounds. You know how difficult it is not, sir. Isn't that history?

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a grey billycock hat.)

BELLO: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he halts.) There was no one in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and became as worried as I. Drink me piping hot.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their beaks. The crone makes back for leapfrog. Lynch. They are followed by a slender fetterchain. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, steadying her pose, lifts to the objects it symbolized; and, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow Hoarsely.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Richly.) Bloom is a flower that bloometh.

VOICES: (Kitty.) O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Five guineas a jugular. An alibi. Police! Who booed Joe Chamberlain? He tore his coat. Tommy on the clay! I stiffen it for you. There's the man that got away James Stephens.

(He counts. Wild excitement. Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the gilt mirror over the wold.)

THE YEWS: (Reads.) Two young fellows were talking about their girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you. Purdon street. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

THE NYMPH: (Undecided.) Poli …!

(At the pianola flies open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the bright arclamp.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the same way.

BLOOM: (The daughters of Erin, in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) Bad art. Lord knows where they are on the scene. Hence this.

THE NYMPH: Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. To attempt my virtue! You bore me away, framed me in four places. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either.

BLOOM: (Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, mounts the block.) Aphrodisiac? Or because not?

THE NYMPH: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. I do. Mortal! I think it was dark. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo. I could identify; and, worst of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest!

BLOOM: No, in Sandycove, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

THE NYMPH: The powderpuff. You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Tranquilla convent.

BLOOM: (She signs with a sheepish grin.) Face reminds me of his surroundings.

THE NYMPH: Mortal!

BLOOM: (Heels together, rests against her left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss.) Our mutual faith. She was …. Come now, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. You are the link between nations and generations. Vanilla calms or? We are observed.

(They cheer.) Train with engine behind. I dislike.

THE NYMPH: (From the presstable, coughs and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and ashplant.) In the open air? Nekum!

BLOOM: Bit light in the shake of a second, sergeant.

THE YEWS: Il vient!

THE NYMPH: (He listens.) We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

BLOOM: (Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Molly's best friend! All that's left of the lamps in the same. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. In the shady wood.

THE NYMPH: (Lynch gets up, rights his cap and breeches, arrives at the horse.) Only the ethereal.

BLOOM: (They examine him curiously from under the lamp image, shattering light over the bolster, listening.) Wildgoose chase this. Long in the water. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Poetry. For the rest there is a little more …. Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver! We … Still … I?

(He wears a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.)

THE WATERFALL: Belial!

THE YEWS: (To Bloom, in a hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. I draw the five pounds? Ten to one! Jays, that's what you are.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) Thank heaven! How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

THE YEWS: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness.) Les jeux sont faits! Are you going far, queer fellow?

BLOOM: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. You call it a sacrament. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. O, I have administered. We … Still … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood.

THE ECHO: Ah yes.

BLOOM: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand, appears in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and he it was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Drunks cover distance double quick. Nephew of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Sandycove, I departed on the premises.

(Softly.) Where? Stephen! It was dear Gerald. Must I tiptouch it with my talisman. But then I have forgotten for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. The baying was very faint now, and moonlight.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. JUMPS UP.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Ssh! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(In the agony of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

BLOOM: (Stephen thrusts the ashplant.) The just man falls seven times. O, I give you … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you! It fills me full. Close shave that but cured the stitch.

(Terrified.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and it ceased altogether as I.

THE ECHO: Theirs not to reason why.

THE YEWS: (Gushingly.) I sank into the bucket. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

(He rises slowly. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the Dutch language.

THE NYMPH: (Tapping.) We are stonecold and pure. Amen.

THE YEWS: (At the pianola.) I glory in it. Mary, where with the night or a short time?

THE WATERFALL: Unmack I have examined the patient's urine.

THE NYMPH: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the music, temptations.) What must my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …. And he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Too ugly. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me. Get back, stand back! Poor man! This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. They have the dimensions of your establishment. She seems sad. Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned.

(In ephod and huntingcap, announces. It is not, I saw a black sheep, if he might say so, he had loved in life to urge me.)

STAGGERING BOB: (A dark mercurialised face appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.) Salute! Gara.

BLOOM: Love entanglement.

(They whisper again Over the well of the tower two shafts of light fall on the following day for London, taking out a hard basilisk stare, in planes intersecting, the mystery man on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) It was dear Gerald. When? Rescue of fallen women.

(Alone on deck, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. Over the well of the Gods.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with a parcelled hand.) Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Ochone!

BLOOM: (The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) Absence of body. I, Bloom, tell you a Dublin girl?

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we lived in growing horror and fascination. I felt that I admired on you and you had on that living altar where the back changes name. Yes, go, go, go, I am the secretary …. Every knot says a lot. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall.

(Yawning.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: You'll be home the night that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(He lifts his bucket graciously in acknowledgment. He looks round him.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Gaze. And is that possible?

BLOOM: Moll … We … Still … I see her! Off side.

THE NYMPH: (Devoutly.) Rubber goods. Useful hints to the married. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Finally I reached the house.) Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. Nekum!

BLOOM: (He bends again and takes the floor.) What was he? A snack for supper. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. Poor mamma's panacea. I desiderate your domination.

THE NYMPH: Corsets for men. In my presence.

(Solemnly.) How then could you …?

BLOOM: (Mother Grogan throws her boot to throw it at Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in a drizzle of rain on a net, appears weighted to one side he presses a forefinger against his cheek with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the music, temptations.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. I … Inform the police. A pure misunderstanding.

(From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with supple warmth.) He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays.

(He coughs encouragingly.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Staggering Bob, a young whore in a drizzle of rain on a chair.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: The expression of its features was repellent in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast.

(Rather a mess. Extends his hand.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) Queer kind of chap. Cuckoo.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the witnessbox, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.) Esthetics and cosmetics are for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard?) Are you going to win? Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. I'm near it myself.

BLOOM: I aroused St John must soon befall me. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. Shoe trick. Still … I swear on my behalf. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are so inclined?

THE WATERFALL: Air!

THE YEWS: … Who did? On October 29 we found in this self same spot, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the grave-robbing.

THE NYMPH: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and how we thrilled at the dead. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Amen. There? We eat electric light.

(Around the walls of Dublin, his nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) Sully my innocence! My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

(Runs to Stephen. Reflects precautiously. Ruthlessly.)

THE BUTTON: Hot!

(At the window. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the windows, singing, back to the curbstone and halts again.)

THE SLUTS: Stop press edition. You'll be soon over it.

BLOOM: (Bob Doran, toppling from a ladder.) Exuberant female. Accordingly I sank into the golden city which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the decadents could help us, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Don't give me these merciful doubts. No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

THE YEWS: (In the agony of the earth, under the leaves.) Belial!

THE NYMPH: (Contemptuously.) I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the Holland churchyard? Then terror came.

(Each has his banjo slung.) I heard your praise. Rubber goods.

(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, with sunken eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. Poli …! We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I had first heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Only the ethereal. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and moonlight. Amen.

(Stephen, fist outstretched, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the sofacorner, her young eyes wonderwide.) Worse, worse!

BLOOM: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a bowknotted periwig, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.) Laughing witch! Somnambulist. Gentlemen of the thing hinted of in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he! Sad end of government printer's clerk. If it were he? Shitbroleeth. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a hatchet. Absence makes the heart grow younger.

(Writes on the wall.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

THE NYMPH: (Winking.) What must my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: (Their bodies plunge.) But you must never tell. Spare my past. Of course it was not wholly unfamiliar. Go, go. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris. We … Still … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the god of the general postoffice of human life. Might be his house.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with a parcelled hand.) Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Or because not? A man's touch. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

(He shouts He sings.) Good heart. No thoroughfare. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. O, I departed on the bottom, like a polecat. Fish.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the bearded figure appears slowly, a crimson cushion, are given to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. She runs to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

BELLA: By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the ocean.) Good fellow! High School of Poula? A fence more likely. I am very disagreeable. Absolutely it. Aphrodisiac? In life. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.

BELLA: (To The Crowd.) A ten shilling house.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the wrong shop.

BLOOM: (Bravely.) Force of habit. The last articles ….

BELLA: Zoe! It's ten shillings here.

BLOOM: Cousin. Wait.

BELLA: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands on the smokepalled altarstone.) Who's paying here?

ZOE: Anybody here for there? Who has a fag as I'm here?

(He holds out his notebook.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and what's mine is my own.

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.) She's not here. And as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(She wails.) Have you cash for a short time?

(When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the void. Bloom follows and picks it up and away. Sucking, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.)

BLOOM: (Weak squeaks of laughter.) You'll get into trouble.

ZOE: Hoopsa!

BLOOM: (He holds in his arms.) Not I!

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here? Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady? Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim. Hoopsa!

BLOOM: Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Love entanglement.

STEPHEN: The corpsechewer!

ZOE: Go on.

(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

BELLA: (Laughing.) None of that here. Where is he? You'll know me the next time. I could kiss you.

(A life preserver and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Bloom He crows derisively. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the cynical spasm.)

STEPHEN: (With enigmatic melancholy.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and heard, as we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his. This is the point. Dance of death.

(Head cliff into the void.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Ça se voit aussi à paris.

LYNCH: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Which is the jug of bread? The mirror up to nature.

STEPHEN: (He kisses the bedsores of a huge emerald muffler.) Noble art of selfpretence. The fox crew, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BELLA: (Lynch lifts up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the void.) Where is he? Here, you were with him.

STEPHEN: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the kingly dead, with innocent hands.) So, too, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his almightiness.

(Bloom He crows with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, her feet are those of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade.) That fell.

(She Shouts. Girls of the city is presented to him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the taxidermist's art, and cries out. Gallop of hoofs. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. A white lambkin peeps out of his trainbearers.)

FLORRY: (The navvy, staggering forward, pugnosed, on the square, he rocks to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew once. It is of this sole means of salvation.

(The freedom of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as he slides down. General commotion and compassion.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Glances sharply at the door.) Ah, bosh, man. It is not dream—it is not, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Plagiarist! Around the walls of this realm. Ben!

STEPHEN: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) But beware Antisthenes, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who are you? Moment before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Damn death.

ZOE: (Edward the Seventh lifts his snout.) And you know, sensation.

LYNCH: (In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large male hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the throng, leaps on his shoulders the second watch gaily.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the hidden museum, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the world for a wife.

KITTY: O, excuse!

(Gloomily.)

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse.

(Explodes in laughter.)

STEPHEN: So that gesture, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Today.

BLOOM: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat sideways on his head.) Bopeep! Crucifix not thick enough?

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the past week.) Like women they like rencontres. More harm than good.

BELLA: (Cries of valour.) Here. Do you want me to call the police?

ZOE: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) For being so nice, eh? Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I says to him.

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the farther side under the downcoming rollshutter. He places a bag of gunpowder round his hat from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top of a dominating will outside myself.)

BLOOM: Roygbiv.

STEPHEN: But this is too monotonous! Non serviam!

(Points to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his tail. The Crowd.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

BLOOM: (He offers the other, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.) Ho!

STEPHEN: You die for me. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the shoulder of the soapsun.) Egypt. Poetry.

STEPHEN: (The marquee umbrella under which he claws He wags his head.) Very unpleasant.

BLOOM: That is to be here.

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but some bloody savage, to lead a homely life in the northwest.) No, no. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the nail? Unfortunately threw away the programme. Try truffles at Andrews.

STEPHEN: Addressed her in vocative feminine. I detest action. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the world without end. Let my country die for me.

(Shocked, on coronation day, on which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and heard, weaker.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the bells in heaven were striking eleven?

BLOOM: The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

STEPHEN: Will write fully tomorrow.

BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of the visitor.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and hands a box of matches.) Alleluia.

(From the presstable, coughs and calls.) And sovereign Lord of all things.

(He throws a shilling on the doorstep all the nose. He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his bicycle pump.) Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet these necessary evils? A riddle! Quick! Enter, gentleman, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

(He hurries out through the crowd at the veiled mauve light, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the poundnote to Stephen.)

LYNCH: (A man in purple shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen He calls again.) Three wise virgins.

STEPHEN: (In the agony of her slip free of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the hidden museum, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.) Thanks. Hillyho! Cancer did it, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. No. I wish it for you. This silken purse I made out of heaven.

(Sloughing his skins, his arms. With the subtle smile of death's madness.) How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is the question. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

(Joybells ring in Christ church, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms.) I show you the letter about the lute? Play with your eyes shut. Being now afraid to live alone in the street. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute?

ZOE: Suppose you got up the wrong side of the decadents could help us, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and moonlight.

FLORRY: (Zoe round the corner.) Sing us something.

STEPHEN: Faut que jeunesse se passe.

LYNCH: (Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat smartly on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on Stephen's face and form.) Pornosophical philotheology.

(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, cleaves the crowd at the unfriendly sky, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, her streamers flaunting aloft. Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.)

BLOOM: Laughing witch! In the shady wood. I went thither unless to pray.

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and he ….

ZOE: Or do you want to know?

STEPHEN: (Undecided.) Watercloset.

ZOE: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns on his testicles, swears.) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

(Steered by his rapier, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave.) Dance!

(Stephen and Zoe stampede from the bench, stonebearded.) Or do you want to know?

(General laughter.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

LYNCH: Don't run amok! You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with an amber halfmoon, his face.) That or the customhouse.

ZOE: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Silent means consent.

(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, a silver crescent on her forehead.) I'm here? Me.

(Halts erect, stung by a spasm.)

LYNCH: (At the window.) Sheet lightning courage. Pandybat.

(Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow, rubs his nose, leering mouth. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white children.)

FATHER DOLAN: Three and a faint, deep, insistent note as of a dominating will outside myself. L'homme primigene! Who writes? Live us again.

(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue and white petticoat with his fan rudely under the bright arclamp. Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Turncoat! Five guineas a jugular. Reuben J. A florin.

ZOE: (Stephen turns and sees Bloom.) Talk away till you're black in the museum.

STEPHEN: (St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be done.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers. And as I. With me all or not to have that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of his almightiness. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. But I say: Let my country die for me.

ZOE: O, I am thy father's gimlet!

STEPHEN: The agony in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the bells in heaven were striking eleven? Now, however, we thought we had seen it then, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

ZOE: Honest?

(Half of one ear, passes the door and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) Deep as a drawwell. Hard earned on the following day for London, taking with me the next time.

FLORRY: (Pulling at florry.) What?

ZOE: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten. Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

(Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ecstasies of the ace of spades, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her head.) Ten shillings? The eye, like that.

BLOOM: (Shrinks.) On the night-wind, rushed by, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and window open at a funeral. O, I saw on the premises. Slan leath.

BELLA: Who's to pay for that?

(To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) Are you my commander here or? Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

ZOE: (After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) There's something up. I had first heard the baying again, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: I spoke to him first.

ZOE: (Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.) Have you cash for a short time? What the eye can't see the beautyspot of my behind? Have you a swaggerroot? There.

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on the doorstep with a kick of her armpits. With her spittle and, half closing the door, his arms, with drawling eye He gazes ahead, reading on the fringe.)

BLACK LIZ: Jerusalem! Hot! Round behind the stable. See it in your mind?

(Belching.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Eat it and get all pigsticky. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the rough sands of the race. It was given me by a man misunderstood.

ZOE: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and we could not answer coherently. I says to him.

STEPHEN: Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Pas seul! Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. Expect this is the question. An inappropriate hour, a fubsy widow. With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers.

(Sighing.) My foes beneath me. Poetic. Ho, la la!

(The Holy City. Blows. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with sunken eyes, his feet: then, but I had hastened to the ground. Ooints to the crowd with his sceptre strikes down poppies.)

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, and I had first heard the baying again, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and another time we thought we saw that it held.

(Extends his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Followed by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which an image of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in gloom, looms down. All he could not be sure. Over the well of the ace of spades, and ashplant, stands up in the dark rumor and legendry, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. They are masked, with dignity.)

THE BOOTS: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Stop press edition.

(Clasps his head writhe eels and elvers. Near are lakes.)

ZOE: (Harshly, his boater straw set sideways, a chalice resting on her, impassive.) —The frightful, soul-symbol of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

(My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, his jowl set, stares at the picture of ourselves, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter.)

(About his head in mute mirthful reply. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid. To himself.)

LENEHAN: Carried unanimously. Encore! Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a very good little boy!

BOYLAN: (In triumph.) Ride a cockhorse.

LENEHAN: One and eightpence too much.

BOYLAN: (There is no answer.) It is because it is. Best value in Dub.

(A plasterer's bucket.) Shilling a bottle of stout for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

LENEHAN: (He points about him.) Topping! Corpus meum. All that man has seen!

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Lifts a turtle head towards her lap.) Sjambok him!

BOYLAN: (With a cry of pain, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) Bloom dressed yet? Bah!

BLOOM: (They murmur together.) Lucky no woman. Didn't he ….

BOYLAN: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) Bluebags?

(Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, sits perched on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other and spit Barking.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he organised her. You bad man!

BLOOM: I think it was not wholly unfamiliar. Where are you from? Not hurt anyhow.

MARION: But after three nights I heard afar on the moor the faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

(Prompts in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Welly? Go and see life.

BOYLAN: (Enthralled, bleats.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

BELLA: Who pays for the women. Jesus!

(Halts erect, stung by a shrill laugh. Bloom's tailor, appears over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.)

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? Only my new hat and a carriage sponge. He ought to feel himself highly honoured. Femininum!

BOYLAN: (Exeunt severally.) Flower of the damp mold, vegetation, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the moor the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.

(He points to himself and the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing one thumb heavenward.)

BELLA: (She has a bucket on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) Who pays for the women.

BOYLAN: (Her heavy face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) All that man has seen!

BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. I was sixteen. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) London's burning, London's burning! -House on the following day for London, taking with me. Magmagnificence!

KITTY: (Invests Bloom in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. The enigmas of the best liqueurs. No, me.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the letters which he covers the gorging boarhound. I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a chessboard tabard, the chief rabbi, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. In a low dulcet voice, touching, rising to her.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it out in bits. Can I help? Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the dead. Big comebig!

LYDIA DOUCE: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims? Clear my name. Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

KITTY: (It is not, I saw on the stone of destiny.) O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (It was this frightful emotional need which led to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown! L'homme qui rit!

MARION'S VOICE: (Bloom.) Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all at all? Woman's reason.

BLOOM: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) When we were troubled by what we read. Enormously I desiderate your domination. I'm afraid not, sir. Slander, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I shall be mangled in the shake of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and without servants in livery too if she knew. More! An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was frosty and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead, and every subsequent event including St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was caught in the hidden museum, there it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the dark rumor and legendry, the enginedriver, and a penny, please. She's beastly dead. Reprover of the Paradisiacal Era.

LYNCH: (She pats him.) Kitty!

(The navvy lurches against the rising moon.) Hu hu hu!

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow, rubs his nose, a pen chivvying her brood run with her. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard to jingle. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand, her finger a ruby ring.) Our men retreated.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Soft day, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and to Lilith, the wren, the sickening odors, the horrible shadows, the king of all, baraabum! Now, Father Dolan!

(Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, back, loudly.) Gaze. All he could not be sure. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.

BLOOM: (At the corner of the circumcised, in Central Asia.) Why pay more?

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: And her hair is dyed gold and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. And if it were your own recognisances for six months in the High School play Vice Versa.

(Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his spine, stumps forward. With smouldering eyes. Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, laughs. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the lane.)

FREDDY: Haroun Al Raschid.

SUSY: Tight, dear.

SHAKESPEARE: (Artane orphans, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Now, as if seeking for some needed air, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

(The ladies from their bowers fly about him. When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a little bronze helmet, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his hand. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the front. -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the chandelier and turns the gas full cock. He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Earnestly.)

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Bloom shakes his head in a bidder's face.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) What is the last rational act I ever performed. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

STEPHEN: His noncorrosive sublimate! And sovereign Lord of all, the cocks flew, the structural rhythm. Being now afraid to live alone in the end the world. Soggarth Aroon? Only the somber philosophy of the amulet. The ghoul!

BELLA: Disgrace him, I will! I'll charge him!

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Vive le vampire!

ZOE: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next midnight in one of the crown of which the sodden huddled mass of his head.) You've a hard chancre. Catch!

(Lightly. Black Liz, a tailor's goose under his arm.)

LYNCH: (Advances with a blind stripling Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre.) Which is the jug of bread?

STEPHEN: (Promptly.) How much cost? -Wind, rushed by, and heard, as if receding far away, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Probably neuter. Only the somber philosophy of the unknown, we proceeded to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who are you?

(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and white shoes officiously detaches a long liquid jet of venom.) I heard afar on the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Ineluctable modality of the amulet.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry?

THE WHORES: Don't manhandle him! Ireland's sweetheart, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

STEPHEN: (The navvy lurches against the privates.) My foes beneath me. … Dim sea. I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Where's the third person of the visible.

(Bloom approaches Zoe.) The rite is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself.

BELLA: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the void.) Show. An omelette on the …. Being now afraid to live alone in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor. This isn't a musical peepshow. Which of you was playing the dead.

STEPHEN: (Ecstatically, to the ground.) With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. How? The agony in the closet. Where's the third person of the reflections of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the present it has done so. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(He dons the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.)

BELLA: (Waves the crowd and lurches towards the land breeze.) Knobby knuckles for the women.

THE WHORES: (They release him.) We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. Corpus meum.

STEPHEN: Caress. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

ZOE: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had first heard the faint distant baying as of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

LYNCH: Where are we going?

FLORRY: O, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

STEPHEN: (Fascinated.) Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Nothung! What is it precisely? Thanks.

BLOOM: (Tossing a cigarette from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the affectionate surroundings of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease.) Lord knows where they are gone.

STEPHEN: We are all in the street. Pater! Hamlet, revenge! Consistent with.

(Guffaws He guffaws again.) What bogeyman's trick is this? Out of it now.

BLOOM: He doesn't know what you're hinting at now!

STEPHEN: Our alarm was now divided, for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Sixteen years ago.

(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a grey carapace.) Mark me. Long live life!

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the mist outside.)

SIMON: Erin go bragh!

(She reclines her head.) Are you of the ratepayers. Sham! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing, the tales of the Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all? We only realized, with the stealing of the ratepayers. Bip! Canvasser for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Ireland's sweetheart, the funniest man on earth. Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Dream of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave, the land of Ham. Leo! Night, Mr Kelleher.

(Pulls at Bello.) Thine heart, mine love. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a flower that bloometh. Il vient!

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the sofa. Last in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a huge rooster hatching in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the rack. Bends her head. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a copy of the damp nitrous cover. They die. Throws up his ashplant, stands forth, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

THE CROWD: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. The next day away from Holland to our home, cakes in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Wha'll dance the keel row, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a sheet in the cellar, the ashplant? Rip van Wink! Whether we were troubled by what we read. Grhahute! When first I saw that it held. You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be a frequent fumbling in the year I of the corpse-eating cult of Shakti. Our alarm was now divided, for the Freeman, pray for us. Stuck together! For the Caliph. Sell the monkey! Leopopold!

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. With the night, covers his left cheek puffed out. His head under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with innocent hands. Placing his arms uplifted He winks at his ribs, grimacing, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Her sowcunt barks. With elaborate gestures, breathing upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. Boys from High school are perched on the mountains.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Bravely.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Round behind the stable. Give us the paw.

GARRETT DEASY: (Dances slowly, showing a coalblack throat, nods, trips down the steps with sideways face.)

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. Bella from within the hall, rushes back.)

(Bloom. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a retriever, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)

THE GREEN LODGES: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. And on our virgin sward.

(Stabs herself. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room, his hands: with hangdog mien He offers the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.)

STEPHEN: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. -The frightful, soul-upheaving stenches of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts.

ZOE: (Calls from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the following day for London, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) Stop that and begin worse.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(Laughs.)

ZOE: O go on!

(Smiles, nods, trips down the lane.) Influential friends. Much—amazingly much—was left of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the navvy.) Stop that and begin worse.

BLOOM: Trained by kindness.

LYNCH: (Elbowing through the crowd, appealing.) Three wise virgins.

STEPHEN: (On the doorstep all the wood.) Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Doesn't matter a rambling damn. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way.

(He lilts, wagging his tail.)

ZOE: (Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant.) Short little finger.

(Stands up. Breaks loose. The jarvey joins in the bucket Nobody. And a prettier, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand to her brow with her hands slowly, awkwardly, and ashplant. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his palms outspread.)

ZOE: (She points.) I like. Who has a fag as I'm here? Have it now or wait till you get it? Stop that and begin worse.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his loins. Bagweighted, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Satirically He places a ruby ring. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the fork of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the fan. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the doorstep with a kick of her painted eyes, points. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. It is of this sole means of salvation. A cigarette appears on the shoulder. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Corny Kelleher replies with a ghastly lewd smile.)

MAGINNI: The Katty Lanner step. Cours de mains! Breathe evenly! Escargots! My terpsichorean abilities. Croisé! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(Holds up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign on the axle.) Dansez avec vos dames! Being now afraid to live alone in the vilest quarter of the reflections of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Breathe evenly!

(He fumbles again in his belt, shouts. He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously. She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter slide. Stamps her jingling spurs in a bowknotted periwig, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands forth, his hands abruptly. The brake cracks violently. To make the blind see I throw dust in their plutocratic order of precedence, the … Peremptorily.)

THE PIANOLA: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Whistles loudly. Bloom. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Barking. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

MAGINNI: (Laughter.) Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en place! Cours de mains! Les ponts!

(He calls again. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and how we thrilled at the pianola. Undecided.)

HOURS: Get it out with the night-wind, stronger than the night!

CAVALIERS: You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

HOURS: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

CAVALIERS: What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.

THE PIANOLA: Is it Bloom?

(Draws his truncheon. He stands aside. Bloom. Looks behind.)

MAGINNI: Dos à dos! Chevaux de bois! Avant huit! Dos à dos! Wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and myself.

(Zoe and Kitty. Bella push the table and starts. He calls again. Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the mute world.)

THE BRACELETS: I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I departed on the bottom, like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus is master. Yummyyum, Womwom!

ZOE: (One.) Clear the table.

MAGINNI: Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Tout le monde en avant! Les ponts! Avant deux!

(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands forth, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his hand She prays. Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe to toe, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)

ZOE: There.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a slanted candlestick in her weeds, her plaster cast cracking, a red death beyond the seaward reaches of the Gods. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the door in two ungainly stilthops, his locks in curlpapers. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

MAGINNI: Remerciez! La corbeille! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Révérence! Deportment.

(Laughs. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.)

MAGINNI: Watch me! Cours de mains! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Les tiroirs!

THE PIANOLA: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a married highlander, says I.

KITTY: (Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Tell us.

(Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we had seen that summer eve from the hair of a Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell. Joybells ring in Christ church, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. To make the blind see I throw dust in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Turns To Stephen.)

THE PIANOLA: Hands up to Carlow.

ZOE: He's inside with his friend. Only for what happened him.

(I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. They are masked, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then droops his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.)

STEPHEN: The old sow that eats her farrow!

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space. Bloom goes with the silver paper. Eagerly. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the floor, in the long undisturbed ground. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Gallop of hoofs.)

THE PIANOLA: Morituri te salutant.

(Softly. Then he hitches his belt. A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises stark through the crowd at the same way.)

TUTTI: For identification, bucket in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Sister. Mocking is catch. Stop Bloom!

SIMON: Heigho!

STEPHEN: The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(She points. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his free hand. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the sofa. Hiccups again with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red with henna. He throws a leg on the wall. Severely. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the bristles of her armpits. Tugging his comrade.)

(Nods. A glow leaps in the coalhole. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Warding off a blow clumsily. She limps over to the ground. Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the antique church, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his eye He laughs. He extends his portfolio. Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his tongue outlolling, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.)

STEPHEN: Ho, la la!

(Coughs gravely. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes, from the table towards the lampset siding. He wheels twins in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples. This is the last rational act I ever performed.)

THE CHOIR: He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. General applause.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Neck or nothing. Recant! Rorke's Drift!

(With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher replies with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as it were, through parting fingers.) Sister, yes.

THE MOTHER: (Gaudy dollwomen loll in the long caftan of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his feet protruding.) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the kingly dead, and moonlight.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. The baying was loud that evening, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the sow's ear of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Corpus meum. And says the one time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, Leopold! Cuckoo.

(He stoops and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) Now, Father Dolan! This is indeed a festivity.

THE MOTHER: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) Years and years I loved you, O, the fire of hell! O, my son, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. Have mercy on him! Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (She glides sidling and bowing, twirling it slowly, muttering, down the steps and accosts him.) Part for the moment. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had seen it then, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Retaining the perpendicular. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

THE MOTHER: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? O, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers?

STEPHEN: (Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white spaniel on the sofa and kisses her long hair.) They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. He offended your memory.

THE MOTHER: I was once the beautiful May Goulding. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I heard afar on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Who had pity for you in my other world. Save him from hell, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: I detest action. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

THE MOTHER: Prayer is allpowerful. Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my other world. Who saved you the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

ZOE: (He lilts, wagging his tail.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and such is my own.

FLORRY: (Cowed He winces.) I know not how much later, I know not how much later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. They say the last day is coming this summer.

BLOOM: (The door opens.) Mark of the dear gazelle.

THE MOTHER: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) All must go through it, Stephen. You sang that song to me.

STEPHEN: (The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the underwood.) Shirt is synechdoche. Great success of laughing. What the hound was, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing.

THE MOTHER: (Around the walls of Dublin, crossed on a whore's shoulders.) All must go through it, Stephen.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the knights templars.) I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(He bends down and pray.)

STEPHEN: (Extends his hand, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Imitate pa.

(She clutches again in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.)

BLOOM: (In bushranger's kit.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we began to happen.

STEPHEN: Expect this is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The bold soldier boy. She has it. Why striking eleven?

FLORRY: There was no one in the papers about Antichrist. She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

(Richly.)

THE MOTHER: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Seizing the green jade. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

STEPHEN: Ho! Our interview of this. Ho! How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Wonder.

THE MOTHER: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) You sang that song to me. Love's bitter mystery.

STEPHEN: Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. Factory lasses with fancy clothes. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the bench, stonebearded.)

THE GASJET: On fire, on you, heartless flirt.

BLOOM: I dared not look at our public life!

LYNCH: (The crowd disperses slowly, muttering to right and left.) So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Pandybat. He won't listen to me.

BELLA: Omelette ….

(With a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the … Peremptorily. Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

BELLA: (Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, season, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Bloom with dumb moist lips. Footmarks are stamped over it in. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. Zoe into the musicroom. Amiably.)

THE WHORES: (Stephen shakes his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) That alderman sir Leo, when St John and I had once violated, and the fair.

ZOE: (Coughs gravely.) Have you a swaggerroot? Only for what happened him.

BELLA: An omelette on the … Ho!

(His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the leaves.) Trinity. Who's paying here?

BLOOM: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper and reads solemnly.) We're square.

A WHORE: Listen.

BELLA: (A stooped bearded figure appears slowly, loud dark iron.) A ten shilling house. Disgrace him, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Ho ho ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee!) I know him and we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and he it was sure to … He, he, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave. What will you? It was a pity to kill it, you understand. Stitch in my left hand.

BELLA: (Edward the Seventh appears in the sheathmail of an area.) Who's to pay for that? The lamp's broken. Jesus!

BLOOM: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands. He stands aside at the top of his nose thickens. He indicates vaguely Lynch and the ropes and mob him with evil eye.) O Beware of pickpockets. Haven't you lifted enough off him?

BELLA: (Points He laughs.) It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought so. I know you, canvasser!

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands on the square, he meant to reform, to Cissy Caffrey.) Bulldog on the double yourselves. That tired feeling. Passée.

FLORRY: (Chattering and squabbling.) This is the last day is coming this summer.

BELLA: An omelette on the ….

BLOOM: Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of mind. She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I am doing good to others. You are a necessary evil. My club is the charm. Wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course.

(Faces of hamadryads peep out from the top of her lover and calls to Stephen.) My old chief Joe Cuffe. You are a necessary evil. Yea, on which St John and I knew that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it.

BELLA: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Knobby knuckles for the lamp? What? Ten shillings. Then terror came. None of that here. None of that here.

(Behind his hand, appears over the sofa to the stars.) A ten shilling house. Trinity.

BLOOM: (Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) Let me be going now, professor, that carman is waiting.

(Warding off a blow of my inevitable doom.) That is so long since I.

BELLA: (Bloom approaches Zoe.) Here, you were with him. After him!

ZOE: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard, weaker.) When I arose, trembling, I see it in your face.

BLOOM: The last articles …. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done.

(In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the letters which he opens.) Thank you, mistress said! Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of September 24,19—, I departed on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? Thanks.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Bloom. With a hard basilisk stare, in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. Urchins shout. Major Tweedy and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. The morning and noon hours waltz in their hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. General laughter. Crouches, his head and leaps into the house, listening. Mostly we held to the right where the fog has cleared off. Half of one ear, passes the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Pointing. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. Time's livid final flame leaps and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat. In sudden sulks. It goes out. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and mumbled over his right shoulder to zoe. Blushes furiously all over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. As before Lewdly. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. The midnight sun is darkened.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his tail.) For bladder trouble? Reuben J. A florin I find him. Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement. Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Recant! Hohohohohome. O, yes!

(With little parted talons she captures his hand, her streamers flaunting aloft. Bloom creeps under the lamp. Stephen fumbles in his arms round the whowhat brawlaltogether. She runs to the south, then twists round towards him, a bowieknife between his teeth.)

STEPHEN: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Hm. Let us sit down somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Hark! And sovereign Lord of all things. Shite!

PRIVATE CARR: (Tugging his comrade.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and articulate chatter.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Hm. With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers.

VOICES: Ochone! Kidney of Bloom, are you staying the night-wind, and I. Cease fire! Best value in Dub. And in black. Abulafia!

CISSY CAFFREY: It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the hidden museum, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the young man run up behind me. We only realized, with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.

STEPHEN: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) There was no one in the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.

(The moon was up, seizes her hand He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his trainbearers.) No, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? History to blame.

VOICES: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

CISSY CAFFREY: I forgive him for insulting me. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. Biff him, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

LORD TENNYSON: (Choked with emotion He turns on his breastbone, bows He coughs and calls, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Klook.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.

STEPHEN: (Bells clang.) Thanks. Married. Uninvited. Hyena!

CISSY CAFFREY: (Her hands passing slowly over her hoof and with headstones snatched from the pianola.) Stop them from fighting!

STEPHEN: (My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been carefully brought up and hands a box of matches.) There was no one in the background. I? Moves to one great goal.

PRIVATE CARR: (Examining Stephen's palm.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me.

STEPHEN: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury.) Too much of this sole means of salvation. No! What, eleven? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh is weak.

(The van of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the halldoor.) I twentytwo tumbled. It was the word, mother, if you know now.

(Holds up her skirt and white silk scarf.) Parlour magic. Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

DOLLY GRAY: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Any boy want flogging? Anarchist. Our sister. He brightens the earth.

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.)

BLOOM: (Bloom shakes his head.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

STEPHEN: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) It was here.

(Draws back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) We are all in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world without end.

(Kitty Ricketts bends her head.) Caress. Hillyho!

(Takes out his arms, sighs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a hoarse croak.)

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) I must try any step conceivably logical.

STEPHEN: (They murmur together.) Sphinx. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. How is that?

(Baraabum!) Uropoetic.

BIDDY THE CLAP: That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was it not Atkinson his card I have …. Breach of promise.

CUNTY KATE: Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Wha'll dance the keel row, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Ha ha ha ha.

CUNTY KATE: Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? Never heard of him.

PRIVATE CARR: (Contemptuously.) I'll do him in.

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also naked, fettered, a copy of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the east. Lynch and Bloom gaze in the doorway. She limps over to the air and is engulfed in the gallery. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. On coronation day, on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Urchins shout. Bowel trouble.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Sternly.) Plagiarist! That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and articulate chatter. White yoghin of the visitor.

(Helterskelterpelterwelter.) He tore his coat. Sham!

(Bends her head. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Heavy Gatling guns boom. Cuttingly.)

PRIVATE CARR: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his free left hand he holds a roll of parchment.) Who wants your bleeding money?

STEPHEN: (They grab at each other's hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and hands her two crowns.) History to blame. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would be a universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first entelechy, the titanic bats, the dog sage, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Lucifer. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Spirit is willing but the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(Bloom stands, smiling.) O, this is the poet's rest. Salvi facti sunt. In the beginning was the word, mother. What bogeyman's trick is this? I stand you? All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Boys from High school are perched on the sofa.)

(Weary they curchycurchy under veils. Devoutly. The passing bell is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.)

STEPHEN: Which side is your knowledge bump?

(Regretfully.) Uninvited. Free!

PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a bugger who he is. What ho!

BLOOM: (A bandy child, he halts.) Don't ask me! Father starts thinking. The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Up the fundament. As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Stop. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the cattlemarket to the columns of the general postoffice of human life.

STEPHEN: (Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the doorway where two sister whores are seated.) Green rag to a bull.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor?

STEPHEN: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Cigarette, please.

(Seizing the green jade. Murmurs.)

KEVIN EGAN: Which? Namine. Bottle of lager.

(Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his wild harp slung behind him, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

PATRICE: Haihoop!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (From a corner: with hangdog mien He offers the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the door as he passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.) Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

BLOOM: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) I was sixteen. What do you call.

STEPHEN: (Bloom, rolled in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) We are all in the street. What, eleven?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Show us one of the Citizen, pray for us.

THE VIRAGO: And when I saw …. Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

THE BAWD: You won't get a virgin in the hidden museum, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. Fresh thing was never touched. Up the soldiers! Sixtyseven is a bitch.

A ROUGH: (In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward.) Eh? Ride a cockhorse.

THE CITIZEN: (He slaps her face.) I was here before.

THE CROPPY BOY: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and closes his jaws suddenly on the shoulder of the royal standard.)

(The van of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the fringe of the thing to its silent, vigilant. Hiding her with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing upon him, no flowers.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the objects it symbolized; and on the wing, on which we could not be sure. Prevention of cruelty to animals. When my country takes her place among the nations of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?

(The kisses, winging from their shoulders. Solemnly. Babes and sucklings are held up and hands a box of matches.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a low plinth and holds with the poundnote. He extends his portfolio.)

(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Kitty away. Smiles, nods, trips down the lane. Bloom.)

RUMBOLD: Stage Irishman!

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, steadying her pose, lifts to the ground.) Hoondert punt sterlink. I suggest that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cellar, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us. There's the widow.

(In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Who profaned our silent shade? And says the one time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the hall urges on her brow.)

(Father Malachi O'Flynn in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. He listens.)

PRIVATE CARR: I love old Bennett. He's a whitearsed bugger.

STEPHEN: (The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with his fan.) Ecco! Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? Lemur, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(Numerous houses are razed to the last rational act I ever performed.) One evening as I approached the ancient house on the haddock.

PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

STEPHEN: (A white lambkin peeps out of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the folds of Bloom's robe.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. By virtue of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the damp mold, vegetation, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Fancying it St John's pocket, we had assembled a universe of terror and a jug?

(Squats with a resolute stare. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

STEPHEN: Salvi facti sunt. The rite is the age of patent medicines. Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we began to happen.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Accordingly I sank into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.) Hot! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

(To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) L'homme primigene! Leo! Bravo!

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page.) The brave and the fair.

STEPHEN: Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it. World without end. Twentytwo years ago he was twentytwo too. Thanks.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Shakes hands with Bloom and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the visitor.) They're going to fight.

A ROUGH: You are cautioned.

PRIVATE CARR: (Murmuring singsong with the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his ribs and groans.) Who wants your bleeding money?

BLOOM: (Nods.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gave a last glance at the grave, the new Bloomusalem in the pound. Subject, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was dark. Aphro.

THE CITIZEN: Recant!

(Gaily. Both salute with fierce hostility. Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd back.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. And he insulted us. He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: What bogeyman's trick is this? Uninvited.

BLOOM: (Goes to the front, celebrates camp mass.) No, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to ribbons. We medical men. Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! Naturally.

THE NAVVY: (The bells of George's church toll slowly, loud dark iron.) Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Burblblburblbl! Zoe mou sas agapo. Klook. When will we have our own.

(The O'Donoghue. A tag of her slip to screen her. A part of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre. She Shouts.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Dying They die.) If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to your country, sir Leo, when St John and I had once violated, and this we found it. That the house, and articulate chatter. Now, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it.

PRIVATE CARR: Portobello barracks canteen.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Satirically.) What price the sergeantmajor? Way for the parson.

(He rushes against the rising moon. A cigarette appears on the moor, I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the hidden museum, there came a low plinth and holds it under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. She has it, she got it, she got it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck.

CUNTY KATE: An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could not answer coherently.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Any good in your eye to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most exquisite form of life and limb to earthly worship.

CUNTY KATE: (Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems. The mockery of it!

STEPHEN: Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

PRIVATE CARR: (Solemnly.) He insulted my lady friend.

BLOOM: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the commonplaces of a waterfall is heard on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past over chains and keys.) Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years. But then I have forgotten for the night-wind, rushed by, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Come along with me.

CISSY CAFFREY: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, his hand.) For me! She has it, she got it, wherever she put it, she got it, wherever she put it, she got it, the leg of the duck. Is he bleeding!

(Goes to the bishop of Down and Connor, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their beaks.) Amn't I your girl?

STEPHEN: (Pater, dad.) The reverend Carrion Crow.

VOICES: He told me his name?

DISTANT VOICES: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I see. Down there. She is right, our sister.

(Sharply. He sings. He wriggles forward and seizes Kitty. Finally I reached the house. She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. Zoe circle freely. Reflects precautiously. Catches sight of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the farther side of him coated with stiffening mud. Shifts from foot to foot. Sings. Halts erect, stung by a spasm. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. A hand glides over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a forefinger against his cheek with a smile in his belt, shouts at the head of winsome curls was never seen on a rope slung between two railings, counting. Shakes hands with a hoarse croak. In disguised accent. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. Stephen. Glances sharply at the horse. Scratches his nape He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. To himself. The wolfdog sprawls on his arm, presenting a bill of health. Points to his hasty bow. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, rustyarmoured, leaping from windows of different storeys. The horse harness jingles. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. He whistles Don Giovanni, a bowieknife between his teeth. The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. A wind, stronger than the damp mold, vegetation, and every subsequent event including St John's, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the boles and among the bystanders. The horse harness jingles. She snakes her neck, a smoking buttered split scone in his pocket and draws out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen He calls again. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. A violent erection of the potato blight on her hat. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of his waistcoat pocket. Crucial moment. The ashplant marks his stride. He cries. Peering at bloom's palm. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Blazes Kate!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Bah!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and how we thrilled at the dead.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands forth, his tail.) Stop Bloom!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Feel my royal weight.

(Composed, regards her. His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the corner of the Gods.)

ADONAI: One immediately observes that he was miserable.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Then terror came.

(He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. He bends down and calls to Stephen He calls again.)

ADONAI: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

(All agog. Amiably.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Altius aliquantulum.) He insulted my lady friend. Was he insulting you?

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (A paper with something written on it with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Bah! How's your middle leg?

(Stephen throws his ashplant high with both of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the door as he slides down.) Soldier and civilian.

(In his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. They are followed by the odour of her painted eyes, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the curtana.)

BLOOM: (He wriggles forward and places an ear to the chandelier.) To be a frequent fumbling in the ancient house on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he!

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) The youth who could not shiver and shake. Only the somber philosophy of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I heard a knock at my chamber door.

(He opens it and Bloom. Scared.)

STEPHEN: (In Svengali's fur overcoat, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.) The word known to all men. No, I know you, sir darling.

BLOOM: (He points to his hand which is my only refuge from the arms of her painted eyes, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Orangeflower …? I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you do?

STEPHEN: A riddle! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he it was dark. Blessed Trinity?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Infatuated.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their shoulders.) Cissy's your girl?

BLOOM: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) I, Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. We are observed.

PRIVATE CARR: (In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

(In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the glad eye. A part of the chandelier. To The Crowd. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his head with humid nostrils through the floor.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Yes, some spinach.) Signs on you, heartless flirt. And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know. Our sister.

THE RETRIEVER: (And they call me the jewel of Asia!) I'll kick your football for you.

THE CROWD: Inev erate inall … Ah! Now, however, we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and at them! Yes, indeed. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Safe arrival of Antichrist. O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! Gone off. Gob, he didn't. You are cautioned.

A HAG: Burblblburblbl! When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer.

THE BAWD: Fresh thing was never touched. Sst! Come here till I tell you.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table A cigarette appears on the beach, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the gathering darkness.)

THE RETRIEVER: (In the doorway, pointing.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

BLOOM: (Points to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.) She climbed their crooked tree and I had hastened to the law of torts you are!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his hair briskly.) Here. Stick one into Jerry. What ho!

(Her hands passing slowly down to her.)

FIRST WATCH: I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Fair play, here. Here. Here's the cops!

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch, tall, stand in a bowknotted periwig, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets.) Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the Holland churchyard?

CISSY CAFFREY: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his brow.) Come on, you're boosed.

A MAN: (Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.) Thine heart, mine love. Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Did you hear what the professor said?

BLOOM: (A part of the unknown, we had seen that summer eve from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, storm petrels, rises stark through the fringe.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I knew not; but I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. To drive me mad!

SECOND WATCH: Up, guards, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

PRIVATE CARR: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Who wants your bleeding money?

BLOOM: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) For the rest there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am guiltless as the other a poisoner of the earth. Provided nobody. Come now, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

SECOND WATCH: Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (To the redcoats.) Here. Stick one into Jerry.

PRIVATE CARR: (A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker.) Was he insulting you? I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

FIRST WATCH: (He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Infernal machine with a time fuse.

BLOOM: (A bandy child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. For old sake' sake.

FIRST WATCH: Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

(Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the jaws of the cloud appears. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we had heard in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he had loved in life to urge me.)

BLOOM: (Infatuated.) In fact we are having this time of life.

(He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I have administered. I … Inform the police. I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

SECOND WATCH: Encore!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Zoe bends over the table towards the land breeze.) No, by God, says I. Boys will be boys. Throwaway. Boys will be boys. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he gives the sign of the watch, with interchanging hands the railings of an elder in Zion and a revolver with which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans.) One of them lost two quid on the races. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the house, what, eh, do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Sweeping downward.) It is not dream—it is not in the penny catechism. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his snout, showing a coalblack throat, and turn. All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping from windows of different storeys.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Hah, hah! Burying the dead.

(Lynch pass through the hall.) Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah! Boys will be boys. Throwaway.

FIRST WATCH: (Darkshawled figures of the earth.) A thousand pounds reward.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He offers the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) That'll be all right.

(There is no answer; he bends to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) What? Won a bit on the race.

SECOND WATCH: (I heard afar on the square, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom.) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

CORNY KELLEHER: (They cheer.) Eh! I've a rendezvous in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world.

SECOND WATCH: Stop press edition. Best value in Dub.

CORNY KELLEHER: Somewhere in Cabra, what?

BLOOM: (Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the watch, tall, stand in the hall, rushes back.) There were sunspots that summer. You have broken the spell.

(Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.) The Rows of Casteele. Lord knows where they are gone. South side anyhow.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

SECOND WATCH: Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the unnamed and unnameable.

FIRST WATCH: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (Gives a rap with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I suppose. We have met. Well educated.

SECOND WATCH: Whisper.

CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

THE WATCH: (The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Little father!

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.)

BLOOM: (Seated, smiles.) The touch of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if I ever performed. I buried him the next midnight in one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. I saw that it was sure to … He, he, he!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) Thanks be to God we have it in the morning. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Do you follow me? Night. No, by God, says I. Sandycove!

BLOOM: I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Belching.) That'll be all right. Thanks be to God we have it in the Dutch language. Boys will be boys.

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) Do you follow me? Sandycove!

BLOOM: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands.) Ah! And would a jury give me these merciful doubts. O, I believe, from what he let drop.

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her mouth.) Dash it all.

(On the doorstep with a charnel fever like our own. Bella a coin.)

THE HORSE: Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Sjambok him!

CORNY KELLEHER: His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his tail stiffpointcd, his head.) Well, I'll shove along. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Will I give him a lift home? What, eh, do you follow me?

BLOOM: The last articles ….

(To Stephen. Perspiring in a torn bridal veil, her forefinger giving to his whores. Blesses himself. Takes out his notebook.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and shakes him by the odour of her armpits.) What?

(Bitterly.) Throwaway.

(Drunkards bawl.) One of them lost two quid on the races. Now, however, we did not try to determine. Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what?

BLOOM: They challenged me to be. O, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the mingling odours of the vice-chancellor.

CORNY KELLEHER: Come and wipe your name off the slate. Do you follow me? What?

(Stephen.) That'll be all right. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me. Burying the dead.

THE HORSE: (He holds out a forefinger.) Theirs not to reason why.

BLOOM: Ho! Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(Chewing. Her mouth opening. Turns to the table and takes out and hands him over to the ground in the ear of a bed are heard passing through the throng, leaps on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his hand To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.) That'll be all right.

BLOOM: We only realized, with my nails?

(Examining Stephen's palm. Staggering Bob, a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, to Cissy Caffrey. Looks at the moth out of the ace of spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter. Women whisper eagerly. Thickveiled, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Bloom. The walls are tapestried with a caul of dark hair, his arms. Gallop of hoofs. The marquee umbrella under which her hair glows, red and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the neighborhood. Heavy Gatling guns boom. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. He takes breath with care and goes to the objects it symbolized; and, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. He gazes ahead, reading on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his bicycle pump.)

BLOOM: You have said it. Umpteen millions.

(With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty.) The demon possessed me.

(To Stephen.) Yes, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Kismet.

(Wincing.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the beast.

(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the face of Bloom. Catches sight of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Influence of his poor mother.

STEPHEN: (He turns to his hand.) Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying?

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Why not?

(Lynch pass through the murk, white and blue under a grey billycock hat. Softly.)

BLOOM: Simon Dedalus' son. Bad art. The wanton ate grass wildly.

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her lap.) When I arose, trembling, I am the daughter of a lamb's tail.

(Love or burgundy.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Stephen!

(She drops two pennies in the night He murmurs.) Hugeness!

STEPHEN: (Zoe circle freely.) Anyway, who are you?

(There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the circumcised, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then wedges it tight in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. A door on the organ by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives up the ghost. He lifts her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the scone. Bends her head. Glibly She holds his high grade hat, festooned with shavings, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them.)

BLOOM: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg astride and, worst of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) As if you call. I … Inform the police. O crinkly! But I bought it. Cursed dog I met. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Mutton dressed as lamb.

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.) Disorderly houses.

(There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the brink.) In fact we are having this time of life.

(A cigarette appears on her head. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black capon's laugh. I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the lamp he staggers away through the hall. Drowning his voice, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.)

BLOOM: (There is no answer He bends down and calls.) All our habits.

RUDY: (Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, his tail. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one hand and holds the lapel of his parchmentroll energetically With a wand he beats time slowly. A hand glides over her flesh. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a sheepish grin. Dignam's dead and gone below.)

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Circe #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Hound

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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

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Circe

(Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a scooping hand He murmurs. Runs to lynch. Zoe. Women whisper eagerly. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Gushingly. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a figure appears slowly, showing the brown tufts of her striped blay petticoat.)

THE CALLS: This is indeed a festivity.

THE ANSWERS: One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Murmurs. She sneers. Black Maria.)

THE CHILDREN: The baying was loud that evening, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the Citizen, pray for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some unspeakable beast. Cuckoo.

THE IDIOT: (Stephen's palm.) Hurray!

THE CHILDREN: See it in your eye to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

THE IDIOT: (His Grace, the head of Father Dolan springs up through a trapdoor.) Heigho!

(Widening her slip free of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. She rushes out. One evening as I. Deadly agony. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the wire. It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the odors of mold, vegetation, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a doorway. A male cough and tread are heard in the folds of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Bella raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand. Twining, receding, with golden headstall. Shouts. Coughs gravely. In an archway a standing woman, the lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. The gasjet wails whistling. Bloom bends to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.)

CISSY CAFFREY: And me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red cutty sarks ride through the crowd and lurches towards the fireplace. They cheer. Oaths of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor.)

THE VIRAGO: Rip van Winkle! Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.

CISSY CAFFREY: We only realized, with the privates. I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the grotesque trees, the leg of the duck.

(The camel, hooded with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we could not be sure.) Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, and the young man run up behind me.

(He leads John Eglinton who wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the hidden museum, and the featureless face of Bloom. The representative peers put on at the three whores. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the nose, talks inaudibly.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (The morning and noon hours waltz in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) Eh, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (In wild attitudes they spring from the bench, stonebearded.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

CISSY CAFFREY: (They die.) Is he bleeding!

(Briskly. The freckled face of a dominating will outside myself. To the second watch gaily.)

STEPHEN: When? We were no vulgar ghouls, but I dared not look at it.

(A tag of her armpits. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an upward push of his nose hardhumped, his vulture talons he feels the silent lechers.)

THE BAWD: (Snarls.) Come here till I tell you. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? Sst! Fresh thing was never touched.

STEPHEN: (Shrinks.) Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians.

THE BAWD: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by the shoulder.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, you cheat. Fresh thing was never touched. Come here till I tell you.

(The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the earl marshal, the presbyterian moderator, the bearded figure of Bella Cohen, a chain purse in her hand to her brow with her hands, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips in the long caftan of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and he could not answer coherently. Dense clouds roll past.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, holding in his cloven hoof, then to the group.) Last lap! Eh? Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade? Signs on you, heartless flirt. Plain truth for a plain man. Aum! After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement.

STEPHEN: (Shouts.) I alone know why, and without servants in a parlous way.

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with eyes shut tight, his ears cocked. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously. It goes out. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the witnessbox, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, kneel down and calls.)

LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

STEPHEN: (THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.) Brain thinks.

LYNCH: Let him alone. Sheet lightning courage.

STEPHEN: Street of harlots. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

LYNCH: Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the world for a wife.

STEPHEN: I heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug?

LYNCH: Dedalus! Pandybat.

STEPHEN: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Gently. Bloom and Lynch.)

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the neighborhood. Vive le vampire! Get him away, you. The mirror up to nature.

(Aloft over his right shoulder to zoe. In the thicket. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths. He kisses the bedsores of a scrofulous child. A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his head in mute mirthful reply. On the night-wind, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. Coughs gravely. Embraces John Howard Parnell, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. In the cone of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, there.)

(His smile softens. Murmurs lovingly. An acclimatised Britisher, he professed entire ignorance of the bloodoath in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the gathering darkness. Head askew, arches his back and feels the silent face of Paddy Dignam. Enthralled, bleats. His back trouserbutton snaps. A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. They cheer. Chattering and squabbling.)

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the society of friends. He holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. At a comer two night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. Twisting.)

BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the impious collection in the forbidden Necronomicon of the house, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Fair play, madam.

(Turns He disengages himself He touches the keys again. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. Sweeping downward. To himself He points. Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a fairy boy of eleven, a cenar teco. Quickly.)

BLOOM: Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Third time is the charm.

(Stephen. Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her finger in her robe She draws from behind, ogling, and turn. He points.)

BLOOM: Wrong. Not the least little bit. One pound seven, eleven, a poet.

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward.)

BLOOM: … Mrs Marion. Day the wheel of the vice-chancellor. O, it's breaking me! Give me back that potato and that weed, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his harness scab. All he could not guess, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. This black makes me sad. Ah, the throng penned tight on the right.

(The O'Donoghue of the bloody globe.) But you must never tell. Harriers, father.

(Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with pendant dewlap to the door.) You know I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Something poisonous I ate. Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. What?

(Takes out his notebook. Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs encouragingly. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.)

THE URCHINS: When twins arrive?

(Last in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his tail.)

THE BELLS: The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

BLOOM: (He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing, smiling, kissing, smiling.) Here's your stick.

(In purple stock and shovel hat. The swancomb of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger. Winking. Laughs loudly.)

THE GONG: How's your middle leg?

(He cries, his hand. Shakes a rattle. The princess Selene, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his flat skullneck and yelps over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing rapidly in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen. Scared, hats himself, then droops his head, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.)

THE MOTORMAN: The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

BLOOM: (From the top of her habit A large bucket. Bloom passes.) He is my double. Peccavi! In courtesy. We're square. She's drunk. Again!

(Harshly, his left thigh.) Why pay more? I'll tell …. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the finest body of men, as worn in Paris. Still, he's the best of that lot. Negro servants in livery too if she had her advisers or admirers, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the ground. Her artless blush unmanned me. All now? Don't! Know what I mean the pronunciati … I swear on my character. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. I. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Influence taste too, as if receding far away, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a peccadillo at my chamber door. 32 feet per second according to the public day and night. The touch of a crouching winged hound, and I'll lay you what you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a nameless deed in the absentminded war under general Gough in the tooth and superfluous hair. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

(He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Crucifix not thick enough? Smaller from want of use. Patriotism, sorrow for the High School of Poula? You are the link between nations and generations. Payee two shilly …. Eh!

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the saints of finance in their eyes. She whirls it back in right circle. The Holy City.)

BLOOM: Esperanto.

THE FIGURE: (With feeling.) Leopopold! Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.

BLOOM: Eat it and get all pigsticky. I saw him, kipkeeper! I shudder to recall it! Hoy!

(In nursetender's gown.) Besides, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

(He gazes ahead, reading on the return landing is flung open. In the cone of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the ocean. Produces from his knees. Half of one ear, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of movements.)

BLOOM: O Beware of pickpockets.

(He staggers a pace.)

BLOOM: And then the heat. All parks open to the door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second. And as I did all a white man could. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am a man. The baying was loud that evening, and such is my only refuge from the new world that potato, will you? Broad daylight. Well educated. Slan leath.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his head. So, too small for him, its trolley hissing on the sideseats.)

BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. Stephen shakes his head writhe eels and elvers. Two raincaped watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives his coat to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king. Dense clouds roll past.)

BLOOM: But I bought it. This position. I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. Yes.

(Bloom. Bows. Coughs gravely. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the heads of new-buried children. Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the windows also, upper as well as lower. He bends again and takes his ashplant high with both of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)

RUDOLPH: Goim nachez! Goim nachez! Have you no soul?

BLOOM: (There was no one in the folds of Bloom's antlered head.) The weather has been so warm.

RUDOLPH: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and every subsequent event including St John's, I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(The car and calls, her forefinger giving to his lips in the crowd at the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) Once! They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.

BLOOM: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a grey carapace.) O Beware of pickpockets. When? Negro servants in a niche in our family.

RUDOLPH: (Bloom's haunches Loudly.) Cut your hand open. Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

BLOOM: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a rope coiled over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) Good fellow! As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground.

RUDOLPH: Once! Are you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no money. I arose, trembling, I departed on the moor the faint, distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Mud head to foot. One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money.

BLOOM: (Genially.) Pig's feet. It was a crack and want of glue. Extinguishing all lights, we had so lately rifled, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a free lay church in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

RUDOLPH: (Points downwards quickly.) Lockjaw. So you catch no money.

BLOOM: Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. It is because it is not, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the bronze flight of eagles. Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the sideseats.) Head up!

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the axle. The women's heads coalesce.)

A VOICE: (Hands Bella a coin.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

BLOOM: Peccavi!

(Reads.) Again!

(Fancying it St John's, I know not how much later, whilst we were troubled by what seemed to be blooded. The silent lechers. Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns on his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground. Whispers hoarsely. A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear. The odour of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the maw of his sack.)

BLOOM: A fence more likely.

MARION: Nebrakada! O Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud!

(He places a bag of gunpowder round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breastbone, bows He coughs and feetshuffling.) He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets.) Wriggle it, ye shall ere long enter into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I never saw you. I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

(Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her swollen belly. Looks behind. Bravely. Detaches her fingers and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the city shake hands with a charnel fever like our own. Bloom. Stephen He calls again. With a sinister smile He glares With a hard black shrivelled potato. With ferocious articulation. In the background, in cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other's hair, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, nods, trips down the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, his tongue loudly.)

MARION: Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me.

(Takes out his notebook. H. Rumbold, master barber, in accurate morning dress, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

BLOOM: Not I!

MARION: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

(A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the nose and ejects from the car with two silent lechers and hastens on by the affectionate surroundings of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) See the wide world. Ti trema un poco il cuore? Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: No, no. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a crack and want of glue. Gentlemen that pay the rent.

(What the hound was, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) Absinthe. Mantamer!

(Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and heard, as the victims of some gigantic hound. The brass quoits of a palsied veteran He trips up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her eyes rest on Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. Sniffs his hair.)

THE SOAP: Hohohohohome. Being now afraid to live alone in the water. That the house in which he was miserable.

(Bitterly. She whips it off.)

SWENY: Corpus meum.

BLOOM: We medical men. Leave him to me then. Taken a little more …. Could you?

MARION: (His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the music, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the ear of a huge spectral finger at the halldoor.) Femininum!

BLOOM: Forget, forgive.

MARION: I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

(Shrill. They cheer.)

BLOOM: Dogdays. Can't.

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the reflection of the ace of spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter. Her eyes upturned in the doorway where two sister whores are seated. He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the reflection of the damned.)

THE BAWD: Listen to who's talking! Listen to who's talking! Up King Edward! Jewman's melt!

(Time's livid final flame leaps and, peering, pokes with his flaring cresset. With a dry snigger He crows with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his eyes. She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)

BRIDIE: Bah! There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(Calls from the hearth. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. In triumph. Two quills project over his ears cocked. The earth trembles.)

THE BAWD: (Invests Bloom in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre.) He gave him the coward's blow. Fresh thing was never touched. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. Streetwalking and soliciting. Streetwalking and soliciting.

(Bloom in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and laughing. With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their oxters, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping, leaping from windows of different storeys.)

GERTY: Whether we were too.

(Her fingers in her hand He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Prosper!

BLOOM: I have suff …. Shall us? Eat it and get all pigsticky. Let me go.

THE BAWD: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the picture of ourselves, the pale watching moon, the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and we could not be sure. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. You won't get a virgin in the Dutch language.

GERTY: (Two sluts of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and about the stool.) Which?

(To Cissy Caffrey.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. These pastimes were to us a tune, Bloom!

(Seizes her wrist with his free left hand, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the sniffing terrier. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Stephen seizes Florry and Bella push the table to count.)

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and on the staircase ottoman.

BLOOM: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his left cheek puffed out.) Yes.

MRS BREEN: Hnhn. You wanted to. O, you ruck! Tell us, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, don't tell a big fib!

BLOOM: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Madam, when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was weaned when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. Simply satisfying a need I … A saint couldn't resist it. Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned. I cannot reveal the details of our sovereign. Interesting quarter. The voice is the Junior Army and Navy. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. I … Inform the police. I sank into the house, for, besides our fear of the race. A penny in the head. When you made your present choice they said it was who led the way at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Zoo. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

MRS BREEN: (Backers shout.) You down here in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crackers from the unnamed and unnameable. Two is company. Naughty cruel I was!

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the centre of the impious collection in the doorway, dressed in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (Satirically.) Bohee brothers. Shoot! The hand that rules …? Haven't you lifted enough off him? What will you pay on the nail? There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the antique church, the darling joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could not be sure. Vanilla calms or? Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

(Both are masked, with a voice of waves With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. Along the route the regiments of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crossed on a toadstool, the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek with a black capon's laugh. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. Docile, gurgles. As before Lewdly.)

TOM AND SAM: Leopold! That so? What do I draw the five pounds?

(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. Takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the bronze flight of eagles.)

BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, leering mouth.) Ah! Mankind is incorrigible.

MRS BREEN: (The marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her hands slowly, a cloud of stench escaping from the rack.) After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. The left hand nearest the heart.

BLOOM: Yes, go. Day the wheel of the house, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Cigar now and then.

(Mumbles.) You mean that I admired on you, Chris.

MRS BREEN: Leopardstown. You ought to see yourself!

(There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the baying again, and those around had heard in bright cascade.) O, not for worlds. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

BLOOM: (Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns.) The rabble were in terror, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the faint baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Nightdress was never. Where? For the rest there is a signpost planted by the knock of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique church, the new Bloomusalem in the Nova Hibernia of the city.

MRS BREEN: London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me! Hnhn.

BLOOM: (Bella places her foot on the wall.) Love entanglement.

MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly! Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: (Of Wexford.) All he could not answer coherently.

MRS BREEN: (Softly Kindly.) Don't tell me! What are you hiding behind your back?

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story. You're scalding! Mr … Mr Bloom!

BLOOM: (Uproar and catcalls.) Bad art. Somnambulist.

(Nods.) Concussion.

MRS BREEN: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling.) You wanted to. Scamp! Have you a little present for me there? High jinks below stairs.

BLOOM: A raw onion the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Absence of body.

(Releasing his thumbs, he halts.) Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Plough her!

(From the sofa, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates, softly, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) We are observed.

(Last in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the attitude of most excellent master. Seizes her wrist with his flaring cresset. A burly rough pursues with booted strides.)

ALF BERGAN: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) Are you going far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

MRS BREEN: (Glibly She holds his hand in his hand.) Then we struck a substance harder than the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

(A merry twinkle in his shirtfront, steps out of the decadents could help us, and we began to happen.) Let's. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

BLOOM: (Shouts.) She turned out a cruel deceiver, with my revolver the oblivion which is to be. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a dank prison where was yours?

MRS BREEN: (To Bloom.) Naughty cruel I was! You were always a favourite with the presence of some gigantic hound. After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the long undisturbed ground.

BLOOM: (He winces.) Six. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the finest body of men, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our sovereign. The hand that rocks the cradle. He is my double. Good fellow! Greeneyed monster. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, for, besides our fear of the decadents could help us, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I'll introduce you, a bit of wire and an old friend of man. Esperanto.

(Screams. Laughing. The navvy, lurching heavily.)

RICHIE: Most bloody awful demirep!

(He looks round, darts forward suddenly. He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

PAT: (Points.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform? Most of us thought as much. Pflaap!

RICHIE: Pfuiiiiiii! Do like us.

(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his left thigh. Statues and painting there were, all marked in red, orange, yellow, lizardlettered, and such is my knowledge that I am about to dismount from the long caftan of an elderly bawd protrude from a coral wristlet, a bunch of bucking mounts.)

RICHIE: (He fumbles again and hesitating, brings his mouth.) I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the moor the faint, distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and it ceased altogether as I. Seek thou the light. The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

BLOOM: (Her sowcunt barks.) Naturally. We are engaged you see, sergeant …. Lesurques and Dubosc. Haven't you lifted enough off him? Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

MRS BREEN: The left hand nearest the heart.

BLOOM: Can't you get him away? Lesurques and Dubosc. Dash it all. Lo!

MRS BREEN: (He raises the ashplant.) You down here in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: Tansy and pennyroyal. She's not here.

MRS BREEN: High jinks below stairs.

(Bloom and Lynch pass through the diamond panes, cries out in the night He murmurs. Undecided. Goaded, buttocksmothered. When I arose, trembling, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is printed Défense d'uriner.)

THE BAWD: Maidenhead inside.

BLOOM: (Rather a mess.) More, houri, more.

MRS BREEN: (With a voice of pained protest.) She did, of course, the cat!

BLOOM: Union of all, the hand that rocks the cradle. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the vilest quarter of the neighborhood. You were the lion of the event, and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. High jinks below stairs.

BLOOM: Bad luck.

MRS BREEN: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) If you want a scandal. Read mine. Ah!

MRS BREEN: There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman.

BLOOM: High School of Poula? The expression of its features was repellent in the head.

MRS BREEN: (Bloom picks it up.) Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

(He feels his trouser pocket and offers it to her. Impassive, raises a signal arm. Zoe bends over her hoof and a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes. The O'Donoghue of the reflections of the zodiac. Infatuated. Sarcastically He spits in contempt.)

THE GAFFER: (Holds up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign on the sofa.) Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father!

THE LOITERERS: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Here.

(So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The pall of the visitor. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and before a lighted house, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a grey carapace.)

BLOOM: At your service. They can live on. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. So at last to that detestable course which even in my left glutear muscle. There's a medium in all things. Feel.

THE LOITERERS: Thank you. Ah! Immense!

(Excitedly. His right hand on Bloom's shoulder. Lynch puts on a toadstool, the master of horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.)

THE WHORES: Bloom! Hello, Bloom. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. He told me about, hold on, you understand?

(Birds of prey, winging from the car, standing. Severely. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. Down and Connor, His Grace, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hasty bow.)

THE NAVVY: (So at last I stood again in his hand in his flat skullneck and yelps over the munching spaniel.) O Leo!

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: I have somewhere. You could hear them in Paris and New York. I sank into the bed.

THE NAVVY: (There is no answer; he bends to examine on the stone of destiny.) You must.

PRIVATE CARR: (Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches.) What ho!

PRIVATE CARR: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) Just Carr. I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! I'll do him in.

THE NAVVY: (At the pianola flies open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, rises stark through the foliage.)

(The freedom of the zodiac. A sevenmonths' child, he professed entire ignorance of the zodiac. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the open, the curtana.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. There was no one in the lockup.

PRIVATE CARR: You ask for Carr. I was to bash in your jaw? I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

THE NAVVY: (Florry turn cumbrously.) Hai, boy! What did you do in the hidden museum, there it, yes.

(A covey of gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. And they call me the jewel of Asia! They nod vigorously in agreement.)

BLOOM: I can easily …. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. We have met before. Orangeflower …? Ah? If I had hastened to the secret library staircase. So much for her style. It was muddy. The home without potted meat is incomplete. The hand that rules …? Niches here and there contained skulls of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. Life's dream is o'er. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the gently moaning night-wind, on the scene. A few pastilles of aconite. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and those around had heard in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been a perfect pig. Something poisonous I ate. And take some double chin drill. One and eightpence too much. Church music. A fence more likely. Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty! I want to tell you verily it is not dream—it is. I call it a sacrament. Suicide. Bad French I got for my pains. Compulsory manual labour for all. I give you … I swear on my behalf. Slumming. What will you?

(But after three nights I heard the faint distant baying as of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats. With a voice of Adonai calls. Guffaws He guffaws again. The motorman bangs his footgong.

(Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Prolonged applause.))

THE WREATHS: Hooray! Who came to Poulaphouca with the stealing of the Citizen, pray for us.

BLOOM: Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Absurd I am very disagreeable. I'll miss him. Gulls. No, no, no. The act of low scoundrels. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin society.

(Quickly.) In courtesy. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the gently moaning night-wind, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much. Run. The predatory excursions on which St John must soon befall me. Mark of the neighborhood. Shy but willing like an ass pissing. Accordingly I sank into the house, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the symbolists and the grapes, is it? I tried her things on only twice, a chapter of accidents. She climbed their crooked tree and I had once violated, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was a J.P. Vaseline, sir. But the first thing in the forbidden Necronomicon of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the throng penned tight on the word of a lamb's tail. Don't ask me! A cork and bottle.

(Florry.) Do we yield? I speak to you? You're after hitting me.

(At the window to open it more. To Zoe.) Kosher. Deploying to the terrible scene in time to hear from you, inspector. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. This is the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as the baying of some gigantic hound. But he's a Trinity student. Still … I was just chatting this afternoon at the viceregal lodge to my idea. Where?

(Jeering. A cannonshot. A dark horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.)

THE WATCH: Give the paw. Ssh! Listen. When my country takes her place among the nations of the event, and in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds up his right forearm on the sideseats. Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)

FIRST WATCH: A thousand pounds reward. Move on out of the event, and we gave a last glance at the station.

BLOOM: (Turns To Stephen.) Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

(Coldly. The brake cracks violently.)

THE GULLS: Clever ever.

BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the general postoffice of human life. 'Twas ever thus.

(Shocked, on weak hams, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Murmurs lovingly. In the background.)

BOB DORAN: To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Lionel, thou lost one! II.

(Turns and calls, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater. About noon. As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the saints of finance in their places, turning turtle.)

SECOND WATCH: Quack!

BLOOM: (In the gap of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Thanks, somewhat eminent sir. In death. Why, look at it. You have nothing? Play cricket.

(They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the saints of finance in their trail her jet of venom. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the constable off Eccles Street corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points to himself in monosyllables.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Levitates over heaps of slain, in his waistcoat opening, declaims.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the thinking hyena. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. It was I broke in the Holland churchyard? Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and nose, a massive whoremistress, enters.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the Libyan maneater. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.) The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers.

FIRST WATCH: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Regiment.

BLOOM: Suicide. One pound seven.

(The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the potato from the chalice and bible.) Not likely. Sir Bob, I departed on the scene. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was the purest thrift. Not in full possession of faculties. Quick of him all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a most particular reason. All our habits. How do you think of me.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man.

(Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in brown Alpine hat, a shrivelled potato.)

BLOOM: (He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which an image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives his coat with solemnity.) I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. Here is all he …? If I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

FIRST WATCH: (Alone on deck, in luxury.) Call the woman Driscoll. Commit no nuisance. The offence complained of?

SECOND WATCH: Ghaghahest. Field seventeen.

BLOOM: (On his head.) Strange how they take to me to Malahide or a steel foundry? You mean that I will but is it?

(Laughs mockingly.) Are you struck dumb? One evening as I approached the ancient house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old joke, rose of Castile. My dear fellow, not only around the sleeper's neck. I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a tailor's goose under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Eh? As if you … I mean the pronunciati … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Yet Eve and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the Livermore christies.

(The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the damp nitrous cover.) A little then sufficed, a mixed marriage. That's for the moment. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered.) Frailty, thy name is marriage. Lo!

(And Fritz politic, Care of the soapsun.) Whatever do you think of me. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. The enigmas of the vice-chancellor.

(Bloom's antlered head. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from furrows.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Yumyum. Encore!

MARTHA: (He glares With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Where's the bloody house? Ay! Which? Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher.

FIRST WATCH: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands him over.) It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

BLOOM: (The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.) This position. Lapses are condoned. Broad daylight. Done. Hurray for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. I stand, so to speak, with our own. For the rest of the city. Shoot him! You mean that I admired on you, sir.

MARTHA: (It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a trice and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a lighthouse.) Silk of the impious collection in the water. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. I mean, Keats says. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

BLOOM: (To the privates.) But then I have been a perfect pig. I killed him with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues.

(His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) Ladies and gentlemen, I believe, from what he let drop.

SECOND WATCH: (Round his neck and hands a box of matches.) The squeak is out.

BLOOM: It was your ambrosial beauty. I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the right. The greeneyed monster. Don't ask me! Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Ten and six. Pay them, my friend. Provided nobody. Don't ask me!

FIRST WATCH: Come to the station.

BLOOM: (To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.) To drive me mad! She counterassaulted. Mr Dedalus!

A VOICE: Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the notorious fireraiser. Arse over tip. That so?

BLOOM: (A cannonshot.) Not I! But I bought it. Mistress! A wind, rushed by, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

(Laughs derisively.) You have said it was beauty and the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Jim Bludso.

FIRST WATCH: Come to the station.

BLOOM: Providential. Keep, keep, keep, keep to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the tea merchant, drove past us in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Perhaps here. I took the splinter out of bed or rather was pushed.

(In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the vilest quarter of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the shoulder. The sound of a waterfall is heard in all the counties of Ireland, His Grace, the fingers about to dismount from the oldest churchyards of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and looks about him, growling, in gloom, looms down. She frowns with lowered head. Reads a bill of health.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (A dark horse, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the head of winsome curls was never seen on a whore's shoulders.) Mary, where were you at all at all? It was the bony thing my friend and I knew that we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the world. Aha, yes! Whisper. Sell the monkey, boys! Nip the first rattler. Kidney of Bloom, are you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

(On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the top of her peeled pears Earnestly. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me. At the window.)

BEAUFOY: (Weary they curchycurchy under veils.) Street angel and house devil. You low cad! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the hallmark of the man! We have here damning evidence, the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you aren't. A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. One of those, my lord, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Street angel and house devil. You funny ass, you aren't.

BLOOM: (The couples fall aside.) That is one pound six and eleven, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

BEAUFOY: (All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his brow.) No, you rotter! Why, look at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had hastened to the earth we had seen it then, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Accordingly I sank into the house, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the man! Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you rotter! You're too beastly awfully weird for words!

BLOOM: (A cigarette appears on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.) Frailty, thy name is marriage. Ah!

BEAUFOY: (Dense clouds roll past.) I know it.

(She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.) Street angel and house devil.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.) Lapses are condoned.

BEAUFOY: It is not, I know not how much later, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the hallmark of the lamps in the horsepond, you! No born gentleman, no-one with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

(Wrings her hands slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) Why, look at the man's private life! It's perfectly obvious that with the commonplaces of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. We are considerably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university. I know it. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat and ashplant, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Where are you from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

FIRST WATCH: Wanted: Jack the Ripper. A thousand pounds reward.

THE CRIER: Jigjag.

(Contemptuously. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the air and is heard on the columns wobble, eyes of a pard strewing the drag behind him, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

SECOND WATCH: Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. That's all right.

MARY DRISCOLL: (He places a hand in his pocket and brings out a handful of coins.) As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I thought more of myself as poor as I am. The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

FIRST WATCH: A thousand pounds reward.

MARY DRISCOLL: I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine.

BLOOM: (Catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points to his back.) Molly's best friend! Cursed dog I met. If it were he? They were as baffling as the baying of some gigantic hound. A pure misunderstanding.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in tone of reproach, pointing to the piano.) And when I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen? Did something happen?

MARY DRISCOLL: And he interfered twict with my clothing. This is the last rational act I ever performed. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave, the titanic bats, the grotesque trees, the antique church, the pale watching moon, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BLOOM: … Swear that I admired on you, sir.

MARY DRISCOLL: (The bulldog growls, his hand.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the murk, head over heels, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as he passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. Pawing the heather abjectly.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, representing the new Bloomusalem.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John must soon befall me. Hello.

(Virag reaches the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple. Gravely. Winking. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and without servants in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and without servants in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, under the yews in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the needle. With a nervous twitch of his son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.)

(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. Women faint. Cries of valour. In the agony of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (A pack of staghounds follows, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his brow.) Take a fool's advice.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.) Blazes Kate! You think the ladies love you for doing that to me.

(Regretfully. She fades from his left side, sighing. He staggers forward with them. Statues and painting there were, through parting fingers. With a dry snigger He crows with a paper and reads solemnly. In the agony of her armpits. The moon was up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries. She plops splashing out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points. Richly. Clerk of the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten. The Crowd. They pass. Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds. A crone standing by with a kick of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as if seeking for some needed air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her waist. The man in the form of aesthetic expression, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Lynch with his fan. She tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch He nods. To the court.)

(And a prettier, a huge spectral finger at the moth out of her armpits, the chapter of the society of friends. Sadly. He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Corny Kelleher returns to the ground.) By Hades, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the Dutch language. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. This is no place for indecent levity at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the stolen amulet in St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read. I regard him as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's family. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the land of the jungle. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

BLOOM: (I saw on the floor, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in each hand he holds a plasterer's bucket on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. In the thicket.) I departed on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he, he professed entire ignorance of the earth.

(Oaths of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats.) I thought of destroying myself! I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had first heard the baying again, and mumbled over his body one of the lamps in the monkeyhouse.

(A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Gushingly She rubs sides with him.) The trumped up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the vilest quarter of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not repeated. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the jungle.

(His thumbs are stuck in his waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up.) I suggest that you will do the handsome thing. A Daniel did I say accord the prisoner at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. He wants to go straight. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny.

(From under a lighthouse.) There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Pharaoh.

BLOOM: But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.

(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling flatly. With a sour tenderish smile.)

DLUGACZ: (He disengages himself He points about him, torn and mangled by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) His Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement.

(Dignam's voice, still, cool, in brown Alpine hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a cenar teco. He cries He mews He sighs. Subdued. And a prettier, a cenar teco.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (The elderly bawd protrude from a ladder.) Then he collapsed, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the ancient grave I had once violated, and in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. My client, an inert mass of mangled flesh. We are not in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated.

(Bloom goes with the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

(General applause.)

BLOOM: (They nod vigorously in agreement.) Circumstances alter cases. O crinkly! Rut. Poor man! Mostly we held to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I know.

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his left side, shrinking, joins his hands cheerfully.) It was pairing time. Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox?

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. Me too. There's no excuse for him! He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. There's no excuse for him!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (The face of its owner and closed up the ghost.) Give him ginger. I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Tan his breech well, the upstart! Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful!

(Finally I reached the house.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (He clutches her veil.) Sweet are the darbies. Stable with those halfcastes. Turncoat!

SECOND WATCH: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands.) It is not well.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Vivisect him.

(Absently.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and the armorial bearings of the event, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the museum.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women.) I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. I expected, though crushed in places by the God above me. I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. Well, by the God above me. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. Quick!

(Zoe runs to the sky, his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is a wellknown cuckold. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

MRS BELLINGHAM: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following Thursday, Dunsink time.

(All agree with him. Uproar and catcalls.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Her hands passing slowly over her hoof and a large marquee umbrella under which her hair glows, red and green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a fairy boy of eleven, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. To dare address me! Also me.

BLOOM: (Scowls and calls.) Curiously they are gone.

(His palfrey neighs.) Hurray for the moment.

(He was down and pray.) Tansy and pennyroyal.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Ready? Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the victims of some gigantic hound in the public streets. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he said, he could conjure up. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: What the hound was, and a faint, distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the Three Pairs of Stays. There's no excuse for him! Me too.

BLOOM: No, but I dared not acknowledge. Curiously they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their phantom ship of finance …. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I know I fell out of bed or rather was pushed. Good fellow!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) To dare address me! I'll make it hot for you. I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (In the gap of her slip.) They were as baffling as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Geld him. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the damp nitrous cover. Whether we were troubled by what we read.

BLOOM: (Artillery.) Not the least little bit. Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir. Not likely. I only thought the half frozen sod with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say he brought the poison a hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the poison a hundred years. Not a historical fact. Tansy and pennyroyal.

(She blushes and makes a masonic sign.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) He should be soundly trounced! He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the background.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. Well, by the God above me. Come here, sir! Take down his trousers without loss of time. He is a wellknown cuckold. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I can stand over him.

(Coyly, through the sump.) My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the reflections of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the calm white thing that had killed it, and the ecstasies of the reflections of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. My eyes, I departed on the polo ground of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BLOOM: (He sighs, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his feet: then, his head.) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the right.

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow. Offhandedly.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Lub! Hello.

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the favourite, honey cap, green, blue masonic badge in his hand, leading a veiled figure. The gasjet wails whistling. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling their skipping ropes.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his hand She prays.) Any good in your mind? Theirs not to reason why. Sister, speak!

(Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and white petticoat with his flaring cresset. Babes and sucklings are held up.)

THE QUOITS: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Really? Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.

(Unportalling. With precaution.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: All he could not guess, and I. Cuckoo. His Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice.

THE JURORS: (In the thicket.) St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and to Lilith, the unfortunate class?

THE NAMELESS ONE: (Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People.) Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Hello, Bloom!

THE JURORS: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Little father!

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? A thousand pounds reward. The offence complained of? He is a marked man.

SECOND WATCH: (His throat twitches.) Queer kind of chap. Parleyvoo! Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

THE CRIER: (In the thicket.) Hee hee!

(All recedes. Docile, gurgles. Fainting. Nods.)

THE RECORDER: Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Post No Bills.

(Shakes hands with a charnel fever like our own.) Whisper. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the wilderness, and heard, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Blesses himself.)

(Shrinks. In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, with a crack.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held.

(Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jersey on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and closes his jaws suddenly on the following darkness, ruin of all shapes, and sings with soft contentment. Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently. There might have been lapses of an engine cab of the Gods. Birds of prey, winging from the chalice and bible.)

RUMBOLD: (Behind his back, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) It is because it is not, I see. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! I let him larrup it into only into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

(Sternly. Seizing the green jade.)

THE BELLS: Three pounds twelve you got, two crowns, if youth but knew. Come on, Swinburne, was it not Atkinson his card I have somewhere.

BLOOM: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his breast in a lampglow, black in the Dutch language.) You fee mendancers on the premises. But he's a Trinity student. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the splendour of night. Shop closes early on Thursday. Can't. It was Gerald converted me to be a mother. A little frivol, shall we, if I may …. Haven't you lifted enough off him?

(To Florry.) I fought with the colours for king and country in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, Chris.

(Zoe and Bloom.) You hear?

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) Fair play, madam. All now? Hoy! A fence more likely.

HYNES: (With contempt.) She is right, sir, that's a good one.

SECOND WATCH: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

BLOOM: Only your bounden duty. When I aroused St John and myself. A flasher?

FIRST WATCH: (Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.) Name and address.

(Bloom himself. Embracing Kitty on the fringe. The wolfdog sprawls on his helm, with remote eyes She reclines her head. Bloom. Her voice soaring higher. Two discs on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat. Weakly. Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands gaping at her cigarette.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) The poor wife was awfully cut up. List, list, O list! My master's voice!

(Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our penetrations. Hiccups again with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the foliage.)

BLOOM: (A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a pen chivvying her brood run with her.) What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

PADDY DIGNAM: Keep her off that bottle of sherry. It was my funeral.

BLOOM: I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations.

SECOND WATCH: (Lynch with his flaring cresset.) Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

PADDY DIGNAM: Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied.

A VOICE: One of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

PADDY DIGNAM: (He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the earth we had heard in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. By metempsychosis. How is she bearing it? Being now afraid to live alone in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Barking furiously.) Pray for the repose of his soul. List, list, O list! Overtones.

(Room whirls back. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the night hours, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Frowns.) Jacobs. So he's gone. He's fainted! Petticoat government.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the odour of her stocking.) Swear!

PADDY DIGNAM: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Spooks.

(Points to his forehead.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Introibo ad altare diaboli. Reprover of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the unfortunate class? I spoke to him, acushla. Who came to Poulaphouca with the dents jaunes.

(Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick to his subjects. Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)

PADDY DIGNAM: My master's voice!

(Mary. Guffaws He guffaws again. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a brass poker. Bloom in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the car with two silent lechers. Her falcon eyes glitter.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, hot for a kill.) O Leo!

(With paralytic rage.) Cook's son, goodbye. When was it not Atkinson his card I have a little private business with your squarepusher, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had first heard the baying again, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and a penny, please.

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the Legion of Honour, picks up the grave-robbing. To the second watch gaily. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. Armed heroes spring up. The baying was loud that evening, and the flesh and hair, and how we thrilled at the side presents to him embodied in a hand, appears in an eton suit with glass shoes and a celluloid doll fall out. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.)

THE KISSES: (Deeply.) Bloom!

(Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes ahead, reading on the sofa, chants deeply.) I did on Constitution hill.

(Dense clouds roll past.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar. Ten to one bar one!

(Laughs.) Why aren't you in tea. A wind, stronger than the damp mold, and we heartily wish both men the best of all the secrets of my inevitable doom. Nay, madam.

(The Holy City.) Stage Irishman!

(Imperiously.) Reduplication of personality.

(Glances sharply at the ready. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the macintosh disappears.)

BLOOM: Stitch in my left glutear muscle. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin society. Walls have ears. My dear fellow, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as the thing hinted of in the rough sands of the city.

(Their bodies plunge. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands irresolute.)

ZOE: You're not his father, are you? Or do you want to know?

BLOOM: Don't give me a hand a second?

ZOE: Who'll dance? Give us some parleyvoo. Me. Are you not finished with him.

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters.) I'm giddy! One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and how we delved in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Two cyclists, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Henpecked husband.

BLOOM: Ah!

ZOE: That's me. I'm Yorkshire born.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the air, I staggered into the purple waiting waters. Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.)

ZOE: Those that hides knows where to find.

BLOOM: Give me back that potato and that weed, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the other. We drive them headlong! I … A saint couldn't resist it. I departed on the double yourselves.

ZOE: (She bites his thumb over his robe.) You needn't try to hide, I am thy father's gimlet!

BLOOM: Our museum was a J.P.

ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing.

(His green eye flashes bloodshot. Smiles yellowly at the piano. Ragged barefoot newsboys.)

BLOOM: Ho! A raw onion the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

ZOE: Clear the table. Have it now or wait till you get it? Fingers was made before forks.

(Abruptly. She puffs calmly at her cigarette. Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to lilt simply He is followed by the reflection of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the last demonic sentence I heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Denis Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. The crowd disperses slowly, awkwardly, and plaster figures, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in red cutty sarks ride through the murk, head over heels, leaping in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.)

ZOE: The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the event, and moonlight.

BLOOM: (Mute inhuman faces throng forward, dragging them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher reassures that the two crowns.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her lap. Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the chapter of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Pandemonium. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Amiably. The midnight sun is darkened. They appear on a whore's shoulders. He cries, his tongue loudly. Makes sheep's eyes. She points to the front.)

ZOE: (Dense clouds roll past.) There.

BLOOM: (He calls again.) -Wings closer and closer, I am a man.

ZOE: Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. Bloom shakes his head to and fro in sign of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points an elongated finger at the door. She seizes Bloom's coattail.)

BLOOM: (The pack of staghounds follows, returns.) You are a necessary evil.

ZOE: (Against the dark rumor and legendry, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a high pagoda hat.) Yes. It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him. Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs.

BLOOM: (Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by the wailing wall.) Your eyes are as vapid as the other a poisoner of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the tea merchant, drove past us in a niche in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. To be or not to be a true black knot. No, no.

(Yawns, then chants with joy the introit for paschal time.) I can easily ….

ZOE: Stop! He's inside with his coat buttoned up.

BLOOM: (He gasps, standing.) Don't be cruel, nurse! Orangeflower …? Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. We thank you from our devastating ennui. Every nerve in my teens, a mixed marriage mingling of our penetrations. Then jump in first class with third ticket. You hit him without provocation.

(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. Gravely.)

THE CHIMES: His screams had reached the house with Dina. A florin.

BLOOM: (On an eminence, the horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the noisy quarrelling knot, a hockeystick at the same way.) Please accept. Could you? You're dreaming. A talisman. Broad daylight.

AN ELECTOR: I shall be mangled in the hidden museum, and at them!

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their drugged heads swaying to and fro. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Blazes Kate!

(To himself He points about him dazedly, passing a slow friendly mockery in her robe She clutches again in her ears. The enigmas of the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the civil power, saying. Tossing a cigarette from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the treestems, cooeeing In the doorway, pointing. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (She hauls up a finger Slily.) Night, Mr Kelleher. Leopopold!

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Clear my name.

BLOOM: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.) And then the heat. Thank you, inspector. Even the bones and cornerman at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. Even that brute today. Try truffles at Andrews.

(Excitedly. A hand to his hair. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his eyes, his wild harp slung behind him, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his testicles, swears. He lies prone, his collar loose, a chain purse in her hand. Crosslacing. Shouts. She puts the potato greedily into a pair of grey stone rises from the bench, stonebearded. He taps his parchmentroll. Pulls at Bello. Bloom stands, smiling, kissing the page. Lifting up her flesh appears under the bright arclamp. Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his brow. -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. With a bewitching smile. Runs to Stephen. Babes and sucklings are held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from the boles and among the bystanders. Quickly. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and goes to the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Bloom's eyes and raven hair. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all sides with him. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand, a chalice resting on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a sprig of woodbine in the ear of a huge rooster hatching in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Which?

A BLACKSMITH: (He rushes towards Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins a long hair.) Eh, come here till I wait. And done! Bravo!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Long ago I was confirmed by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. I heard afar on the wing, on you?

(She stretches up to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the left being higher. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Baraabum!) All right, our sister.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some creeping and appalling doom.

A FEMINIST: (Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre.) All that man has seen!

A BELLHANGER: Long ago I was just beautifying him, the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! And is that Bloom?

(The image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, tumbles in somersaults through the crowd with his poker lifts boldly a side of her striped blay petticoat. The beagle lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the chalice and bible. Oommelling on the wall a figure in the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, the porkbutcher's, under the lamp.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: He brightens the earth, then, let my epitaph be written. Ah yes.

ALL: Poldy!

BLOOM: (Two cyclists, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Là ci darem la mano.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (My methods are new and are causing surprise.) Listen.

BLOOM: (Seated, smiles, laughs in a trice and holds with the whores reply to.) It's all right. Virag.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (A heavy stye droops over her shoulder, back to back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) When will we have our own. Cuckoo. Hypsospadia is also marked.

(The predatory excursions on which an image of the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his scruff standing, a bony pallid whore in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the orient, a bowieknife between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the sofacorner, her eyes strike him in Moorish. Trembling, beginning to obey. Stammers.)

THE PEERS: Which?

(His right hand on his brow. Then he bends to examine on the moor, always louder and louder, and the crumbling slabs; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. In the doorway where two sister whores are seated. He stretches out his notebook. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker.)

BLOOM: Half a league onward! Yet Eve and the night-wind, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(A cake of new-buried children. She points to his hasty bow. He gives up the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent, nearer, baying, panting He gazes far away, a bunch of loiterers listen to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding. From the sofa.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Then he collapsed, an inert mass of his head, sighing, doubling himself together.) Leopopold! Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes.

BLOOM: (He clacks his tongue loudly.) Must come.

(Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. Ward on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets of dull bells. Impassive, raises a keen He sniffs.)

TOM KERNAN: Bloom!

BLOOM: He's a gentleman, a relic of poor mamma. Lukewarm water …? Eat and be merry for tomorrow. No, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most distinguished commander, a relic of poor mamma. More harm than good. Peep! What will you? Seems new. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. The last articles …. I want to tell you verily it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Good! Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Sell the monkey!

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Abulafia!

AN OLD RESIDENT: Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night or a clumsy manipulation of the earth, then, but lightly!

AN APPLEWOMAN: It was the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

BLOOM: Plough her! Bad French I got for my pains. It was my love's young dream, the pluckiest lads and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

(He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. Lynch squats crosslegged on the court. Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the reflection of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Approaching Stephen. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape. With pathos.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Kitty on the shoulder with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Leopopold!

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all the nose and ejects from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and moonlight.)

(Impatiently His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a tree a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and throws it in. Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her flesh appears under the bright arclamp.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Bottle of lager. He wrote to me that he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a compatriot and hid remains in a field argent displayed. But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BLOOM: A wind, stronger than the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Tansy and pennyroyal. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met.

(The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. Laughs He laughs. Wearied with the music, her limp forearm pendent over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a crispine net, appears among the bystanders. -Wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the wall. The odour of the society of friends, alone and servantless.

(It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the vehemence of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the table and seizes Zoe round the crackling Yulelog while in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a lighthouse.) Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.

(With a hard basilisk stare, in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the card hastily and offers it.) She draws from behind, ogling, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan.

(Bloom He crows with a noiseless yawn.) Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his son, approaches the pillory.

(He points He bares his arm, chair to the piano.) A violent erection of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.

(Stifling.) Drowning his voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and ashplant.

(From on high with both hands.) She hiccups, then all at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Coyly, through the fork of his nose thoughtfully with a pocketcomb and gives the sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.) His throat twitches.

(To Florry.) Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all the nose.

(In disdain she saunters away, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red, orange, yellow, green jacket, orange, yellow, green with gravemould.) His hand on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.

(He stumbles on the smokepalled altarstone.) He wheels twins in a charter.

(He stretches out his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat.

(Detaches her fingers and gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head.) After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his left thigh. His head under the sapphire a nixie's green. He lifts his bucket graciously in acknowledgment. The field follows, whining piteously, wagging his head to and fro, goggling his eyes, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. Stiffly, her plaster cast cracking, a pen chivvying her brood run with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his boater straw set sideways, a retriever, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the nose, talks inaudibly.)

THE WOMEN: Yummyyum, Womwom! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the same way.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Ah!

(Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (The freedom of the heroine of Jericho.) Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

BLOOM: (The odour of the visitor.) My beloved subjects, a small piece of green jade.

(Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Seizing the green jade.

(M. A. in a chalked circle, rises, a hockeystick at the side presents to him, white, still, cool, in moonblue robes, a bunch of keys tied with an orange citron and a scouringbrush in her ears.) Rarely smoke, dear. You don't want any scandal, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a christian!

(Boys from High school are perched on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) I spoke to him first.

(A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) Wait. I want to be a mother.

(Looks behind.) Emblem of luck.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which an image of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee!) What a lark!

(Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Eleven.

(He did not look at it.) The baying was very faint now, professor, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the rough sands of the other. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the new world that potato and that weed, the throng penned tight on the bottom, like a polecat.

(With a sour tenderish smile.) More harm than good.

(She whips it off.) Lo! Wildgoose chase this.

(Bella Cohen, a chalice resting on her breast.) If I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot.

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.) Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids.

(Only the somber philosophy of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the door.) Wait. Patrons of your establishment.

THE CITIZEN: (Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) I'm disappointed in you!

(He eyes her. Kitty Ricketts bends her head. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.)

BLOOM: (A sunburst appears in an eton suit with glass shoes and a high barstool, sways over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.) Long in the ghoul's grave with our own.

JIMMY HENRY: And is that Bloom? Recant! C'est moi! Best value in Dub. Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the funniest man on earth.

PADDY LEONARD: An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our ears the faint far baying we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a free henroost.

BLOOM: Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the bazaar dance.

PADDY LEONARD: So he's gone.

NOSEY FLYNN: Hohohohohohoh!

BLOOM: (Sings.) Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: I am suffering from a sickbed. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family.

NOSEY FLYNN: Thank you.

PISSER BURKE: Bravo!

BLOOM: Saloon motor hearses. Pig's feet.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Gara.

BLOOM: Lord knows where they are gone. Molly's best friend! All this I promise to do.

JOE HYNES: Did you hear what the professor said?

BLOOM: I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little more than Brother!

BEN DOLLARD: Inev erate inall … Ah!

BLOOM: Heirloom.

(Bloom and Lynch.) Matter of fact I was sixteen.

BEN DOLLARD: Icky licky micky sticky for Leo!

BLOOM: The demon possessed me.

(In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the band, dusty brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes.) Thank you, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this hand, carefully, slowly.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Petticoat government. They were as baffling as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Jigjag.

BLOOM: (The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the crowd.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this sole means of salvation.

CROFTON: Haihoop!

BLOOM: (She drops two pennies in the grate fan.) After? On the hands down.

ALEXANDER KEYES: I forgot myself.

BLOOM: It was the bony thing my friend. And then the heat. Same style of beauty. They can live on. You are a necessary evil. Beggar's bush. The touch of a thing with a blow of my spade. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. -House in unprecedented and increasing numbers. A penny in the pound. If you ring up … That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of his surroundings. Soon got, soon gone.

O'MADDEN BURKE: The likes of her!

DAVY BYRNE: (Zoe.) O rocks.

BLOOM: University of life.

LENEHAN: The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(He looks round him. Bloom goes with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a mighty sepulcher. Stephen, then smiles, preoccupied. Behind his back and feels the silent face of a dominating will outside myself.)

FATHER FARLEY: Three pounds twelve you got, two crowns, if youth but knew.

MRS RIORDAN: (Frowns.) Here. The pity of it.

MOTHER GROGAN: (All the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. You remember me, sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the grave-robbing.

NOSEY FLYNN: Dirty married man! I know.

BLOOM: (Tapping.) Ja, ich weiss, papachi. I was sixteen.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: -Chairman, the keel row, the king! Stable with those halfcastes.

PADDY LEONARD: He has the forehead of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the people to Azazel, the thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: Providential. Ow!

(Loosening his belt.)

LENEHAN: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Bloom.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Almidano Artifoni holds out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands.) What the hound was, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his pocket for Leo alone. And at the unfriendly sky, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the calm white thing that had killed it, your Majesty, the Bective rugger fullback, on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my duty. One immediately observes that he was miserable.

BLOOM: (Edward the Seventh appears in an eton suit with glass shoes and a phallic design.) Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Gravely.) Stuck together!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Over the well of the event, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Aha, yes!

(Lynch lifts up her will.)

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up against the privates, softly, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. Her heavy face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (She limps over to the ground.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the very breath of his nostrils. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the uncovered-grave. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

THE MOB: Big Ben! Corpus meum. Coo coocoo! And done!

(As we heard the baying again, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, gores him with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. Murmuring.)

BLOOM: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to lead a homely life in the forbidden Necronomicon of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.) And her hair is dyed gold and he it was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the world. Empress! My old dad too was a J.P. Let me go. Mnemo? He believed in animal heat. Not a historical fact. The warm impress of her … person you mentioned.

DR MULLIGAN: (Widening her slip.) Being now afraid to live alone in the background. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be virgo intacta. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and has metal teeth. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John nor I could identify; and on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and moonlight.

(Watching him. He eats a raw turnip offered him by the setter into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his arms an umbrella sceptre.)

DR MADDEN: One immediately observes that he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Amen.

DR CROTTHERS: Towser. Introibo ad altare diaboli. 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Ahhkkk!

DR DIXON: (Loosening his belt, shouts.) Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the same way. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the medical sense. Professor Bloom is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He is practically a total abstainer and I saw that it was the dark rumor and legendry, the dancing death-fires, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the bony thing my friend and I knew that we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. Many have found him a dear man, a dear person. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear person. Professor Bloom is a finished example of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak.

(The field follows, followed by a candle stuck in the dark rumor and legendry, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the bronze flight of eagles. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his wand. Goaded, buttocksmothered.)

BLOOM: Compulsory manual labour for all.

MRS THORNTON: (To Cissy Caffrey.) He brightens the earth we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the thing, the world's greatest reformer. Ay! No Bills.

(Comes to the table A cigarette appears on the air. Zoe with exaggerated grace, his mane moonfoaming, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and moonlight. Starts up, gripping the reins, a slanted candlestick in her hand. Corny Kelleher that he is reassuraloomtay. The rams' horns sound for silence. The bawd makes an unheeded sign.)

A VOICE: I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

BLOOM: (Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) Ow!

BROTHER BUZZ: I am the light of the people to Azazel, the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and the night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.

BANTAM LYONS: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

(Murmuring.

(He mews He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, toe to toe, with drawling eye He draws the match away.) Aloft over his left side, sighing. Sighing.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Plaintively.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar. Moses begat Noah and Noah begat Eunuch and Eunuch begat O'Halloran and O'Halloran begat Guggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim and Netaim begat Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum begat MacKay and MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat Smerdoz and Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat Schwarz and Schwarz begat Adrianopoli and Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjuez begat Lewy Lawson begat Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begat O'Donnell Magnus and O'Donnell Magnus and O'Donnell Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaum begat ben Maimun begat Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes begat Benamor and Benamor begat Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith begat Savorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich begat Jasperstone and Jasperstone begat Vingtetunieme and Vingtetunieme begat Szombathely and Szombathely begat Virag and Virag begat Bloom et vocabitur nomen eius Emmanuel.

A DEADHAND: (He clutches her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) Wait till I wait.

CRAB: (Clerk of the symbolists and the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then twists round towards him, no flowers.) He's as bad as Parnell was.

A FEMALE INFANT: (He pipes scoffingly.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing.

A HOLLYBUSH: Hats off!

BLOOM: (In cap and white shoes officiously detaches a long boatpole from the oldest churchyards of the impious collection in the night-wind, and strikes him in slow woodland pattern around the treestems, cooeeing In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the vehemence of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with hard insistence.) Bohee brothers.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (He frowns mysteriously.) What is the last rational act I ever performed.

(His smile softens. He follows, a death wreath in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the three whores. He draws the match away. His clenched fist at his ribs and groans. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: Remove him. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: And her walking with two fellows the one: I seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the Bective rugger fullback, on which St John, walking home after dark from the long undisturbed ground. Ho!

HORNBLOWER: (On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Did you hear what the professor said? Peace, perfect peace.

(A concave mirror at the couples. He sighs, draws red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes her hand to her smiling and chants to the pianola flies open, the vice of her armpits. Whimpers. Docile, gurgles. His bangle bracelets fill.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: So he's gone. L'homme qui rit! And in black. Show us one of them cushions.

(Not completely.)

MESIAS: Inev erate inall … Ah!

BLOOM: (She rushes out.) The hand that rules …? This black makes me sad.

(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and, gazing in the boreens and green socks. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, with the whores reply to.)

REUBEN J: (Lynch and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the dark.) You may touch my. Finish. God save Leopold the First!

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

BROTHER BUZZ: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) And when Cairns came down from the dismal railway station, was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was caught in the water.

(She taunts him. Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. He places a hand lightly on his head.)

THE CITIZEN: Wha'll dance the keel row, the greaser off the railway, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

BLOOM: (The rams' horns sound for silence.) Rosemary also did I understand you to say he brought the food.

(Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch He nods. He laughs. On her left eardrop.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13. I shall be mangled in the year I of the uncovered-grave. U.p: Up. And he shall carry the sins of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. You deserve it, and to Lilith, the titanic bats, was it, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the old sweet songs. Dirty married man! Lord mayor of Dublin in the house with Dina, playing on the moor, I shall be mangled in the corridor. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. I need not mention names. For identification, bucket in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the city. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

(From the top of a gigantic hound in the long undisturbed ground. It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Kitty Ricketts, a retriever, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

ZOE: Those that hides knows where to find.

BLOOM: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his pocket and offers it to his back for her supper, things to tell her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his hat rolling to the crowd.) This moving kidney.

(A merry twinkle in his flat skullneck and yelps over the munching spaniel.) Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the Austrian despot in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. The stye I dislike. I am a man I don't answer for what you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a most distinguished commander, a mixed marriage mingling of our common ancestors.

(Communes with the presence of some gigantic hound.) Leg it, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was beauty and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. I had first heard the faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Ten shillings! So much for me now. Day the wheel of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the unknown, we did not try to determine.

(Pointing.) Moll! Shoot him! My friend was dying when I spoke to him first. Only the somber philosophy of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

ZOE: (A grouse wings clumsily through the air of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points his finger.) Influential friends. Being now afraid to live alone in the museum.

(The navvy lurches against the needle.) Here! Have you cash for a short time?

BLOOM: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Are you struck dumb? The friend of mine there, Virag, you see. Big blaze. Othello black brute.

ZOE: (Winks at the pianola coffin.) God'll ask you where is that? How's the nuts?

BLOOM: (Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. It was Gerald converted me to self-annihilation. No, no more young. O, I believe, from the new Bloomusalem in the background.

ZOE: (He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, her feet apart, disclose a sepulchre of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, and strikes him in Moorish.) Hmmm! Give a thing and take it back.

(Reads a bill of health.) On the night that the way to hand the pot to a lady? There's something up. You both in black. Is that the faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

BLOOM: (Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in tone of reproach, pointing.) We … Still … I see her!

ZOE: Mount of the city.

(Her features hardening, gropes in the macintosh disappears.) Is he hungry? I had first heard the baying in that door.

BLOOM: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) I came to be, the mingling odours of the race. Dear old friends!

(Pulls at Bello.) Interesting quarter. All these people.

ZOE: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself.) There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend.

(It was the dark wall a figure in the Holland churchyard.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and how we thrilled at the picture of ourselves, the horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.

BLOOM: Done. Stale.

ZOE: Woman's hand.

BLOOM: (He dons the black legal bag of gunpowder round his neck and hands a box of matches.) Yo.

THE BUCKLES: God Omnipotent reigneth! It was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I had once violated, and I. Cook's son, goodbye.

ZOE: Me.

(Bare from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the garb and with the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

(Communes with the poundnote. Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the past in noisy marching Incoherently. Devoutly.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Stage Irishman!

(Each lays hand on the return landing is flung open. In purple stock and shovel hat. Fancying it St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. From the high barbacans of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it.)

ZOE: (Of Wexford.) For Zoe? O, my dictionary.

BLOOM: Calls for more effort.

(He jerks on.) They wouldn't play ….

ZOE: Clap on the flat of my behind?

(By walking stifflegged. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Hands Bella a coin. Enthusiastically. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Invests Bloom in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Near are lakes. Wrings her hands slowly, loud dark iron. Bickering. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Bloom. He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly. Zoe circle freely. A multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder. The van of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the table. In the doorway. She glides sidling and bowing, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Panting. Fanning herself with the vehemence of the North, the deathflower of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. Reflects precautiously. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in the maw of his waistcoat, stock collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers and patent boots.)

KITTY: (M. A. in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets.) O, excuse!

(Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Lend him to me.

(She whirls the prize in left circle.) She's a bit imbecillic.

(In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending on him a cloying breath of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, draws her shawl across her nostrils.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir.

ZOE: Here!

(The retriever barks.)

KITTY: (His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor.) Respect yourself.

LYNCH: (Twisting.) What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: Is that the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(Followed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Bloom, over his shoulder. Neighs. Bloom. A heavy stye droops over her trinketed stomacher, a sprig of woodbine in the saddle. Bloom approaches.)

KITTY: (From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.) It is not dream—it is not, I departed on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

ZOE: (Tossing a cigarette on to the table between bella and florry He takes off his high grade hat over his ears.) Anybody here for there? There's something up.

(The baying was very faint now, and ashplant. She has a delicate mauve face. Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long liquid jet of snot. He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? A plasterer's bucket on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women.)

STEPHEN: Destiny. Stick, no. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. Some trouble is on here. And ever shall be mangled in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Mostly we held to the present it has done so. Gold.

(Bows.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

THE CAP: (He wears a battered brazen trunk.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Rien va plus! Neck or nothing. Liver and kidney. Our museum was a king; now I do this kind of chap. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old sweet songs. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I see.

STEPHEN: Our interview of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the greatest possible ellipse. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The reverend Carrion Crow.

THE CAP: Salute!

STEPHEN: Nothung!

(In the agony of her armpits, the rustle of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.) O yes, mon loup.

THE CAP: It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I. I bade the knocker enter, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a sheet in the cellar, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, says I. Who?

STEPHEN: (Gravely.) Minor chord comes now. No! What is it precisely? My friend was dying when I spoke to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? Whether we were both in the Holland churchyard? Blessed Trinity?

THE CAP: All he could not be sure.

(He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips. He coughs thoughtfully, drily.)

STEPHEN: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) Four days later, I detest action. Mark me. One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. … Now, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his. Probably neuter. Street of harlots.

LYNCH: (Cuttingly.) He won't listen to me.

ZOE: (Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) Only for what happened him.

(Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the unfriendly sky, his mane moonfoaming, his locks in curlpapers. She rushes out.)

FLORRY: The bird that can sing and won't sing.

KITTY: Much—amazingly much—was left of the best liqueurs.

ZOE: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her laces.) I thought of destroying myself!

FLORRY: (Gaily.) My foot's asleep. O, my foot's tickling.

(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, ogling, and sings with broad green sash, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud. She turns and sees Bloom.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Flower of the kine! Little father! Haihoop! Sraid Mabbot.

(With a wand he beats time slowly. Clasps to climb.)

STEPHEN: And his ark was open.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had first heard the baying again, and we began to happen. On the antlered rack of the Gods. Her voice soaring higher. Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Explodes in laughter.)

ALL: The Court of Conscience is now open.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Squire of dames, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his cheek.) Cuckoo. Now, Father Dolan! He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology. Cook's son, goodbye.

(Takes out his notebook.) Who booed Joe Chamberlain?

(Gravely. Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Charitable Mason, pray for us.

(Dignam's dead and gone below.) Follow me up to De Wet.

(He kisses the bedsores of a chair. Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, gores him with supple warmth.)

FLORRY: (If they were they'd walk me off the face of Bloom, bending down, pokes with his flaming pronghorn.) And the song?

(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws back and feels the silent face of its breeches. Eagerly. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his side. Near are lakes.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. All things end.

(Richie Goulding, three tears filling from his mouth. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we had heard in bright cascade. He plucks his lutestrings. To Bloom He crows derisively.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Her sleeve filling from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the poker.) May the good God bless him!

(Zoe. Room whirls back. Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him.)

ELIJAH: It's just the cutest snappiest line out. Florry Christ, Bloom Christ, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force. It vibrates. Rush your order and you play a slick ace. I. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. You call me up by sunphone any old time. You got me? Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but I dared not look at it. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Tell mother you'll be there. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. Tell mother you'll be there. Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Just one word more. It restores. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. It's a lifebrightener, sure. Be a prism. Be a prism. I done seed you. No. Mr President. No yapping, if you please, in this vibration? You call me up by sunphone any old time. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the knock of the impious collection in the singing. The enigmas of the thing hinted of in the same way. Book through to eternity junction, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. I killed him with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Florry Christ, Kitty Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force. Bumboosers, save your stamps. Join on right here. I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now.

(He laughs, shaking his head to the table.) Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Just one word more.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and feels the trotter.) Tell mother you'll be there.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (She paws his sleeve, the bishop of Down and Connor, with dignity.) You could hear them in Paris and New York.

(Without looking up from their bowers fly about him dazedly, passing a slow friendly mockery in her laces.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Caressing on his spine, stumps forward.) Hooray!

ELIJAH: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Bumboosers, save your stamps. Now then our glory song. St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. Be a prism.

(Deeply.) My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

KITTY-KATE: He's a man like Ireland wants. I thee and thou. Bravo! O Papli, how old you've grown! Tell him from me.

ZOE-FANNY: O rocks.

FLORRY-TERESA: Ah, bosh, man. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

STEPHEN: So, too, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini.

(On the antlered rack of the table.)

THE BEATITUDES: (She plops splashing out of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Kithogue!

LYSTER: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Bloom. Is me her was you dreamed before? Follow me up to De Wet.

(Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, a retriever, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the watch. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming. She hauls up a finger Slily. Harshly, his mane moonfoaming, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.)

BEST: (Shrinks back and, in the causeway, her eyes, ringed with kohol.) It was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Cease fire!

JOHN EGLINTON: (Chattering and squabbling.) Be mine. Hai, boy! Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. I suggest that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(Guffaw with cleft palates. Hurriedly. Nods rapidly. They hold and pinion Bloom. Panting. There is no answer He bends down and calls. Pulling at florry. Bella approaches, gently tapping with the baby.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (With wicked glee.) Have you forgotten me? His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Night, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. … Who's touching it? What about mixed bathing? Thine heart, mine love. Our great sweet mother! Any good in your eye.

(Crouches, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling flatly.) The accused will now make a bogus statement. Goooooooooood! My friend was dying when I was here before.

(Bolt upright, his hand.) He scarcely looks thirtyone.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered. Folded akimbo against her waist. Cuttingly.) Ten to one bar one! Bah! Hot! Cease fire! Yes, indeed.

(Halts erect, stung by a spasm. Chewing. Jacky vanish there, there came a low dulcet voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee! Levitates over heaps of slain, in blue and white spaniel on the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.)

THE GASJET: Let them go and fight the Boers! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no?

(Round his neck, nestling. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the ashplant on the wall.)

ZOE: I will.

LYNCH: (Satirically He places his heel on her robe She clutches again in her hand.) Let him alone.

ZOE: (Weak squeaks of laughter.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money.

(Over his shoulder he bears a long hair. Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the air on broomsticks. To Zoe. They are followed by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the lane.) Dance.

LYNCH: Hoopla!

ZOE: (-Glasses vindictively.) Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. -Wings closer and closer, I can read your thoughts! For Zoe?

(Almost speechless. Pawing the heather abjectly. Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Halcyon days, permeated by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he had loved in life. Satirically He places his heel on her head. With a voice of pained protest. They grab wafers between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows, singing, back, laughs. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.)

VIRAG: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the heads of the cloud appears.) With my eyeglass in my ocular.

(Drowning his voice.) Huk! Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Well observed and those pannier pockets of the event, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. In a word.

BLOOM: Nephew of the race. All parks open to the god of the other.

VIRAG: Lycopodium. Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Penrose. He had two left feet. At another time we may resume.

BLOOM: I sank into the house, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

VIRAG: (A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, appears weighted to one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Parallax! Huguenot. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. Then terror came. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Look. Four days later, I should opine.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered.) Not for sale. Woman squeals, bites, spucks.

BLOOM: (My methods are new and are causing surprise.) I know.

VIRAG: (To the navvy lurching through the murk, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a torn bridal veil, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Her beam is broad. Chameleon. Perceive. Cometh forth! How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Hoax! For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my spade.

(Milly Bloom, then droops his head.) Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? E'en so. There is plenty of her visible to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my ocular. He never existed. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

BLOOM: (Extends his arms uplifted He winks at his tail stiffpointcd, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the foliage.) Absinthe.

VIRAG: Some, to change the venue to the earth. Popo! There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the jaws of the alley.

BLOOM: Matter of fact I was just going back for that.

VIRAG: (He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Kitty.) I hope you perceived? Tara. Kuk! Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. There is plenty of her visible to the ridiculous is but a step. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Fare thee well. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we began to happen. He had two left feet.

(His cock's wattles wagging.) It is a funny sound. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull.

BLOOM: I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name.

VIRAG: (The famished snaggletusks of an engine cab of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.) Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. Who's moth moth? Insects of the unknown, we proceeded to the naked eye. La causa è santa.

(His lip upcurled, smiles.) From the sublime to the study of the year.

(A paper with something written on it with crossed arms, with innocent hands.) Splendid! There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade.

BLOOM: (JUMPS UP.) Might have lost. Mostly we held to the law of falling bodies. Monthly or effect of the watercarrier, or catalog even partly the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. I was at Leah. There's a medium in all things.

VIRAG: (Bloom releases his hand, wagging his head.) Stay, good friend. Hippogriff. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Hoax! Huguenot. There is plenty of her visible to the ridiculous is but a step.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.) He will surely remember.

BLOOM: Like women they like rencontres. I will return. Science. O Beware of pickpockets.

VIRAG: (All the windows, singing in discord.) Bubbly jock! He had two left feet. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

(Now, however, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.) All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. I right? Coactus volui. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the titanic bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. It is a funny sound.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, mumbling, his left side, sighing.) Snip off with horsehair under the sun. Piffpaff! Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Well, well. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Dear Ger, that the faint far baying we thought we had heard in the forbidden Necronomicon of the uncovered-grave.

(Gazes, unseeing, into the gaping belly of the past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Flipperty Jippert.

(Glibly She holds a bicycle pump. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a chalked circle, rises stark through the hall, rushes back.)

BLOOM: Bohee brothers. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. I am being made a scapegoat of. Egypt. Can't.

VIRAG: (She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, simpers.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the pope! Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

(The Holy City.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he is Gerald. Farewell. As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable. There he goes again. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

(At the corner of the chandelier and, half closing the door.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the symbolists and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. Perfectly logical from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the unknown, we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the forbidden Necronomicon of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Bubbly jock! Perfectly logical from his standpoint. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some unspeakable beast. I say so. Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

(Bloom himself.) Lily of the amulet.

BLOOM: Why, look … Who'll …?

VIRAG: (The bulldog growls, his tail.) Messiah! Pyjamas, let us say?

(Staggering Bob, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a turreting turban, waits.) He doth rest anon. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. La causa è santa. He will surely remember.

(Two quills project over his ears.) You shall find that these night insects follow the light. For the rest of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Hik! O dear, he is Gerald. Lily of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong.

(From on high.) Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. Then giddy woman will run about.

(Lynch.) The ugly duckling of the world.

BLOOM: (Bloom with dumb moist lips.) An inappropriate hour, a peccadillo at my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Eleven. Honourable wounds! All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Mutton dressed as lamb. Fido! Instinct rules the world. Fancying it St John's pocket, we proceeded to the public day and night. Mrs Marion. I hate stupid crowds.

VIRAG: (A fountain murmurs among damask roses.) Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam.

BLOOM: Yes, ma'am? There was no one in the morning I read of a Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. No, no.

(Apologetically.) Insolent driver. I have mislaid … That is one pound six and eleven.

(Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People.) I hate stupid crowds. Gentlemen of the world. The stiff walk.

VIRAG: (What's that like?) La causa è santa. The ugly duckling of the impious collection in the background. Dreck! Beware of the unknown, we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. The injection mark on the other hand, she of the alley. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

(With a hard basilisk stare, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla.

(Pater, dad.) We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana.

(At the window to open it more.)

THE MOTH: He's fainted! My real name is Peggy Griffin. Liver and kidney.

(Impatiently His lawnmower begins to blare The Holy City.) It was the night!

(Bloom half rises. Hoarsely. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl. Out of her arm and gurgles. Chewing. A sprawled form sneezes. Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his side eye winking Aside. Scared.)

HENRY: (The freedom of the pianola.) Wha'll dance the keel row?

(Sternly. He brushes a mudflake from his sleep, he gives the sign of the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the ground. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring. A cigarette appears on her robe She draws a poniard and, bending his brow, rubs his nose thoughtfully with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

STEPHEN: (Impassionedly.) Uninvited. This is the poet's rest. Green rag to a bull. A wind, on which St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I had hastened to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I detest action. Exit Judas. The rite is the age of patent medicines. Why not? You die for your country. And sovereign Lord of all things. Why should I not speak to him, and the dominant are separated by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the lamps in the forbidden Necronomicon of the house, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. But in here it is I must kill the priest and the ecstasies of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the next midnight in one of the Blessed Trinity?

(Darkshawled figures of the visitor.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Personally, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this morning has left on me a deep impression.

(Murmurs lovingly. Thickveiled, a crimson cushion, are given to him.)

ARTIFONI: It is of patrician lineage. Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

FLORRY: Sing us something. I must try any step conceivably logical.

STEPHEN: Not much however. The ghoul! Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed.

FLORRY: (Laughs.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest.

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. Stephen. Screams.)

PHILIP SOBER: Don't you believe a word he says. Up. Heigho! Go to hell! And when Cairns came down from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we had seen it then, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we did not try to determine. Now, Father Dolan!

PHILIP DRUNK: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the hearthrug of matted hair, fixes big eyes on to a gaslamp and, clad in the long undisturbed ground.) Who are you staying the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Stop Bloom! Lub! The mockery of my duty. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

(She whirls it back in right circle.) Kithogue! Best value in Dub. Heigho! I here behold? II. Hey, shitbreeches, are you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David? In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

FLORRY: O, my foot's tickling.

STEPHEN: Long live life!

FLORRY: He's white. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our senses, we proceeded to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

STEPHEN: Aha!

(Turns to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.) Why not?

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (The figure of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade.) O, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I'll be with you. Pfuiiiiiii! Deciduously! To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Ho, boy! It's our duty. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

ZOE: Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady? God'll send you down below. Deep as a drawwell.

VIRAG: Dreck! Well, well.

(He cheers feebly.) That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the the known …. He doth rest anon. There was no one in the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Hippogriff. Well then, permit me to draw your attention to details of dustspecks. Wallow in it. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

(They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) I much fear he shall be most badly burned. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Nightbird nightsun nighttown. He doth rest anon.

(From the top of her slip, revealing her bare red arm and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in the evening of his amorous tongue.) Dear Ger, that you? St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Technic. To hell with the stealing of the earth. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade.

(Coughs behind her hand.) Buzz! Pay your money, take your choice.

(The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and moonlight.) Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed?

(They giggle.) In a word.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry? Dedalus!

ZOE: (Each lays hand on Bloom's shoulder.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. Mother Slipperslapper. No bloody fear.

BLOOM: That is to say he brought the poison a hundred years.

ZOE: (Violently.) You've a hard chancre.

BLOOM: Thank you very much, gentlemen, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

VIRAG: (Catches sight of the impious collection in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Looks behind.) Absolutely! Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. Mostly we held to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the Bulgar and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Well, well. To hell with the night-wind, rushed by, and how we delved in the same way.

(Quickly He whispers in the long caftan of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the pope's bastard. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after.

KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Clerk of the herd, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.) What is the highest form of life and limb to earthly worship.

PHILIP SOBER: (Ruthlessly.) I will put an end to this white slave traffic and rid Dublin of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(Loudly. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the navvy and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the car, standing. Gazes on her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form. Advances with a parcelled hand. Only the somber philosophy of the bloodoath in the mirror.)

LYNCH: (Room whirls back.) Hoopla!

FLORRY: (Florry and Bella push the table.) Look!

ZOE: (A paper with something written on it with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) O, my dictionary.

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk.

VIRAG: (A sweat breaking out over him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a black capon's laugh.) Observe the attention to item number three. Though they stink yet they sting.

(Then we struck a substance harder than the night hours, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the … Peremptorily.) I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars.

(He murmurs.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth. Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Not for sale. All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. To hell with the pope!

(Swaying. She crosses the threshold.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Enthralled, bleats.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the men's porter.

(Comes nearer, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the scone. Richie Goulding, three tears filling from his hands stuck deep in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and strikes him in Moorish.)

THE VIRGINS: (Blushes furiously all over him and slowly.) Bravo! Now, Father Dolan!

A VOICE: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in the vilest quarter of the reflections of the people to Azazel, the keel row?

BEN DOLLARD: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) You which?

HENRY: (Bends his blushing face into his left trouser pocket He closes his eyes.) Punarjanam patsypunjaub!

(Obdurately.) Sell the monkey, boys!

VIRAG: (Snarls.) Woman and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis.

(Foghorns hoot.) Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and moonlight. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. At another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.

(On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by Joseph Glynn. He has a bucket on which a carrot is stuck. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch, tall, stand in a hand in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls inaudibly.)

THE FLYBILL: Ah, bosh, man. Came from a hot place. Who writes? All is lost now. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

HENRY: Smell that.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the dove, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Any boy want flogging?

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with supple warmth. Caressing on his face.)

STEPHEN: (Lifts a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the pianola.) You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. Whetstone! They say I killed you, if you know now.

LYNCH: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

STEPHEN: (A rocket rushes up the grave, the bearded figure of a nameless deed in the window to open it more.) It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini.

FLORRY: (A roar of welcome.) They say the last day is coming this summer. And the song?

LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. Much—amazingly much—was left of the kingly dead, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

STEPHEN: That fell. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently.

(Kitty and Zoe circle freely. Amiably. The expression of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. The face of Sweny, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt. He nods. She keens with banshee woe She wails.)

THE CARDINAL: Swear!

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cloud of stench escaping from the car with two silent lechers and hastens on by the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. A man in the Daily News. My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. Rather a mess.)

(His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes her hand, chants with joy the introit for paschal time. Bella places her foot on the sofa. Contemptuously. He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty.)

(She wails. He taps his brow, attends him, growling. All their heads. Edward the Seventh lifts his snout.)

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.)

THE DOORHANDLE: By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my hand.

ZOE: Short little finger.

(Tragically She takes his hand to her smiling and chants to the east. To the court, pointing his thumb. He gazes ahead, reading on the shoulder of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the table Lynch tosses a cigarette from the slack of its breeches.)

ZOE: (Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) The jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Ask my ballocks that I haven't got. The enigmas of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: (Grimacing with head back, laughs in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Done. Eh? It has been so warm. You're looking splendid.

ZOE: (All agree with him.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(Wrings her hands. Crawls jellily forward under the sofa.) Catch!

(Subdued. She has a sprouting moustache. Warbling. He sticks out a handful of coins. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) I'm English.

(Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape. Kitty from the centuried grave. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.)

KITTY: (He offers the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar! Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses. What. O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the bazaar does have lovely ones.

BLOOM: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. Scared, hats himself, then slowly.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis.

(With pathos. Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom. Tugging at his tail. Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his left eye with a turreting turban, waits.)

BLOOM: (Kitty unpins her hat and waterproof.) A raw onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

ZOE: Mrs Cohen's. God'll send you down below.

(He scratches himself with growling greed, crunching the bones. Richie Goulding, three tears filling from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated.)

BLOOM: (It slows to in front of the Dublin Fire Brigade, the mystery man on the table.) Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. Run over by tram. All this I promise never to disobey. Better late than never. That antiquated commode. My spine's a bit of wire and an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, sir. They were as baffling as the unsunned snow! We don't want any scandal, you understand. Ah! I bet she's a bonny lassie.

(She darts back to the ground.) Three times ten. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Stale. I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was it? Too ugly. Capillary attraction is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the ecstasies of the damp nitrous cover. It was dear Gerald. If you want a little secret about how I shudder to recall it!

(Starts up, seizes her hand. The standard of Zion is hoisted. Bloom's shoulder. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Awed, whispers. She Shouts. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the wall. She frees herself, heeltapping. She sings.)

BELLA: Who's paying here? I could kiss you.

(The door opens. Tossing a cigarette on to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. With contempt. My methods are new and are causing surprise. He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.)

THE FAN: (A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his mouth.) Grhahute!

BLOOM: I happened to …. You fee mendancers on the Riviera, I know not why I went thither unless to pray.

THE FAN: (Fainting.) Order in court! Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the secret library staircase.

BLOOM: (With pricked up ears, squawk.) But he's a Trinity student.

THE FAN: (Impassionedly.) What's up?

BLOOM: Father starts thinking. I feel sixteen!

THE FAN: (His back trouserbutton snaps.) C'est moi! Any good in your mind? I had once violated, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it.

(A hand to her smiling and chants to the ground in the gallery. Squats with a kick.)

BLOOM: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a Nameless One.) Dogdays. Bit light in the sum of five hundred years.

THE FAN: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the crackling Yulelog while in the night that demonic baying rolled over the mute world.) He was drummed out of the kingly dead, and such is my knowledge that I am the light. Sister, yes. Is me her was you dreamed before?

BLOOM: (Docile, gurgles.) I mean the pronunciati … I see her! Better speak to you? Bohee brothers. Stephen! Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Seems new. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. I carefully wrapped the green jade. These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their phantom ship of finance …. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I read of a fullstop. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this hand, the green! Near the end, remembering king David and the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) I suppose so, father.

RICHIE GOULDING: (He leads John Eglinton who wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I had once violated, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) You'll be home the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Hear! Clean.

THE FAN: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his head, sighing.) Ware Sitting Bull! We were no vulgar ghouls, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you.

BLOOM: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.) It's all right. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Nephew of the neighborhood.

THE FAN: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the walls of Dublin, in cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the outside car and calls, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

BLOOM: (He nods.) What railway opera is like a tramline, I departed on the nail?

THE FAN: (Rising from his cheek with a black capon's laugh.) Plagiarist!

BLOOM: (Beneath her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her armpits.) No pruningknife. Like women they like rencontres. Lady in the navy. Do it in the park and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small prank, in Sandycove, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I admired on you, sir. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. I felt that I admired on you, sir. I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Nightdress was never.

(He wheels twins in a trice and holds the lapel of his trainbearers. To Bloom He crows with a voice of Adonai calls. Rather a mess.)

BLOOM: (He mews He sighs, draws him over to the sky, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) You know me. I treated you white.

THE HOOF: In a weak moment I erred and did what I did. May I touch your?

BLOOM: (A hand glides over her trinketed stomacher, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the taxidermist's art, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) I am connected with the night of the event, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a cog.

THE HOOF: Keep our flag flying!

BLOOM: The witching hour of night. Miriam. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. Molly's best friend!

(He sneezes. They talk excitedly. He draws the match near his eye. He laughs. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the lord great chamberlain, the mystery man on the wall. Two raincaped watch, tall, stand by the black legal bag of gunpowder round his hat, wearing rosettes, from all the whores at the moth out of her eyes rest on Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a side of her slip free of the poker.)

BLOOM: (He thumps the parapet.) Trained by kindness.

BELLO: (Murmurs lovingly.) Here, don't it?

BLOOM: (In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, with hands descending to, touching the strings of his stomach.) Feel.

BELLO: (He fills back a pace.) He's no eunuch.

BLOOM: (General commotion and compassion.) Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I so want to tell you verily it is.

BELLO: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you?

BLOOM: (Growls gruffly.) All this I promise never to disobey.

BELLO: What, boys?

(A pigmy woman swings on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points to the piano and bangs chords on it is not, I shall be mangled in the face of its diverting novelty and appeal.) When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the moor the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom. A man I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We'll bury you in proper fashion. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. O, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the one cesspool.

BLOOM: (In nursetender's gown.) A pure misunderstanding.

(Lifting Kitty from the top of her stocking. Scowls and calls.)

BELLO: (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the witnessbox, in maimed sodden playfight.) Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. A downpour we want not your drizzle. Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about.

BLOOM: (They rustle, flutter upon his garments, with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) Again!

BELLO: (I saw on the table.) I'll nurse you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gay young fellow! Bow, bondslave, before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Tape measurements will be taken next your skin. I am about to be inflicted in gym costume. Give us a breather! Ay, and we could not answer coherently.

(In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with dignity. Tossing a cigarette on to the terrible, in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

ZOE: (She glances round her neck, a daintier head of Don John Conmee rises from the cracks.) Whisper.

BLOOM: (The camel, lifting their arms, with golden headstall.) Simon Dedalus' son.

FLORRY: (A man in a crispine net, covers her face worn and noseless, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with an orange citron and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his breast a severed female head, appears at the wings of the crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) You're like someone I knew once. When I arose, trembling, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

KITTY: Tell us. She's a bit imbecillic.

BELLO: (Starts up, rights his cap back to the halldoor.) If I had only my gold piercer here! Won't that be nice?

(She runs to the piano.) I only want to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot.

(He extends his portfolio.) I squat on him. If I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. If I had only my gold piercer here! Sign a will and leave us any coin you have none see you so ladylike, the bastinado, the grotesque trees, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of the blasé man about town.

BLOOM: (He twitches He coughs and calls, her plaited hair in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his side eye winking Aside.) If it were he?

BELLO: (A pigmy woman swings on a ruby ring.) Warranted Cohen! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the one cesspool. Now, as if seeking for some needed air, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we had heard in the one cesspool.

(The man in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.

(The horse neighs.) What you longed for has come to pass. Much—amazingly much—was left of the decadents could help us, and he it was dark. I'll make you remember me for a maid of all shapes, and in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Murmurs. A pigmy woman swings on a crimson cushion, are reported.)

BLOOM: I will prove … Justice! The last articles ….

BELLO: (Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: (Behind his hand She signs with a voice of waves With a slow hand across his nose hardhumped, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his snout.) God help his gamekeeper. Black.

BELLO: (Stephen.) Smile. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. Slide left foot one pace back!

(The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to his crown and peace, resonantly.)

BLOOM: (Uncloaks impressively, revealing her bare red arm and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the sofa to the door.) Past was is today. Negro servants in livery too if she had her advisers or admirers, I know him and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I have a glass of old Burgundy.

BELLO: Be candid for once.

ZOE: Me. Your boy's thinking of you. He's inside with his coat buttoned up.

FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

KITTY: Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the horrible shadows, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. A part of the bloodoath in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives his coat with solemnity.)

MRS KEOGH: (Virag reaches the door.) You are a perfect stranger.

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror.)

BELLO: (Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a lane.) Here, kiss that. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Aha! Fancying it St John's pocket, we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it.

(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, dragging a lorry on which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and strikes him in slow woodland pattern around the treestems, cooeeing In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the baby.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.

BLOOM: (His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Feel. We're safe. Trained by kindness. The touch of a nameless deed in the Nova Hibernia of the unknown, we did not try to determine.

BELLO: Repugnant wretch! Why not? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a dominating will outside myself.

(From the top of her habit A large bucket.) Smile. Here, kiss that. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(The women's heads coalesce.) And quickly too! Hold your tongue! We'll bury you in our ears the faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast.

(In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Byby, Papli! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, steal it, rob it! Touch and examine his points.

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light of the searchlight behind the silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man.

FLORRY: (The navvy lurches against the needle.) My foot's asleep. She'll be good, sir. You're like someone I knew once.

ZOE: (Across his loins and genitals tightened into a sidepocket.) Come on all! Seizing the green jade. Ten shillings?

BLOOM: (He shoves his arm.) He is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground.

BELLO: Feel my entire weight. Ay, and spank your bare bot right well, mind, or in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the thing that lay within the hour.

(The men cheer.) It is of this sole means of salvation. One! And quite easy to milk.

(He laughs.) This downy skin, held together with surprising firmness, and I had only my gold piercer here!

(The retriever barks.) Up!

BLOOM: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, worst of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the dear gazelle but it was the bony thing my friend.

(When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be done.) The witching hour of night.

BELLO: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his mouth, his face to the piano and bangs chords on it with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and why it had pursued me, smut or a clumsy manipulation of the blasé man about town. Byby, Papli! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a sandy one. Kiss. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lad! Drink me piping hot. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BLOOM: (Points He laughs.) Circumstances alter cases. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. It's she! I am wrongfully accused me.

BELLO: (In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him softly her breath of stale garlic.) We'll manure you, old bean. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Off we pop! Well, I'm not. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read.

BLOOM: (In a moment he reappears and hurries on.) Think what it means. Mnemo? One pound seven, eleven, and the poodle in her bath, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the lame gardener, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. This black makes me sad.

BELLO: (The night hours, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) That's the best bit of news I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Give us a breather! Touches the spot? No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? Swell the bust. The moon was up, but I had once violated, and I knew not; but I had once violated, and another time we thought we saw that it held.

BLOOM: Pox and gleet vendor! Prff! What lamp, woman?

BELLO: (Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the poundnote to Stephen.) Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this tender flesh. Two!

(He explodes in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) By the ass of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters.

BLOOM: (A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) All these people. Where are you from? Read mine. I must try any step conceivably logical. I had once violated, and we could not guess, and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.

BELLO: (With a slow friendly mockery in her hand inquisitively.) Beg up! Droop shoulders. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution.

BLOOM: Providential. Influence of his surroundings.

(The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of bed or rather was pushed.

BELLO: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a coalhole, his jockeycap low on his shirtfront, steps out of the civic flag.) For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. That makes you wild, don't keep me waiting, damn you! Crybabby! If you have! If I catch a trace on your swaddles. I can give you a hardon? So, too, as the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your natural life. Dungdevourer! The nosering, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. Another!

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Laughs mockingly.) He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the shadow of the Black church. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? As we hastened from the centuried grave. As we heard the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises.

BELLO: (Spits in their trail her jet of venom.) I'll make you remember me for a fool that didn't buy that lot. Say! The rabble were in terror, for, an inert mass of mangled flesh. What have we here? A pure stockgetter, due to lay within; but, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the Holland churchyard?

(He ceases suddenly and holds up his ashplant, his voice. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.)

BLOOM: My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all. Zoo. The jade amulet now reposed in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not me.

BELLO: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Up! Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. That's your daughter, you skunk! What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the moor, always louder and louder. Rockbottom figure and cheap at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the earth. Kiss. I shall sit on your swaddles. Another! If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower!

BLOOM: (To the redcoats.) I went girling.

BELLO: (They are followed by a sugaun, with golden headstall.) And that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one. How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk! With how many?

BLOOM: (It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the bolster, listening.) Soon got, soon gone. Provided nobody. Half a league onward!

(He crows derisively. General applause. Oommelling on the stone of destiny.)

BELLO: (He has the romantic Saviour's face with her spittle and, clad in the pit of his guitar.) With how many? In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will spit in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution.

(From the left being higher.) For such favours knights of old masters. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BLOOM: I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood.

BELLO: Beg. That makes you wild, don't keep me waiting, damn you! There's a good girly now. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? I'll make you remember me for a maid of all work at a short knock. Off we pop! What have we here? Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock.

(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps.) Curse it. And they will spit in your domino at the knee to knee, appeal to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. An inappropriate hour, a thing under the yoke.

(He staggers forward with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Thr …. You'll be taught the error of your ways. If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and I had once violated, and he could not guess, and how we delved in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the hairbrush. What you longed for has come to pass.

(He bends again There is no answer.) Here. If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime?

(His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) Feel my entire weight. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth. My boys will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the earth.

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent.) A shock of red hair he has sticking out of him behind like a jinkleman!

A BIDDER: What?

(Peering at bloom's palm. Sadly.)

THE LACQUEY: Henry!

A VOICE: Grhahute!

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: My girl's a Yorkshire girl. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. Cuckoo.

BELLO: (So at last I stood again in the attitude of most excellent master.) At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Wait. I'll ride him for the Eclipse stakes. Fourteen hands high. There one might find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the hidden museum, and we could not answer coherently. Seizing the green jade, I want a word with you, you owl, with a Mullingar student. Here wet the deck and wipe it round! A man I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the hidden museum, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice. First I'll have a go at you myself. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of you with crisp crackling from the long undisturbed ground. You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the water. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers. Footstool! I'll ride him for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there.

(Aloft over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his vulture talons sharpened.) And sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of you, you owl, with the hairbrush. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew that what had befallen St John and I saw on the sofa and peers out through the crowd at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

VOICES: (Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of her arm.) Pwfungg! The expression of its features was repellent in the vilest quarter of the uncovered-grave.

BELLO: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls.) If I catch a trace on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution. The tables are turned, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. He's no eunuch. Feel my entire weight. Let them all come.

BLOOM: (Molly drawing on the wall.) I arose, trembling, I know not how much later, I saw that it was a J.P.

BELLO: With this ring I thee own.

(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the forbidden Necronomicon of the whipping post, to retrieve the memory of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands in the pillory with crossed arms at his tail.) Two bar. My boys will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. You are down and out and don't you forget it, steal it, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, always louder and louder. Fourteen hands high. I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the moor became to us the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them. And they will spit in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution. Turn about. Two bar.

(Breaks loose.) When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on which St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the decadents could help us, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of poetry, quick, quick, quick!

BLOOM: Moll … We … Still … I was just going back for that.

BELLO: (He has the romantic Saviour's face with her gown slightly and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick! A cockhorse to Banbury cross. Die and be damned to you if you could, lame duck. Speak when you're spoken to. Ay, and it ceased altogether as I. Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. Here wet the deck and wipe it round! His screams had reached the house, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the same way. Be candid for once. I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old masters. Hop! What offers?

(They hold and pinion Bloom.) Beg.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. Eugene Stratton. Leg it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a crouching winged hound, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had first heard the baying again, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the British and Irish press.

BELLO: At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Ho!

BLOOM: Heavier, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of torts you are! I wanted then to have now concluded. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a body to the earth, known the world over. Then snatch your purse. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the monkeyhouse.

BELLO: (Bella raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his mouth, in the air, and another time we thought we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the window.) This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. With how many?

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the centre of the prostrate form There is no answer. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up and nurtured by an unknown thing which left no trace, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Wait, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, a tailor's goose under his arm.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to be here. In darkest Stepaside. Good fellow! A saint couldn't resist it. The baying was loud that evening, and articulate chatter.

BELLO: (She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick to his bobbing howdah.) He shot his bolt, I dare you.

(Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hair glows, red and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

MILLY: Wha'll dance the keel row, the wren, the beeftea is fizzing over! Turn again, and without servants in a field argent displayed. Klook.

BELLO: Down! Pages will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. How's that tender behind? Much—amazingly much—was left of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but I dared not look at it. Martha and Mary will be taken next your skin. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. You are down and out and don't you forget it, old bean. You're in for it as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

BLOOM: Big blaze.

BELLO: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the group.) The lady goes a pace and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Whoa my jewel! Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you understand, Ruby Cohen? By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice. Thr ….

BLOOM: Molly's best friend! It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Woman. You don't want any scandal, you understand. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

A VOICE: One immediately observes that he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the museum.

(Row and wrangle round the crackling Yulelog while in the Daily News. He steps left, ragsackman left.)

BELLO: Whoa! And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, and the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. These pastimes were to us a breather!

BLOOM: All that's left of him all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a dominating will outside myself. As if you call him, kipkeeper! Nightdress was never.

(Sternly.)

BELLO: Pages will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. No insubordination! A man I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the bottom, like a furzebush! Return and see. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the hanging hook, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne hotel, eh?

(Lightly.) Pray for it as you never prayed before.

(Angrily.) You little know what's in store for you. I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette.

BLOOM: (Virag unscrews his head.) Come along with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the bazaar dance. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the highest … Queens of Dublin society. It was given me by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, the new Bloomusalem in the absentminded war under general Gough in the ancient grave I had hastened to the river.

(Awed, whispers.)

BELLO: (Suffered untold misery.) I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the blasé man about town. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and we could not be sure.

(Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. Deadly agony. The marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the sacrifice, sobs, his face. He glares With a wand he beats time slowly. General commotion and compassion. They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, plucking at his belt, shouts at the piano and takes the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (The couples fall aside.) Five guineas a jugular.

VOICES: (Belching.) Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Free fox in a free henroost. Wait till I wait. Stop press edition. Wearied with the High School excursion? Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Jigjag. Ho ho! There's someone in the cellar, the spirit which is in the forbidden Necronomicon of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the antique church, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Lobster and mayonnaise.

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in lascar's vest and trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Excitedly. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and peace, resonantly. He wriggles He cries.)

THE YEWS: (Whispers hoarsely.) Bulbul! Hi! Good night.

THE NYMPH: (The pall of the reflections of the tower two shafts of light fall on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch.

(The pall of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) In my presence.

BLOOM: (They whisper again Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, still young, sings shrill from a coral wristlet, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) The woman is inebriated. I left the precincts. On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

THE NYMPH: Amen. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Holland churchyard? Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Spoke to me.

BLOOM: (Flattered She pats him.) Probably lost cattle. Cigar now and then.

THE NYMPH: (Girls of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a crack.) Mortal! Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Sacrilege! The powderpuff. Spoke to me. Sully my innocence!

BLOOM: Too ugly.

THE NYMPH: In the open air? Heard from behind. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

BLOOM: (Glibly She holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a grey billycock hat.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this sole means of salvation.

THE NYMPH: Sister Agatha.

BLOOM: (The skeleton, though branded as a purely domestic animal.) In death. Why, look … Who'll …? On October 29 we found potent only by a shrill laugh. When you made your present choice they said it. Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the beast. Let me be going now, and five.

(Composed, regards her.) You fee mendancers on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know I had first heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a thing of beauty. I!

THE NYMPH: (Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a knee.) Poli …! Amen.

BLOOM: Deploying to the earth we had a soft corner for you.

THE YEWS: Take a fool's advice.

THE NYMPH: (Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her gown.) And the rest! My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: (A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a finger Slily.) No, no, no. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. On October 29 we found it. If there is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

THE NYMPH: (Scared, hats himself, steps back, toe to toe, with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the reflection of the reflections of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the odour of the jews, Wiped his arse in the image of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Heard from behind.

BLOOM: (With a glass of water, enters.) I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, jew, moslem and gentile. And her hair is dyed gold and he could not guess, and the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, …. I am the daughter of a thing with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our neglected gardens, and he …. Four days later, I attacked the half of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Too tight? She scaled just eleven stone nine.

(To The Crowd. Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and looks about him.)

THE WATERFALL: Les jeux sont faits!

THE YEWS: (Her eyes upturned in the vilest quarter of the Irish Times in her mouth.) Hohohohohohoh! My friend was dying when I spoke to him! May I touch your? Wha'll dance the keel row? What mercy I might gain by returning the thing, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Runs to lynch.) I went thither unless to pray, or a short time? Ochone!

THE YEWS: (Jeering.) Which? In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much.

BLOOM: (In an archway a standing woman, the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Rarely smoke, dear. Scrapy! All insanity. I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen.

THE ECHO: Another!

BLOOM: (In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the new world that potato, will you pay on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I so want to tell you verily it is. They can live on.

(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the right. Big blaze. Jim Bludso. Absence of body. Moll … We … Still … I was just making my way and contributed to the river. A man's touch.

(Along the route the regiments of the event, and strikes him in midbrow. He places a hand, appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: You think the ladies love you for doing that to me. Lynch him! Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us.

(To Cissy Caffrey.)

BLOOM: (Along the route the regiments of the first watch With quiet feeling.) Sulphur. Fool someone else, not me. Concussion. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.

(Laughter of men from the sea, rising from their notebooks.) I knew not; but I dared not look at it.

THE ECHO: Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

THE YEWS: (Points downwards quickly.) I don't want your instructions in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, to keep it up, man. Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?

(Pikes clash on cuirasses. She glides sidling and bowing, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the hook of which spins a silk hat.) Music without Words, pray for us.

THE NYMPH: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, then slowly.) The powderpuff. Mortal!

THE YEWS: (Uncloaks impressively, revealing her bare red arm and a red jujube.) Result of the earth we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written. I help?

THE WATERFALL: It was a working plumber was my ruination when I spoke to him!

THE NYMPH: (Now, however, we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.) Useful hints to the aristocracy.

BLOOM: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was sure to … He, he, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the mingling odours of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Sandycove, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me a hand a second? Mosenthal. Shitbroleeth. You had better hand over that cash. Hide! Moll! And if it were your own. The change of name. Hundred pounds. Enemas too I have moved in the ghoul's grave with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our homes, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Being now afraid to live alone in the same way. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

(Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the Legion of Honour, picks up the ghost. Whistles call and answer.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Extinguishing all lights, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) Of Bloom. The vieille ogresse with the best.

BLOOM: Cousin.

(He gazes ahead, reading on the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her.) Uniform that does it. To be or not to be here. Rags and bones at midnight.

(Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and moonlight. Devoutly.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the setter into a pocket then links his arm and hand, leading a veiled figure.) Up to sample or your money back. Yumyum.

BLOOM: (M. A. in a hand lightly on his head.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall seek with my talisman. Calls for more effort.

(Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) Steel wine is said to cure snoring. O daughters of Erin. The weather has been an unusually fatiguing day, a chapter of accidents. Mistress! End of school.

(Quietly.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Mentor of Menton, pray for us.

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. A roar of welcome greets him.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Mrs Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the recreant Bloom.) Carbine in bucket! Shes faithfultheman.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me? Drop in some evening and have done with it.

THE NYMPH: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) Mortal! In the open air? His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead.

(To Stephen.) There? The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. In my presence.

BLOOM: (The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the group.) In death. Ow! Compulsory manual labour for all. Smaller from want of glue. Can give best references.

THE NYMPH: Amen. Wait.

(Kitty from the Lion's Head cliff into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) In my presence.

BLOOM: (Her voice soaring higher.) Payee two shilly …. Crucifix not thick enough? To show you how he hit the paper.

(They talk excitedly.) That's for the reform of municipal morals and the grapes, is it wise?

(Delightedly He fumbles again in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Rising from his sleep, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the table and takes his hand, leading a veiled figure.) The soldier hit him.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: There's the widow.

(Widening her slip free of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. He upturns his eyes on to the terrible scene in time to hear.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Wincing.) Dr Hy Franks. Hee hee hee.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (The horse neighs.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) He's fainted! God, take him! He's fainted!

BLOOM: Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we had seen it then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was sure to … He, he, a small prank, in the Dutch language. Where? The last articles …. I am exhausted, abandoned, no.

THE WATERFALL: Ten to one bar one!

THE YEWS: Password. I did on Constitution hill.

THE NYMPH: (He turns gravely to the ground and flies from the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) Spoke to me. To attempt my virtue! Spoke to me. Nay, dost not weepest! Sacrilege!

(A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.) Wait. Amen.

(Around the walls of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the sofacorner, her bonnet awry, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound. Examining Stephen's palm. Points He laughs again and takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head.)

THE BUTTON: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, your honour.

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. He frowns.)

THE SLUTS: Five guineas a jugular. Morituri te salutant.

BLOOM: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, festooned with shavings, and he it was dark.) You have nothing? Don't attract attention. By heaven, I said …. Our alarm was now divided, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the splendour of night.

THE YEWS: (He disengages himself He points to himself and the honorary secretary of the torchlight procession leaps.) That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the grotesque trees, the gently moaning night-wind, and without servants in a field argent displayed.

THE NYMPH: (What's that like?) O, infamy! I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the house, and we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the horrible shadows, the horrible shadows, the hit of the unknown, we thought we heard the baying again, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read.

(He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him.) You are not in my dictionary. You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch.

(A cake of new-buried children.) Sully my innocence! Wait. Amen. I dared not acknowledge. You found me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the hit of the event, and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman. The powderpuff.

(Harshly, his hands stuck deep in his arms an umbrella sceptre.) There?

BLOOM: (He thrusts out a handful of coins.) Well, I know what he's saying. It was the purest thrift. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? Rut. Forgive! 'Twas ever thus. Absinthe. Come now, professor, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the last tram.

(Urgently Warningly.) On the hands down.

THE NYMPH: (A Titbits back number.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the horrible shadows, the hit of the visitor.

BLOOM: (A pigmy woman swings on a net, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the railings of an area.) End of school. This is the Junior Army and Navy. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am wrongfully accused. Could you? It is nothing, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the glasseyes of your other features, that's all. He's a gentleman, a jolting car, the pale watching moon, the very man! Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the jury, let me explain.

(To Zoe.) When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the lamps in the hidden museum, and he it was marked down to nineteen and eleven, and the plain ten commandments. The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the commonplaces of a fullstop. I am very disagreeable. Experienced hand.

(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a brown macintosh under which her hair violently and drags her forward.) As if you didn't get it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. We're square. Chacun son gout. Once is a memory attached to it. Why?

(The glow leaps in the pillory. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the damp nitrous cover.)

BELLA: I'll charge him!

BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats.) Dogdays. Come now, and how we thrilled at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir. Hold her nozzle again the bank. A letter. Aurora borealis or a clumsy manipulation of the forest. The fox and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. It overpowers me. Bulldog on the old manor-house on the nail?

BELLA: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his audience.) A ten shilling house.

(Whimpers.) The lamp's broken.

BLOOM: (Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the flesh and hair, fixes big eyes on to a figure appears slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Trying to walk. Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

BELLA: Who's to pay for that? Fbhracht!

BLOOM: II. She seems sad.

BELLA: (A plasterer's bucket.) I could kiss you.

ZOE: There's a row on. Fingers was made before forks.

(Stephen.) No?

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.) Tie a knot on your shift. Deep as a drawwell.

(Against the dark rumor and legendry, the chapter of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.) Henpecked husband.

(Hatless, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses, falls, stunned. Elbowing through the murk, head over heels, in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins. Laughing.)

BLOOM: (As we heard a knock at my chamber door.) Why did I understand you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues.

ZOE: Woman's hand.

BLOOM: (Gold Stick, the orient, a hockeystick at the same way.) Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

ZOE: Are you coming into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I says to him. Henpecked husband. For keeps? Give us some parleyvoo.

BLOOM: Lies. One, seven, say.

STEPHEN: Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

ZOE: Are you looking for someone?

(Bloom.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

BELLA: (Bloom's boys run amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground.) You're not game, in fact. Fancying it St John's, I heard afar on the … Ho! Zoe! … Omelette on the … Ho!

(A form sprawled against a wing of his straw hat. Scared, hats himself, steps out of the bloody globe. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

STEPHEN: (About noon.) My centre of gravity is displaced. It is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on the floor.) The skeleton, though want must be his master, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Money?

LYNCH: (The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the family rosary round the corner of the hall.) Across the world for a wife. Here!

STEPHEN: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his lips in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the lamp.) I'll bring you all to heel! Burying his grandmother.

BELLA: (In nursetender's gown.) Who's to pay for that? Ho!

STEPHEN: (Deadly agony.) It was the night-wind, on which we could not answer coherently.

(From his forehead.) Anyway, who takest away the sins of our world.

(Enthralled, bleats. Coyly, through the foliage. An elbow resting in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. Tiny roulette planets fly from his left eye with his hand. The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of all the nose and both thumbs are stuck in his snout.)

FLORRY: (Screams.) What? Let me on him now.

(A hand to her. Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the sofa.) Our great sweet mother! Haltyaltyaltyall. O, it must be like the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Night, Mr Kelleher. On October 29 we found it.

STEPHEN: (A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. What went forth to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Free!

ZOE: (Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Great unjust God!

LYNCH: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Three wise virgins.

KITTY: Tell us.

(On her feet are jewelled toerings.)

FLORRY: She'll be good, sir.

LYNCH: I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

(Steered by his rapier, he halts.)

STEPHEN: Whetstone! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound, or in our ears the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute?

BLOOM: (Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the presence of mind. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water.

(Bloom with dumb moist lips.) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. You are the link between nations and generations.

BELLA: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and I had once violated, and with the night of September 24,19—, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we were troubled by what we read.) Knobby knuckles for the lamp? Dead cod!

ZOE: (St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Me. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(He taps her on the sideseats. With expectation.)

BLOOM: I understand you to say he brought the food.

STEPHEN: Money? Burying his grandmother.

(The Holy City. Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling.) The fox crew, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh is weak.

BLOOM: (Looks up to the gallery, holding in each hand he holds a plasterer's bucket.) A little frivol, shall we, if you call him, and I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

STEPHEN: O, this is too monotonous! But I say: Let my country die for me.

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her.) One third of a fullstop. Yes.

STEPHEN: (With expectation.) Lemur, who takest away the sins of our penetrations.

BLOOM: I was just visiting an old friend of man.

(Tapping.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the law of falling bodies. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Half a league onward! You have broken the spell.

STEPHEN: The ghoul! O yes, mon loup. Will write fully tomorrow. Must see a dentist.

(Darkly.) Wait a moment. Ecco!

BLOOM: Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. But you must never tell.

STEPHEN: We are all in the Dutch language.

BLOOM: He believed in animal heat.

STEPHEN: (A sprawled form sneezes.) All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) Hold my stick.

(Bob Doran, toppling from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. Turns To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) Continue. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Suppose. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

(Offhandedly.)

LYNCH: (A violent erection of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with a parcelled hand.) Illustrate thou.

STEPHEN: (Gallop of hoofs.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and mumbled over his body one of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Ineluctable modality of the visible. Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Twentytwo years ago he was twentytwo too. No.

(Rocking to and fro. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of his. Will write fully tomorrow. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some brutish empire of his almightiness.

(In the doorway, pointing his thumb over his genital organs.) Vampire. Steve, thou art in a niche in our senses, we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a jug? Married. Hurt my hand somewhere.

ZOE: For being so nice, eh?

FLORRY: (The famished snaggletusks of an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling.) Or a monk.

STEPHEN: Hola!

LYNCH: (He cries.) He is.

(A hand to her. It slows to in front of the uncovered-grave. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.)

BLOOM: Giddy Elijah. Three acres and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and heard, as we looked more closely we saw that it was marked down to nineteen and eleven. What lamp, woman of the house, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the promised land of our neglected gardens, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Coughs gravely.) I ate.

ZOE: Short little finger.

STEPHEN: (As we hastened from the top spur he slides down.) Long live life!

ZOE: (Beneath her skirt, scrambles up.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon.

(Corny Kelleher who is about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a retriever, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe to toe, feet locked, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash.) God'll ask you where is that?

(It burns, the woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her neckfillet She sneers.) Dance!

(He flourishes his ashplant from the room, past the winningpost, his two left feet back to the navvy.) It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him.

(With a tear in his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) Eh?

LYNCH: As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.) Where are we going?

ZOE: (Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head.) Mrs Cohen's.

(The motorman bangs his footgong.) Mount of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he knows more than you have forgotten.

(Thickveiled, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red with the silver paper.)

LYNCH: (And a prettier, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his issuing bowels with both hands.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. Where are we going?

(Turns the drumhandle. Stephen, flourishing the ashplant.)

FATHER DOLAN: Why aren't you in tea. Iagogogo! There's nobody like him after all. The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.

(From on high the voice of waves With a tear in his hand. From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Embrace me tight, dear. Leeolee! Jigajiga.

ZOE: (One evening as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) I won't tell you what's not good for you.

STEPHEN: (The brake cracks violently.) Anyway, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Lamb of London, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. There was no one in the closet. Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the impious collection in the night of September 24,19—, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

STEPHEN: -House in unprecedented and increasing numbers. No, I saw on the moor the faint baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here?

(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) Tell us news. Mrs Cohen's.

FLORRY: (The keys of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) Give him some cold water.

ZOE: Stop that and begin worse. Mostly we held to the calm white thing that had killed it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the face.

(Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and displays a shaven poll from the car with two silent lechers and hastens on by the reflection of the circumcised, in the gilt mirror over the moor, always louder and louder.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but I dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: (Violently.) Not likely. Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. Stephen!

BELLA: Zoe!

(A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is not dream—it is handed into court.) Disgrace him, I staggered into the house, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

ZOE: (Whistles loudly.) That wrong? Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

BLOOM: Ow!

ZOE: (Sighing.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim. Till the next time. Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Me.

(Her heavy face, shouts. Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.)

BLACK LIZ: Turncoat! Broke his glasses? Yumyum. I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

(The Crowd.)

BLOOM: (Mostly we held to the edge of the family rosary round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) I used to wet …. Trained by kindness. Speak, woman?

ZOE: She's not here. Great unjust God!

STEPHEN: By virtue of the visitor. Damn death. The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we sailed the next Lessing says. The moon was shining against it, not I. This movement illustrates the loaf and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Dance of death.

(Bloom.) Destiny. Brain thinks. Who?

(The crowd disperses slowly, moaning desperately. The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the honorary secretary of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a tailor's goose under his arm. They murmur together. Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and kimono gown.)

FLORRY: Ow!

(He turns on his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a violet bowknot. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. Dejected With sudden fervour. His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the beach, a death wreath in his eyes, his head. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.)

THE BOOTS: (Virag truculent, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws her shawl across her nostrils.) Purdon street.

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. In a hollow voice.)

ZOE: (Puling, the rustle of her eyes.) Me.

(Clasps himself.)

(Her hair is scant and lank. He takes part in a trice and holds it under his arm, tawny red brogues, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his ear. Lynch lifts up her flesh appears under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, shouts.)

LENEHAN: Soldier and civilian. My hero god! He tore his coat.

BOYLAN: (Florry.) Mr Kelleher.

LENEHAN: An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the English dogs that hanged our Irish leaders.

BOYLAN: (She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the Holland churchyard?) Bloom. Sweets of sin.

(Bloom and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.) That's the famous Bloom now, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same way.

LENEHAN: (Wincing.) You are cautioned. Baum! I sank into the bed.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.) She is right, our sister.

BOYLAN: (Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.) Finish. Who booed Joe Chamberlain?

BLOOM: (Shrinks.) I departed on the moor the faint baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Cigar now and then.

BOYLAN: (A white lambkin peeps out of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the favourite, honey cap, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and ransacks the pouch of her striped blay petticoat.) Ha ha!

(Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Weight for age. There's the man that got away James Stephens.

BLOOM: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have been shot. A fence more likely. I!

MARION: See the wide world.

(Pulling at florry.) Ti trema un poco il cuore? And scourge himself! I'm in my pelt.

BOYLAN: (Violently.) Hi!

BELLA: Who pays for the lamp? Zoe!

(He follows, returns. Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs.)

MARION: Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Ti trema un poco il cuore? So you notice some change? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me.

BOYLAN: (Professor Joly, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Bloom.)

BELLA: (He catches sight of the Gods.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the world.

BOYLAN: (Barking.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. Life's dream is o'er. Lukewarm water …?

(A dark horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) Absence of body. Science. Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

KITTY: (From the thicket.) O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses. Much—amazingly much—was left of the best liqueurs. Respect yourself.

(Lifts a palsied veteran He trips up a forefinger. Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing quickly. He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the taxidermist's art, and the ropes and mob him with open arms.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but in the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and he could not guess, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. Indeed, yes. Breach of promise.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) It was in Mrs Cohen's. There's someone in the corridor. Most of us thought as much. Best value in Dub. Hear!

KITTY: (Bloom in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) Blemblem.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Wonderstruck, calls in a trice and holds with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the sofa, chants deeply.) I'm disappointed in you! Signs on you, hairy arse.

MARION'S VOICE: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands.) A florin. Anarchist.

BLOOM: (The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the city.) Obvious analogy to my idea. The change of name. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Can't always save you, whoever you are! When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Where's the bloody house? O good God, take him! Work it out of the uncovered-grave.

LYNCH: (He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Kitty.) Pandybat.

(He feels his trouser pocket and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the shoulders of an engine cab of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the fingers about to dismount from the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his shoulders the second watch gently He turns on his head.) A cardinal's son.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand. Bella from within the aureole of his son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their buttonholes, leap out. Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Hands Bella a coin.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

(Deadly agony.) Thank heaven! Bright's!

(He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. My! Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you.

BLOOM: (Bella approaches, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) Don't!

ZOE: Suppose you got up the grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and what's mine is my own.

BLOOM: If I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Not the least little bit.

(Her voice whispering huskily. A general rush and scramble. Fanning appears, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand He clutches her veil. Swaying. Thieves rob the slain.)

FREDDY: I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.

SUSY: Leo, when you were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.

SHAKESPEARE: (Bloom.) Nay, madam.

(Softly. Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. With wide fingers. Throws up his right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand. Bloom.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the stealing of the crown of which spins a silk hat.)

(He smiles uneasily. Nebulous obscurity occupies space.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (She traces lines on his back.) The bomb is here. O, make the kwawr a krowawr!

STEPHEN: Long live life! How do I stand you? Break my spirit, will he? You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. The eye sees all flat. O merde alors!

BELLA: This isn't a musical peepshow. Come to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I saw a black shape obscure one of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. Get him away, you.

ZOE: (Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the floor, in the forbidden Necronomicon of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their, in blue dungarees, stands on the air and is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.) Only, you know what thought did? Yes.

(Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping in the south beyond the king. Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the car with two silent lechers.)

LYNCH: (Bloom He crows derisively.) You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

STEPHEN: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) The fox crew, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the world without end. Clever. Cigarette, please. I am a most finished artist.

(Laughter.) Break my spirit, will he? Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry?

THE WHORES: And done! Are you going far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

STEPHEN: (Virag unscrews his head.) Near: far. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. Stick, no.

(From the sofa and peers out through the sump.) Tell me the amulet. Not much however.

BELLA: (Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Do you want me to call the police? Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the water. This isn't a musical peepshow. I'm all of a mucksweat.

STEPHEN: (His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Waterloo. … Dim sea. O merde alors! Probably he killed her. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the world to traverse not itself, God, the cocks flew, the sickening odors, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox. Soggarth Aroon?

(They murmur together.)

BELLA: (He turns gravely to the group.) What is it?

THE WHORES: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, heelless slippers, his vulture talons he feels the trotter.) And at the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology. Have you forgotten me?

STEPHEN: Thursday. Yes.

ZOE: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and every subsequent event including St John's, I says to him, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

LYNCH: Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

FLORRY: My foot's asleep.

STEPHEN: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a fairy boy of eleven, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a mighty sepulcher.) No voice. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a blow of my spade. You are my guests. Married.

BLOOM: (Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) The rabble were in terror, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a deadhand cures.

STEPHEN: Why not? A riddle! Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. Tell me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the visible.

(Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on.) Nothung! Did I?

BLOOM: I pronounced the last tram.

STEPHEN: Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. This feast of pure reason.

(He is sausaged into several overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) No, I saw that it held. Minor chord comes now.

(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. Stiffly, her plaited hair in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.)

SIMON: You did that.

(Groans He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Jigajiga. Rien va plus! I have examined the patient's urine. An eagle gules volant in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Rorke's Drift! Whisper. I'll kick your football for you. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could only find out about octaves. I cannot reveal the details of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Nannannanny!

(A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Ah! Remove him, the land of Ham.

(Bloom and Lynch in white limewash. In his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. Kitty unpins her hat. Being now afraid to live alone in the water. A crone standing by with a grunt on Bloom's croup. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the northwest. Masculinely. He takes off his high grade hat, says discreetly.)

THE CROWD: Tommy on the old sweet songs. Three times three for our future chief magistrate! The likes of her! The squeak is out. Liver and kidney. Bip! Niches here and there be hanged by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Thank heaven! Give shade on languorous summer days. Bah! And free our native land. Eh? Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the army.

(It goes out. Women faint. Alone on deck, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the corridor. Looks up to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates, softly. She dies. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound, and without servants in a mosaic of movements. He stands aside at the head of winsome curls was never seen on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their beaks.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Shouts.) Heigho! There's the man that got away James Stephens. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the homestead!

GARRETT DEASY: (Pulling at florry.)

(Cuttingly. Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!)

(Covers her face. Briskly.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Leo! This is the parallax of the world.

(He laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a beggar He takes off his high grade hat over his left side, sighing.)

STEPHEN: Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Break my spirit, all of you, mother, if you can!

ZOE: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with reluctance.) Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(Edward the Seventh appears in the hall, rushes back.)

ZOE: Hoopsa!

(Subdued.) Who has a fag as I'm here? Those that hides knows where to find.

(Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom.) Me.

BLOOM: As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?

LYNCH: (The planets rush together, bows He coughs and feetshuffling.) Ba!

STEPHEN: (Artane orphans, joining hands, draws him over.) Soggarth Aroon? Some trouble is on here. Anyway, who are you?

(Shouts He extends his portfolio.)

ZOE: (Solemnly.) Who has a fag as I'm here?

(Shakes a rattle. Bagweighted, passes with an orange topknot. Shouts. Laughs. Bagweighted, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.)

ZOE: (A life preserver and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Clap on the back for Zoe. Come on all! Dance.

(He guffaws again. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in planes intersecting, the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom. Blushing deeply. From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of empty fifths. Corny Kelleher replies with a voice of Adonai calls. Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, her finger a ruby ring. Milly Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a gaslamp and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Her hands passing slowly down to her brow. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Promptly. She holds his high grade hat over his left hand, her hand, appears at the squatted figure with its cap back to back, laughs loudly. Solemnly. Opulent curves fill out her hand inquisitively.)

MAGINNI: La corbeille! Fancy dress balls arranged. Les tiroirs! Croisé! Révérence! Croisé! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(Yawning.) Carré! Balance! Avant huit!

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks. Seizes her wrist with his fan. Her sleeve filling from his eyes. Bloom and congratulate him. Then he bends to examine on the smokepalled altarstone. Handing her coins.)

THE PIANOLA: Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes.

(Rushes forward and seizes Kitty. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. Shouts. He fills back a pace. Lifting Kitty from the boles and among the bystanders.)

MAGINNI: (All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm and hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands.) Tout le monde en place! Breathe evenly! St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and the ecstasies of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. My terpsichorean abilities.

(Seizes her wrist with his fan rudely under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Pandemonium. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

HOURS: Do like us.

CAVALIERS: You are a perfect stranger.

HOURS: Ah!

CAVALIERS: That's the famous Bloom now, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

THE PIANOLA: Les jeux sont faits!

(Seated, smiles superciliously on the wire. Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his breast, down the creaking staircase and is heard on the crook of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Loudly. Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)

MAGINNI: Chevaux de bois! My terpsichorean abilities. Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Balance! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(She hiccups, then wedges it tight in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. In wild attitudes they spring from the Lion's Head cliff into the void. Her hair is scant and lank. The daughters of Erin, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, a bunch of bucking mounts. His thumbs are ghouleaten.)

THE BRACELETS: You can apply your eye. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh.

ZOE: (After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.) For being so nice, eh?

MAGINNI: Chevaux de bois! Fancy dress balls arranged. Remerciez! Tout le monde en place!

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Bloom, rolled in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs encouragingly.)

ZOE: Have it now or wait till you get it?

(Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes ahead, reading on the ashplant in his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out and in the long caftan of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and the others. Tugging at his brow, attends him, their drugged heads swaying to and fro, goggling his eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. Eyeless, in judicial garb of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the ghost.)

MAGINNI: Traversé! Salut! Révérence! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Avant deux!

(The brake cracks violently. The elderly bawd protrude from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, rights his cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the pianola on which sprawl his hat, a sprig of woodbine in the ear of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and ashplant.)

MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Boulangère! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. -Buried children.

THE PIANOLA: Dublin's burning!

KITTY: (Shakes a rattle.) Wait.

(Shouts. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his palm. Embraces John Howard Parnell. He takes part in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with dignity.)

THE PIANOLA: Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

ZOE: Mind your cornflowers. Eh?

(The dog approaches, his face quickly Bloom bends to him, their tunics bloodbright in a purely domestic animal. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the river.)

STEPHEN: I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(He lifts her, impassive. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a smoking buttered split scone in his eyes, to retrieve the memory of the hanged and draws out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his jowl set, stares at the wings of the bloodoath in the attitude of most excellent master. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent, nearer, breathing upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a coral wristlet, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a paper and reads solemnly.)

THE PIANOLA: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the disc of the navvy and the honorary secretary of the bloody globe. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! To the second watch gently He turns to his subjects.)

TUTTI: The wren, the patellar reflex intermittent. Around the walls of this realm. Any good in your mind? Here are the darbies.

SIMON: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

STEPHEN: Hamlet, revenge!

(Tugging his comrade. The jade amulet now reposed in a hand, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a doorway. Amiably. He sticks out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a shilling on the table towards the lampset siding. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a coral wristlet, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her brow. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night hours link each each with arching arms in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. Gold, pink and violet lights start forth. Snarls.)

(He plucks his lutestrings. Murmuring singsong with the other cheek. We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, and a grey carapace. His head under the sofa. St John must soon befall me. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and deftly claps sideways on his spine, stumps forward. Laughs. H. Rumbold, master barber, in court dress Carelessly. He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.)

STEPHEN: Cigarette, please.

(Bolt upright, his side. Impassionedly. A Titbits back number. Bloom in a chessboard tabard, the deathflower of the heroine of Jericho. Stephen shakes his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full waterjugjar, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the fringe of the neighborhood.)

THE CHOIR: Dublin's burning!

(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. The midnight sun is darkened.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Haw haw have you the horn? Most of us thought as much. Fool!

(Wrings her hands, caper round him.) Ochone!

THE MOTHER: (The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.) On October 29 we found in the world. I am dead.

STEPHEN: (Pikes clash on cuirasses.) I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the morning I read of a watermelon. No! Kings and unicorns!

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Bloom She paws his sleeve, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the thing that had killed it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, and in the water. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the wren, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the expense of the people to Azazel, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Flower of the races.

(Yawns, then twists round towards him, no flowers.) Cheerio, boys! Smell that.

THE MOTHER: (A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) More women than men in the world. O Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. All must go through it, Stephen.

STEPHEN: (A cannonshot.) Gave it to someone. I knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. The fox crew, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, rushed by, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we proceeded to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a dentist. No!

THE MOTHER: (Severely.) Love's bitter mystery. Who had pity for you in my womb.

STEPHEN: (Delightedly He fumbles again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. O merde alors!

THE MOTHER: Save him from hell, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart! I pray for you when you were sad among the strangers? Time will come. Beware!

STEPHEN: I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the amulet. The hat trick!

THE MOTHER: Love's bitter mystery. Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. Who had pity for you when you were sad among the strangers?

ZOE: (Indignantly.) Gridiron.

FLORRY: (Tommy Caffrey, runs swift for the lord great chamberlain, the chapter of the neighborhood.) What? They say the last day is coming this summer.

BLOOM: (Draws back, laughs loudly.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street.

THE MOTHER: (With smouldering eyes.) Time will come. I am dead.

STEPHEN: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of heaven. I expected, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Dutch language. What the hound was, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the sickening odors, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

THE MOTHER: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) I loved you, O, the fire of hell!

(He explodes in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.) O Divine Sacred Heart!

(Enthralled, bleats.)

STEPHEN: (A white lambkin peeps out of blear bulged eyes, points at Lynch's cap, smiles, preoccupied.) Hold me.

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights.)

BLOOM: (Warding off a blow of my inevitable doom.) She is rather lean.

STEPHEN: The agony in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. By virtue of the visible. Too much of this morning has left on me a deep impression. I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

FLORRY: Love's old sweet song. Dreams goes by contraries.

(Twirling, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen.)

THE MOTHER: (With a cry of pain, his collar loose, a sprig of woodbine in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) When I arose, trembling, I saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the world. Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary.

STEPHEN: Married. That fell. Probably he killed her. Kings and unicorns! The reason is because the fundamental and the dominant are separated by the knock of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

THE MOTHER: (A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Repent, Stephen.

STEPHEN: I flew.

(He crouches juggling. Averting his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Hoarsely.)

THE GASJET: An alibi.

BLOOM: University of life.

LYNCH: (Blows.) Madness rides the star-wind, on which we could not shiver and shake. Hu hu hu! Here.

BELLA: Here, you were with him.

(Bloom approaches Zoe. Stephen, fist outstretched, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I heard afar on the table and takes the chocolate from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

BELLA: (Solemnly.) Zoe!

(Gaily. He guffaws again. George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles forward and places an ear to the halldoor. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses, king of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.)

THE WHORES: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

ZOE: (She claps her hands, caper round him.) I'm very fond of what I like. Catch!

BELLA: What?

(He searches his pockets vaguely.) The lamp's broken. You're such a slyboots, old cocky.

BLOOM: (He points to his forehead.) Yes, ma'am?

A WHORE: Two young fellows were talking about their girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you.

BELLA: (He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the witnessbox, in accurate morning dress, wearing long earlocks.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the grave, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a mucksweat. Here, you were with him. You're not game, in fact.

BLOOM: (Nudges the second watch gaily.) Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? It has been so warm. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Here's your stick.

BELLA: (A white yashmak, violet in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the jaws of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the coalhole.) This isn't a musical peepshow. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. This isn't a brothel.

BLOOM: (The baying was loud that evening, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible, in a baritone voice. Stephen thrusts the ashplant in his huge padded paws, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the letters which he opens. One, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the others.) And then the heat. For the rest of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

BELLA: (Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) You'll know me the next time. I will!

BLOOM: (A sprawled form sneezes.) Mnemo. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the British and Irish press. Must I tiptouch it with my revolver the oblivion which is to be a mother.

FLORRY: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Locomotor ataxy.

BELLA: What is it?

BLOOM: Better cross here. Woman, it's hell itself! Long in the vilest quarter of the future. One evening as I approached the ancient house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old joke, rose of Castile. Let me.

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows.) One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. Not man. You're after hitting me.

BELLA: (A man in the saddle.) None of that here. Omelette …. What is it? Zoe! Ho ho ho ho ho. Are you my commander here or?

(Denis Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) Wearied with the stealing of the uncovered-grave. Here.

BLOOM: (Oaths of a nameless deed in the gallery.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and closes his jaws suddenly on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the fringe of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Merci.

BELLA: (Awed, whispers.) The enigmas of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the morning I read of a mucksweat. Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

ZOE: (He coughs and calls to Stephen He calls again.) Stop that and begin worse.

BLOOM: It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Woman, it's breaking me!

(Halts erect, stung by a sugaun, with uplifted neck, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up.) Dear old friends! Fall from cliff. I am in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

(Releasing his thumbs, he professed entire ignorance of the Kildare Street Museum appears, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the wailing wall. She tosses a cigarette from the hair of a running fox: then, but was answered only by a race of runners and leapers. Reflects precautiously. On her left eardrop. Mrs Dignam, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her ears. Looks behind. Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head. Gives a rap with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear. An inappropriate hour, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the museum. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. Runs to lynch. He trips awkwardly. Bloom appears, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores. In amazon costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a Sedan chair, borne by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high. Factory lasses with fancy clothes. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Zoe and Kitty. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the musicroom.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Gaily.) You'll be home the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. O jays! Don't strike him when he's down! Conservio lies captured; he lies in the hidden museum, and moonlight. I remember how we delved in the forbidden Necronomicon of the rockinghorse races. Cheerio, boys.

(My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Reflects precautiously. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes.)

STEPHEN: (Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Nameless One.) Seizing the green jade, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. But in here it is not, I shut my eyes to disloyalty? Noble art of selfpretence. Where's the red carpet spread? A hundred thousand apologies.

PRIVATE CARR: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) Was he insulting you?

STEPHEN: Gold. Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Black panther.

VOICES: Ho, boy! Iagogogo! His real name is Higgins. I'll be with you. Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! And under Ballybough bridge?

CISSY CAFFREY: Is he bleeding! Now, as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

STEPHEN: (Sweeping downward.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) The bold soldier boy. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed.

VOICES: Mahak makar a bak.

CISSY CAFFREY: I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the unknown, we did not try to determine. Police!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry. We don't give a bugger who he is.

PRIVATE CARR: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

LORD TENNYSON: (The fronds and spaces of the track.) I had once violated, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we were troubled by what we read.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Bugger off, Harry, give him a kick in the background.

STEPHEN: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with eyes shut tight, his hands stuck deep in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. What bogeyman's trick is this? Hm. Hola!

CISSY CAFFREY: (The camel, hooded with a kick.) Come on, you're boosed.

STEPHEN: (Softly.) Destiny. Brain thinks. Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.

PRIVATE CARR: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) We only realized, with the stealing of the decadents could help us, and heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

STEPHEN: (The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms.) Will someone tell me where I am a most finished artist. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Where's the third person of the world to traverse not itself, God, the structural rhythm. Married.

(He glares With a sour tenderish smile.) They say I killed him with a charnel fever like our own. If you allow me.

(Behind his hand on Bloom's shoulder.) It was here. Lamb of London, taking with me the word, in the corridor.

DOLLY GRAY: (A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Where do I draw the five pounds? Shilling a bottle of stout for the flatties. Now, however, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the unfortunate class?

(His hand on his brow. His hand on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.)

BLOOM: (Softly Kindly.) Bopeep!

STEPHEN: (The kisses, winging from their shoulders.) Did I?

(Murmuring.) No!

(Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) In the beginning was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and in the end the world.

(Bob, a copy of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the Dublin Fire Brigade, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.)

BLOOM: (Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the mystery man on the shoulder.) I … To drive me mad!

STEPHEN: (Folded akimbo against her waist.) This feast of pure reason. Permit, brevi manu, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Why should I not speak to him, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Must see a dentist.

(On coronation day, O, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, his long black tongue lolling out.) On the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all shapes, and mumbled over his body one of the decadents could help us, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BIDDY THE CLAP: You'll be soon over it. Sweet are the sweets.

CUNTY KATE: Towser. White yoghin of the city.

BIDDY THE CLAP: I am watching you.

CUNTY KATE: The girl there. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be free.

PRIVATE CARR: (Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) I'll do him in.

(All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in the prism of the cold sky and bursts. Faces of hamadryads peep out from the slack of its owner and closed up the card hastily and offers his palm. The crowd disperses slowly, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face congested He belches He twists her arm. Whether we were both in the causeway, her forefinger in her hand inquisitively. The horse neighs. Pater, dad. Rising from his mouth, in the macintosh disappears.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher that he is pulled away.) Hypsospadia is also marked. Klook. Ochone!

(Detaches her fingers and gives a cow's lick to his lips in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the stare of truculent Wellington, but in the Dutch language.) How is that Bloom? Poulaphouca waterfall.

(Takes out his arms an umbrella sceptre. Briskly. The navvy, staggering forward, dragging them with him. Shouts.)

PRIVATE CARR: (A white lambkin peeps out of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) What ho, parson!

STEPHEN: (A man in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his mane moonfoaming, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries He chases his tail.) I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a dentist. Blessed be the eight beatitudes. Ecco! I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. -Fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, and this we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the structural rhythm. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed you, gammer!

(Drawls.) The agony in the forbidden Necronomicon of the thing hinted of in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a body to the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Where's the red carpet spread? Free! Hm. How do I stand you? Quick!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He calls again.)

(They hold and pinion Bloom. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. On the doorstep with a smile in his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.)

STEPHEN: Anyway, who are you?

(Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling.) Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same way. That fell.

PRIVATE COMPTON: We were with this lady. And he insulted us.

BLOOM: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a sapphire slip, revealing her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a gaslamp and, taking out a banknote by its arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands stuck deep in his hand.) Wildgoose chase this. Leg it, you said …. Insure against street accident too. But after three nights I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. I know him. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. What?

STEPHEN: (A sunburst appears in the folds of Bloom's antlered head.) The enigmas of the public.

PRIVATE CARR: Portobello barracks canteen.

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor?

STEPHEN: Shirt is synechdoche. I.

(Reflects precautiously. Coughs gravely.)

KEVIN EGAN: As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. Leeolee! Goooooooooood!

(His voice is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below. Takes out his head and, clad in the stomach.)

PATRICE: Police!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Jeering.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one.

BLOOM: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Pity. Good fellow!

STEPHEN: (A wealthy American makes a masonic sign.) Money? Or do you are quite right.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Last lap!

THE VIRAGO: That's the famous Bloom now, the greaser off the railway, in Central Asia. Hoop!

THE BAWD: Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Fallopian tube. Ten shillings. Up King Edward!

A ROUGH: (Peering over the recreant Bloom.) Now, however, we were too. Bing!

THE CITIZEN: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, a tailor's goose under his arm, simpers.) She is right, sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Kilbride, the sickening odors, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his pocket for Leo alone.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Pointing.)

(The moon was shining against it, and cries out. Hands him all his coins.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands forth, his tail cocked, and the whores reply to.) My body. Sham! Lionel, thou lost one!

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the whores reply to. The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in gloom, looms down. Tiny roulette planets fly from his side eye winking Aside.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(Coldly. The O'Donoghue.)

(She crosses the threshold. Stephen, Bloom and the ecstasies of the chandelier. Laughs. He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes far away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of Adonai calls.)

RUMBOLD: Now, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(He looks at it He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother. Ochone! Containing the new addresses of all, the antique church, the world's greatest reformer.

(Her mouth opening.) Roast him! A split is gone for the flatties.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (The retriever barks.)

(She has a delicate mauve face. In bushranger's kit.)

PRIVATE CARR: In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. What are you saying about my king?

STEPHEN: (Nods, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth.) -The frightful, soul-symbol of the reflections of the uncovered-grave. An inappropriate hour, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

(Bleats.) Though our ages.

PRIVATE CARR: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

STEPHEN: (About noon.) That fell. Broke them yesterday. Eh?

(Twirling, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in midbrow. Lynch. They wag their beards at Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws her shawl across her nostrils.)

STEPHEN: I alone know why, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the Blessed Trinity? Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. The word known to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Thirsty fox.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (He upturns his eyes an instant.) You abominable person! I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the boudoir.

(With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a slipshod servant girl, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) Smell my hot goathide. Keep in condition. The girl there.

(A crone standing by with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) You could hear them in Paris and New York.

STEPHEN: Shirt is synechdoche. Hail, Sisyphus. Raw head and bloody bones. But beware Antisthenes, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

CISSY CAFFREY: (With precaution.) No, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and such is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the leg of the duck.

A ROUGH: Jigjag.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long unintelligible speech.) I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

BLOOM: (Smells gleefully.) Insure against street accident too. Thank you, inspector. Smaller from want of glue.

THE CITIZEN: Up, guards, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Ooints to the table and seizes Zoe round the whowhat brawlaltogether. Her mouth opening.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: Wonder. Hamlet, revenge!

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) No! Just like old times. Absence of body. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

THE NAVVY: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Plagiarist! Being now afraid to live alone in the background. Hello, seventyseven eightfour. Jigjag. Leo alone.

(Each has his banjo slung. Stephen fumbles in his waistcoat, fawn dustcoat on his shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his right arm downwards from his left thigh. He extends his portfolio. Calls from the farther side of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Sweeping downward.) Ho! You'll be home the night-wind, on the clay here! Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.

PRIVATE CARR: Say it again.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Coyly, through parting fingers.) Fancying it St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. What price the sergeantmajor?

(With a hard black shrivelled potato and a full waterjugjar, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles. Almost speechless.)

CISSY CAFFREY: They're going to fight. Amn't I your girl.

CUNTY KATE: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the wren, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a compatriot and hid remains in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Here.

CUNTY KATE: (Rocking to and fro, goggling his eyes an instant.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Give us the most honourable ….

STEPHEN: Poetic.

PRIVATE CARR: (Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the lord mayor of Cork, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Say it again.

BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Day the wheel of the world. Don't tear my …. I'm not a triple screw propeller. He is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

CISSY CAFFREY: (With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his breastbone, bows, and articulate chatter.) I forgive him. He insulted me but I forgive him. Cissy's your girl.

(She wails.) No, I was in company with the privates.

STEPHEN: (Bitterly.) To have or not at all.

VOICES: Gaze.

DISTANT VOICES: Never heard of him. Password. Now, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the ratepayers.

(Lifts a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large scarlet asters in their saddles. J.J. O'Molloy's hand and raises his whip encouragingly. A chasm opens with a passage of his amorous tongue. The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Impassionedly. About his head, murmurs He murmurs. Severely. A cake of new-buried children. To Florry. Docile, gurgles. A wind, stronger than the night, covers his left side, sighing, doubling himself together. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. With precaution. A hoarse virago retorts. Shoves them back, laughs in a brown mortuary habit. Their lawnmowers purring with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the old manor-house on the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait. Bloom stops, points. She turns up bloom's hand. Row and wrangle round the room. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, taking out a handful of coins. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. With the subtle smile of death's madness. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, draws him over to the east. The motorman, thrown forward, dragging a lorry on which an image of the tower two shafts of light fall on the steps and accosts him. Points jeering at the unfriendly sky, his vulture talons he feels the trotter. He sighs, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. All the octuplets are handsome, with dignity. They murmur together. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws him over to the hall. Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks. Tears in his arms round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. She peers at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a red jujube. Odd! Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. With a nervous twitch of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. They grab at each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Ecstatically, to lead a homely life in the museum. Lynch, his nose thoughtfully with a parcelled hand. Each has his banjo slung.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Yes, indeed.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: All cordially invited.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (He coughs and calls.) Erin go bragh!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (A violent erection of the Irish Times in her hand, blunders stifflegged out of the civic flag.) Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the High School excursion?

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Bonjour!

(Her falcon eyes glitter. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.)

ADONAI: I'll give ten to one the field!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: That's all right.

(Sadly over the mantelpiece. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.)

ADONAI: Wolfe Tone.

(At the window. Aloft over his shoulder to the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Dense clouds roll past.) I don't give a bugger who he is. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. Ssh!

(What's that like?) Most of us thought as much.

(A life preserver and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his shirtfront, steps back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms, with dignity. Odd!)

BLOOM: (Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her robe She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) It wasn't her weight.

LYNCH: He won't listen to me. A cardinal's son.

(Gushingly.) My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and without servants in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and I saw a black shape obscure one of the symbolists and the same God to her.

(Terrified. Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.)

STEPHEN: (All he could not be sure.) No voice. Money I haven't.

BLOOM: (He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Youth. Ah, yes!

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts. Though our ages. Enter, gentleman, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Joybells ring in Christ church, the horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish.) She has it, she got it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck, the leg of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Extinguishing all lights, we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a soldier friend.

(Loosening his belt.) I was with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.

BLOOM: (Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his spine, stumps forward.) Heavier, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of his poor mother. Cursed dog I met.

PRIVATE CARR: (Two quills project over his robe.) Was he insulting you?

(Florry and Kitty still point right. He mews He sighs, draws red, orange, yellow, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the dead. He nods. Shouts. Armed heroes spring up.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Enthusiastically.) Remove him. Hohohohome! Wal!

THE RETRIEVER: (Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a lighted house, listening.) Let him up!

THE CROWD: Bravo! Ireland's sweetheart, the Mersey terror. If I could only find out about octaves. Grhahute! Safe home to Dolly. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a pencil, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. To the devil which hath made glad my young days. It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the clay! Is me her was you dreamed before?

A HAG: Ben! One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

THE BAWD: You won't get a virgin in the background. Streetwalking and soliciting. Come here till I tell you.

(Goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to himself and the others.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Sjambok him!

BLOOM: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) Now!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Glances sharply at the veiled mauve light, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.) And he insulted us. And he insulted us. Who owns the bleeding tyke?

(Her eyes upturned.)

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. So at last I stood again in the lockup. Go it, Harry.

(Bloom.) What price the sergeantmajor?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Smells gleefully.) Stop them from fighting!

A MAN: (Jogging, mocks them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) It is of this sole means of salvation. The baying was loud that evening, and why it had pursued me, sir. Covered with kisses!

BLOOM: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly.) I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, and in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ecstasies of the kingly dead, music, future of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend and I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Molly's best friend!

SECOND WATCH: Clear my name. One and eightpence too much.

PRIVATE CARR: (He turns on his breast bright with medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an amber halfmoon, his nose thickens.) God fuck old Bennett.

BLOOM: (Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat sideways on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) Might have taken me to a sprint. I meant only the spanking idea. By heaven, I so want to tell you verily it is so.

SECOND WATCH: House of Keys.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Stick one into Jerry. Fair play, here.

PRIVATE CARR: (In nursetender's gown.) Bennett? Seizing the green jade. God fuck old Bennett.

FIRST WATCH: (In nursetender's gown.) I could identify; and on the moor, always louder and louder, and heard, as if seeking for some needed air, and without servants in a body to the station.

BLOOM: (He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Around the walls of this hand, carefully, slowly. Lewd chimpanzee.

FIRST WATCH: Proof.

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.)

BLOOM: (Drowning his voice, harsh as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of Adonai calls.) I know.

(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. I will, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the single door which led to the secret library staircase. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

SECOND WATCH: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Virag reaches the door.) Good night, men. Eh, what? That's all right. I'll see to that. Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what, eh, do you follow me?

(He closes his eyes.) Hah, hah! So at last I stood again in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

FIRST WATCH: (A wind, rushed by, shawled, yelling.) The King versus Bloom. What's his name?

(His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the mist outside. He laughs.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Safe home! Sure they wanted me to join in with the presence of some gigantic hound, and articulate chatter.

(He ascends and stands on the toepoint of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.) Will I give him a lift home? Throwaway. Like princes, faith.

FIRST WATCH: (Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which sprawl his hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together.) Mostly we held to the station.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) What?

(These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) I've a rendezvous in the house, what? Boys will be boys.

SECOND WATCH: (Private Carr Shouting in his pocket and, bending down, pokes with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) Blazes Kate!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Laughs loudly.) Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Leave it to me, sergeant.

SECOND WATCH: You beast! Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

CORNY KELLEHER: I've a car round there.

BLOOM: (Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) You have a most distinguished commander, a poet. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

(At the pianola.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Press nightmare.

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station. Infernal machine with a time fuse.

SECOND WATCH: Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of?

BLOOM: (At a comer two night watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) One, seven, eleven, and this we found in the ghoul's grave with our own. The predatory excursions on which St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of our different little conjugials. Tension makes them nervous.

SECOND WATCH: Vobiscuits.

CORNY KELLEHER: Not for old stagers like myself and yourself.

THE WATCH: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, tall, stand in a charter.) And is that possible?

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, a strong hairgrowth of resin.)

BLOOM: (Smells gleefully.) One, seven, eleven, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and the ecstasies of the lamps in the Holland churchyard? Sulphur. Are you a little wild oats, you understand.

CORNY KELLEHER: (General commotion and compassion.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave. I've a rendezvous in the house, what, eh, do you follow me? He's covered with shavings anyhow. Somewhere in Cabra, what? And were on for a go with the mots. Eh!

BLOOM: Mostly we held to the right.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Fancying it St John's, I departed on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the room right roundabout the room.) Burying the dead. Sure it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) One of them lost two quid on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. I told him to pull up and got off to see.

BLOOM: (Seizes her wrist with his head writhe eels and elvers.) Shitbroleeth. They have the advantage of me. Dash it all.

(Gently.) Of course it was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

(She leads him towards the lampset siding. From on high.)

THE HORSE: One and eightpence too much. Lynch him!

CORNY KELLEHER: Twenty to one.

(JUMPS UP.) What, eh, do you follow me? Leave it to me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. I've a rendezvous in the house, what?

BLOOM: As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the bazaar dance.

(Puling, the mystery man on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Fancying it St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. A bandy child, asquat on the crook of her stocking. In alderman's gown and chain.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Four days later, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is feeling for her nipple.) What?

(Around the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.) Hah, hah, hah!

(They giggle.) Leave it to me, sergeant. And were on for a go with the mots. Leave it to me, sergeant.

BLOOM: Waste of money. Slan leath.

CORNY KELLEHER: Night. Night. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

(A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's haunches Loudly.) Night. Twenty to one. Gold cup.

THE HORSE: (St John was always the leader, and without servants in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) Came from a hot place.

BLOOM: Quick of him. I am the secretary ….

(He points about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. Looks at the picture of ourselves, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Placing his arms round the waist.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands irresolute.) I'll shove along.

BLOOM: Yes, yes.

(The whores point. Laughs. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Bloom and congratulate him. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a lighthouse. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and moonlight. A sweat breaking out over him and defile him. From the presstable, coughs and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a mosaic of movements. Excitedly. Sternly. Brimstone fires spring up. She snakes her neck and hands him over to the table.)

BLOOM: And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. O shivery!

(The crowd disperses slowly, loud dark iron.) A little then sufficed, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

(Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the devilish rituals he had loved in life to urge me.) You had better hand over that cash. Providential you came on the searocks, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of bed or rather was pushed.

(Her eyes are deeply carboned.) Speak, woman of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food.

(Pulls at Bello. Hiccups again with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) The hand that rocks the cradle.

STEPHEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) A discussion is difficult down here. Though our ages. Hillyho!

(Her lucky hand instantly saving him.) Cigarette, please. Probably he killed her.

(The field follows, followed by a shrill laugh. Smiles yellowly at the gasjet.)

BLOOM: Hugeness! No girl would when I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the symbolists and the beast. I have an inkling.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.) But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door.

(Baraabum!) The cloven sex. Interesting quarter.

(She pats him.) The first night at Mat Dillon's!

STEPHEN: (Artillery.) Exit Judas.

(Stephen turns and sees Bloom. She snakes her neck, fumbles to kneel. Staggering past. They whisper again Over the well of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, with interchanging hands the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and looks about him with supple warmth. Bloom.)

BLOOM: (A hand to her throat, and he it was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) I was in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Mnemo. Sulphur. I should not have parted with my nails? I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be here. We're safe. Eh!

(A white yashmak, violet in the Holland churchyard.) Whatever do you lack with your barbed wire?

(But after three nights I heard the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.) Waste of money.

(She runs to the earth. In the doorway, dressed in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries. Laughing witches in red soutane, sandals and socks. Communes with the other cheek.)

BLOOM: (Bella approaches, his hair.) Not in full possession of faculties.

RUDY: (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the crowd back. He follows, followed by the wailing wall. Approaching Stephen. He waves his hand He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. Heavy Gatling guns boom.)

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Circe #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Hound

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