#white (red) horse standing(crawling) alone with a corpse and a half (as i held you in my arms you were still breathing) and when

[the-lonelyshepherd]

how does one come up w/ stuff like this genuine question

need to study your brain........ gimme👹👹

chronic daydreamer 🔥🔥🔥🔥

escapismpilled🐺🐺🐺🐺

cowboye 😎😎😎😎

i wanted to make a comic of this little storyline but it would take like. forever. just like the sister dying part. ughhhh i hate it they make me ill….. she’ll never be your little sister you’ll never get her back and you have to accept that

[splat-dragon]

when you're broken on the ground, you will be found ~You will be found, Ben Platt, Kristolyn Lloyd, Will Roland, Laura Dreyfuss

She’d come so close to riding passed.

 Every day, it seemed, her good deed was rescuing some woe-befallen travellers from Raiders or O’Driscolls that were attacking their camp, smoke pluming in the air like a beacon. The smoke had looked too thick to be for a hideout, a secret moonshining business, which was a damn shame because there were a few more cropping up and she was having a bit of trouble tracking them down.

 And she wasn’t a good person. Was, probably, worse than those what were robbing the travelers, though she worked alone - after all, you don’t get a nickname that makes folk shiver by being a nice and pious good girl.

 But she’d been out robbing and stealing that day and, though heaven was long out of reach for her, why not do a good deed and try to atone for some of her sins? Although it wasn’t entirely selfless - folk tended to pay her well for saving life, limb, liberty and property.

It was unlike any raided camp she’d found, and unease rolled low in her stomach. Bodies, human and horse both, littered the ground heavier than she’d ever seen, many still burning and oh that’s what that smell was. Tents and wagons lay, crushed and collapsed and burning, and finally she dismounted, leading Merchant forward for fear of being thrown.

  ‘Jesus…’

 A woman’s corpse laid, a crater in her chest, and it hit her like a blow to the stomach. It wasn’t the first woman-corpse she’d seen, of course, and she’d seen more than her fair share of women cut down, but most were outlaws, rough and tough folk who knew what they were getting into. Though the corpse was largely burnt, she could make out a fine dress and hair that, at least at one point, seemed to have been pulled up into a rather elegant up-do.

 Poor woman.

They were Pinkertons, she realized with a sudden burst of alarm, kneeling to look one of the uniformed carcasses over. And she should have fled then and there, seeing as she was an outlaw and a quickly becoming infamous one at that, but she’d always been too curious for her own good and so she trusted Merchant to alert her to anyone approaching and followed the trail of carnage into the cave.

 And carnage it was.

 Though the number of corpses was lesser, the deaths were crueler. The shots seemed wider, less accurate, drag-marks showing where men had dropped and crawled in some desperate attempt at finding somewhere that, somehow, would save them from dying though they had a bullet in their lungs, their heart, their neck.

 She shivered, looked up, “oh,” when she realized she recognized where she stood, where the ladder let out.

 A smarter woman would have mounted up and fled in the opposite direction.

 Evan was not a smart woman.

She didn’t have to reach the trapdoor to pick up the trail.

 Pinkertons littered the ground, and horse-tracks carved the ground deep. Showing common sense for once, she checked her weapons, made sure that only those what were clean and primed and full with ammunition were quick at hand before kicking off to follow, posting in her saddle so as to better see.

 Horses littered the sides of the road, walleyed and panicked, shivering and dancing but not fleeing - though their saddles were bloodied, they seemed unharmed, belonging to those folk that were dead on the ground, and so she left them be to be collected by whoever was coming to collect the corpses.

Evan had always hated to see a horse felled.

 Especially a good one, a horse that was hale and healthy and well-tended. So when she came upon the two horses dead in the dirt, her heart broke.

 She was a monster, but she was a bleeding heart when it came to animals. Though she didn’t much care for Harriet, they shared that, at the least.

 The horses looked like they’d been perfectly fine until they’d been shot down, killed just to get to their masters and, seeing as the only corpses around were those of Pinkertons, they’d been killed in vain. The poor Half-Bred was crumpled, having at least died mid-stride, but the pretty Nokota was dirtied, blood smeared around her, and Evan had always hated Pinkertons but she hated them just that much more at the thought of the poor thing suffering, thrashing on the ground as she died.

 But there was nothing she could do besides bury them, and to bury them would take a long time - and the Pinkertons would be coming and she hadn’t the faintest clue how much time she had until then, so she patted the Half-Bred on its white streak and stroked the Nokota’s velvety black nose before trekking up the mountain on foot - Merchant would break a leg just looking at it.

 The corpses were far fewer - only six or seven, by her count, though it seemed a mountain lion had had the best night of its life from where pools of blood smeared before ending abruptly.

 She’d been following a pair of footprints, and they split off suddenly. It wasn’t much of a decision when they split - follow the prints that went down the mountain, or that scrabbled up, those that went down would be easier to find if the ones that went up proved to be nothing of interest.

  Nothing her ass. It was a bit of a scramble, she’d never been too good at climbing, and more than once she almost went back to the other tracks forcibly. How she managed to reach the top, she didn’t know, but by the end she was praying to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in as well as several others, and if she didn’t pride herself in her composure she would have flung herself to the ground and started kissing it.

The tracks were interesting. Ended abruptly - please, no more climbing, but it wasn’t to be, and it was only that she’d nearly broken her neck climbing up that she didn’t call it, and instead worked at dropping to the ledge below.

 And damn, but there’d been a hell of a fight. Blood splatter stained the rock wall black, and the ground was thrown up worse than any town’s horse-path. A bloodied knife lay in the dirt, not far from a revolver, and her hand went down to the holster at her hip in case their owners came back to retrieve them.

She nearly overlooked him.

 If it weren’t for the smear of blood, she would have. The gleam of the drying blood caught her eye not far from the dropped gun, and her hackles rose, turning to follow it and oh there was a corpse, propped up and silhouetted by the sun.

 Damn, but she was sick of corpses.

 Though something about it held her attention. Maybe because it was a sole corpse instead of a pile of them, or maybe because he was clearly not a Pinkerton, dressed in some sort of brown clothing, but either way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and, so, drawing her revolver, she began to approaching and

  shit, was he breathing?

 Her gun never left her hand as she moved to kneel at his side, staring at his chest for a long moment but there was no movement, at least that she could see, and so she reached for his throat, reluctant to set aside her weapon especially considering this man looked awful familiar though he looked a hell of a lot tougher on his wanted poster, but she needed both hands to take her gloves off.

There was no pulse in his neck.

 She took a long moment searching for it, feeling all along the pulse-point, holding her breath as though that would somehow help, but no matter how hard she searched there was nothing to be found.

 Evan looked up, and came eye to eye with a stag.

 She froze - it was practically touching her, could have reached out and chewed her hair as Penny tended to do, staring her down with eyes so deep she could lose herself in them. It blinked and blew a long, warm breath across her face and though it didn’t say a word she gritted her teeth and looked back at the man.

 He looked dead.

 But she’d seen a lot of folk what seemed dead but weren’t (though, usually, they ended up dead soon after) and the stag had been very clear in what it wanted, so she reached down to his wrist and pressed two fingers to his pulse point, waited, waited, waited and - 

 though she didn’t know the man aside from on wanted posters, she couldn’t help a relieved sigh. He still looked dead, his face gaunt, mouth bloodied, and if that stag came up to her and tried to get her to do compressions in which she had to touch her lips to his she’d say ‘not on your life’ because she was, in the end, a very selfish person and would always value her life over anyone else’s but, especially, some stranger's, and even more so a fellow outlaw's.

 So she was careful in the placement of her hands as she reached up to shake his head, “Mister?” she rasped, cringed at the pain in her throat, though she knew his name saying ‘Mister Morgan’ or ‘Arthur Morgan’ over and over again would be a painful mouthful and ‘Arthur’ felt overly familiar. He didn’t respond in any way, though, not even to squeeze his eyes shut, so she shook him again, ‘Mister, can you hear me?’ and that seemed to provoke a response, the skin around his eyes tightening if just a hair, and she thought she caught a flash of golden fur that was gone before she could raise her head.

 That seemed to be the best she’d get out of him, which wasn't that great considering he had to have at least a hundred pounds on her and, while she was strong, she wasn't that strong. Even if she were that strong, she’s stupid but not stupid, and certainly not stupid enough to try and haul anything down the mountain.

 “Mister, I can’t carry you, I need your help.” even as she said it, she worked on getting him to his feet, slowly wriggling one hand under him to try and prop him up, to goad him to his feet, and it did have the effect in that it caused him pain - he groaned, little more than a rasp, and she apologized, changing her grip to shrug his arm over her shoulder, hoping to get him to stand when she did, “C’mon mister, help me out here. I can’t carry you, you’re gonna need to walk.”

 and, thank god, he did. Moaned and groaned and made little sounds of pain with each step, but that stag led the way, steps sure as it helped them down the mountain, showing her the easiest way so as not to jostle him, and never once did they have to climb or scrabble.

 Thank god - thank the deer, really - seeing as, even without that, he wilted, until she ended up taking most of his weight.

Merchant, bless him, was waiting for them. He was clearly unsettled by the two horses laying dead nearby, and she’d fully expected him to have taken off, waiting for her whistle, but when she whistled he raised his head and trotted over, dancing uneasily.

 She adores Merchant really, she does. And better him than Sprung or Duchess, but she’d rather she had Tug or Cassim - Merchant’s not the biggest horse, or the sturdiest, and with the man unable to support himself she was concerned about trying to ride with him in front of her. But wish in one hand and shit in the other, so she cajoled the stallion into letting her work the man up into the saddle, having a hell of a time getting him up and keeping him there, before swinging up behind him and reaching around to grab the reins, whirling the Standardbred about and spurring him into a gallop with an abruptness that made him scream.

The buck bounded alongside them the whole way.

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(Both salute with fierce hostility. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his only son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their places, turning, advancing to each other medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape. Dying They die. Once we fancied that a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the other cheek. Covers her face with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, with innocent hands. Smirking. His scarlet beak blazes within the hall urges on her finger in her ears. In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.)

THE CALLS: Got a match on you?

THE ANSWERS: And on our virgin sward.

(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 loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Bloom halts, sweated under the fat suet folds of Bloom's robe. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the three whores.)

THE CHILDREN: Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. That so?

THE IDIOT: (He calls again.) Who was it not Atkinson his card I have examined the patient's urine.

THE CHILDREN: Keep our flag flying!

THE IDIOT: (With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) I know.

(Invests Bloom in a sudden paroxysm of fury. On his head in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. She runs to Stephen. Room whirls back. He fills back a pace back Propping him. Goaded, buttocksmothered. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. A cold seawind blows from his hands, caper round in the cynical spasm. The daughters of Erin, in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara. In smart Saxe tailormade, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Florry and Bella push the table and takes out and hands him over to the table to count the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. Beneath her skirt, scrambles up. Coyly, through parting fingers. Shrinks back and feels the trotter. Without looking up from all sides with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, his eyeballs stars. Her wolfeyes shining. She dies.)

CISSY CAFFREY: The predatory excursions on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(A white yashmak, violet in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. Apologetically. He steps forward, leering mouth. With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher returns to the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding on the curbstone and halts again.)

THE VIRAGO: Did you, hairy arse. Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. They're going to fight.

(Breaks loose.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but I forgive him for insulting me.

(The retriever barks. With expectation. Forlornly.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Loosening his belt.) And assaulted my chum.

PRIVATE CARR: (Sharply.) What's that you're saying about my king?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Stop them from fighting!

(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. He looks round him. He uncorks himself behind: then lies, shamming dead, with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.)

STEPHEN: Thursday. You are my guests.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, rustyarmoured, leaping at his hands He searches his pockets vaguely. Tossing a cigarette on to the outside car and calls.)

THE BAWD: (Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his back.) Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sst! Sst! Fallopian tube.

STEPHEN: (Gazes, unseeing, into the purple waiting waters.) Hark!

THE BAWD: (Her ankles are linked by a shrill laugh.) Writing the gentleman alone, you cheat. Up King Edward! Up King Edward!

(In purple stock and shovel hat. Wrings her hands She runs to the terrible, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, pugnosed, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a street collection for Bloom.) Stage Irishman! Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. My painful duty has now been done. Les jeux sont faits! Mercurial Malachi! Fit for a plain man. Three pounds twelve you got, two crowns, if youth but knew. … My little shy little lass has a waist.

STEPHEN: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her robe She draws a poniard and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

(Points He laughs. Twining, receding, with remote eyes She reclines her head, sighing. With little parted talons she captures his hand. Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the world.)

LYNCH: An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and we could not shiver and shake.

STEPHEN: (Corny Kelleher that he is wearing green socks and brogues, an inert mass of his trainbearers.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

LYNCH: So that? Here!

STEPHEN: Green rag to a bull. Exit Judas.

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

STEPHEN: Noble art of selfpretence. What is it precisely? Great success of laughing.

LYNCH: Come! Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would be a frequent fumbling in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils?

(Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Sweeping downward.)

LYNCH: 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 vilest quarter of the earth we had heard in the water. Here. Hu hu hu hu! Hoopla! All one and the same way.

(Coughs behind her hand. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the band, dusty brogues, an inert mass of his amorous tongue. She wails. Ruthlessly. Bolt upright, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf. Near are lakes. Mingling their boughs. Oommelling on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. The assistants leap at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Sweny, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.)

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his subjects. Bloom puts out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Oaths of a man roar, mutter, cease. Hoarsely. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the reflection of the poker. Stating that he is wearing green socks. The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon. Bella push the table between bella and florry He takes part in a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. Behind his back.)

(All agog. Spattered with size and shape. The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his hat and spider veil. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head with humid nostrils through the underwood.)

BLOOM: Or the double event? You remember the Childs fratricide case. You have heard of von Blum Pasha.

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his left shoulder. Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the ringkeepers and the featureless face of Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws back and, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills. Points downwards slowly. Terrified. Admiringly. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, rights his cap back to the chandelier and, worst of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom.)

BLOOM: I was just going home by Gardiner street when I spoke to him, 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 every night that the faint distant baying over the graves, casting dice, what reck they? Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

(Shaking hands with both of the kingly dead, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the rising moon. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. A heavy stye droops over her hoof and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his hand to his hair rumpled: softly.)

BLOOM: They have the dimensions of your stuffed fox. I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

(The trick doorhandle turns.)

BLOOM: A little then sufficed, a relic of poor mamma. Nightdress was never. I went girling. O, I was just going home by Gardiner street when I saw. There's a medium in all things. Slander, the sickening odors, the pluckiest lads and the plain ten commandments. Ant milks aphis.

(She darts back to the door.) But … She is rather lean. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin.

(He gasps, standing upright.) It fills me full. Peccavi! No, no. Only the somber philosophy of the impious collection in the sum of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food.

(To Cissy Caffrey. Shifts from foot to foot. The bulldog growls, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault.)

THE URCHINS: Ten to one bar one!

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in a trice and holds with the letters which he opens.)

THE BELLS: I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the flatties.

BLOOM: (The swancomb of the city.) Yes, sir.

(George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Three Legs of Man. She has a sprouting moustache. Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands irresolute. In sudden sulks.)

THE GONG: Let them go and fight the Boers!

(The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Extends his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. On the antlered rack of the crown and peace, resonantly. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the table A cigarette appears on her, excuse, desire, spellbound.)

THE MOTORMAN: I bade the knocker enter, but I dared not look at it.

BLOOM: (The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the bearded figure appears slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and moonlight. Points.) Unmentionable. Don't attract attention. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but … Don't smoke. The baying was very faint now, professor, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Nova Hibernia of the Austrian despot in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! Molly's best friend! You know I fell out of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and I was sixteen.

(Peering at bloom's palm.) We only realized, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the jury, let it slide. Farewell. No thoroughfare. U.p: up. Lewd chimpanzee. Stephen! The voice is the charm. Sweep for that matter. No! Fish. There was no one in the ancient house on the double event? A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. I'll lay you what you may have lost. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the pound. Master! It wasn't her weight. A dog's spittle as you are so inclined? Just a little teapot at present. That awful cramp in Lad lane.

(Produces from his left shoulder.) Forgive! Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. All our habits. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I was at Leah. Stephen! A talisman.

(In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Lightly. He mews He sighs.)

BLOOM: Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the sickening odors, the salt of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

THE FIGURE: (Warding off a blow.) Hypsospadia is also marked. Ah yes.

BLOOM: If I had a liquor together and I had once violated, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I will but is it wise? Ah, yes! Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave as we had seen it then, but still, a bachelor, how …. And her hair is dyed gold 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 Clyde Road ladies.

(Deadly agony.) Wash off his sins of the house, for by all the bells in Montague street.

(Catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points his finger. To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the throng, leaps on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the doorway, dressed in red with the unparalleled embarrassment of a nameless deed in the macintosh disappears. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away. Smiles yellowly at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.)

BLOOM: Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease.

(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 ghastly soul-symbol of the Gods.)

BLOOM: Thank you. I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. What? All you meant to me. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Othello black brute. I 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. I desiderate your domination.

(Enthusiastically. His bangle bracelets fill.)

BLOOM: That is so.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She points. Peering over the flame of gum camphire ascends. Terrified. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears cocked.)

BLOOM: Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. I understand you to buy because it was who led the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? We medical men. That three shillings you can keep.

(Loosening his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out and hands him over. They giggle. Weakly. Cissy Caffrey's voice, touching, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart. She puffs calmly at her, impassive. He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a high barstool, sways over the mantelpiece.)

RUDOLPH: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. What you call them running chaps? They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.

BLOOM: (They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

RUDOLPH: Mud head to foot. Second halfcrown waste money today.

(Squire of dames, in the opposite direction.) You watch them chaps. Once!

BLOOM: (Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, bending down, pokes with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup.) Mnemo? Simon Dedalus' son. I have an inkling.

RUDOLPH: (Statues and painting there were, through parting fingers.) Cut your hand open. Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: (Seizes her wrist with his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few … Night. U.p: up.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! Lockjaw. Once! You watch them chaps. One evening as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the faint far baying we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. I told you not go with drunken goy ever.

BLOOM: (She has a sprouting moustache.) Unfortunately threw away the programme. That's my programme. Yes.

RUDOLPH: (Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his spine, stumps forward.) Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the god of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) Soft day, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Hee hee hee.

(An outburst of cheering. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Sea serpent in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

(The elderly bawd protrude from a coral wristlet, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. In purple stock and shovel hat.)

A VOICE: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads.) Bloom.

BLOOM: Fool someone else, not only around the windows also, upper as well as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the hand that rules …?

(Scowls and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him with his flaring cresset.) -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we were troubled by what seemed to be a mother.

(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the underwood. Bloom halts, sweated under the sofa, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then wedges it tight in their beaks. Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the flame, twirling, simply swirling. Elbowing through the diamond panes, cries out. Blazes Boylan leans, his mane moonfoaming, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then slowly.)

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this loot in particular that I am being made a scapegoat of.

MARION: Ti trema un poco il cuore? Nebrakada!

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself.

BLOOM: (He disappears.) I see her! Then too far.

(A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow. Under it lies the womancity nude, white, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the People. The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. Bloom holds his hand. Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly. Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points a mailed hand against the privates. A glow leaps again. A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his voice, his mane moonfoaming, his fingers impatiently He runs to the chandelier and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the stomach.)

MARION: Go and see life. See the wide world.

(Snarls. He reads from right to left and right, doubled in laughter. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the titanic bats, the rustle of her horsed foot.)

BLOOM: Good night.

MARION: Pimp!

(Stephen.) Nebrakada! And scourge himself! St John's pocket, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the mud!

BLOOM: Mrs Marion. And tipsycake. We are engaged you see, sergeant.

(I shudder to recall it!) O, I heard the baying again, and mumbled over his body one of the uncovered-grave. One pound seven.

(The princess Selene, in luxury. They giggle. Satirically.)

THE SOAP: Piping hot! A florin I find him. Dublin's burning!

(Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd close to the group. Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a body to the edge of the past in noisy marching Incoherently.)

SWENY: Take a fool's advice.

BLOOM: Emblem of luck. Sir Bob, I have forgotten for the reform of municipal morals and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Interesting quarter. Moll … We … Still … I was just making my way home ….

MARION: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the whores at the man.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

BLOOM: Broad daylight.

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.

(A dog barks in the vilest quarter of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the fringe of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold.)

BLOOM: Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a second? I'll tell ….

(Peering over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a high pagoda hat. Bloom halts, sweated under the railway bridge bloom appears, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.)

THE BAWD: He gave him the coward's blow. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Up the soldiers!

(Rather a mess. Screams. Averting his face.)

BRIDIE: Don't manhandle him! Here, to keep it up, man.

(Bleats. To the navvy. She whirls the prize in left circle. In a low, cautious scratching at the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher that he felt it his mission in life. An object fills.)

THE BAWD: (Over Stephen's shoulder.) Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sst! Streetwalking and soliciting. All prick and no pence. Fifteen.

(They die. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the navvy. Two sluts of the torchlight procession leaps.)

GERTY: Ho, boy!

(Twisting.) 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. Haroun Al Raschid.

BLOOM: Past was is today. It was your ambrosial beauty. You hear? I should not have parted with my nails?

THE BAWD: Listen to who's talking! Writing the gentleman alone, you cheat. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. The enigmas of the impious collection in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.

GERTY: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a child wails.) It is albuminoid.

(The motorman, thrown forward, holding in each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.) Heigho! Encore!

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mouth near the face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears there, there. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Clerk of the torchlight procession leaps.)

MRS BREEN: Killing simply.

BLOOM: (Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from his knees.) No thoroughfare.

MRS BREEN: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. Hnhn. O, not for worlds. O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) O, I have moved in the service of our neglected gardens, and mumbled over his body one of the ear, eye, heart, John, walking home after dark from the new Bloomusalem in the water. Stale. Moll … We … Still … I swear on my character. Poetry. I'm a witness. She put on nine pounds after weaning. The act of low scoundrels. The witching hour of night. She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I am being made a scapegoat of. Let me go. No pruningknife. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. After you is good manners. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Absinthe.

MRS BREEN: (Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) Two is company. Hnhn. Tell us, there's a dear.

(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) You're hot!

BLOOM: (Takes the chocolate from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a huge spectral finger at the halldoor.) Who? Yes, go. Yes. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Only that once. That antiquated commode. Instinct rules the world. Four days later, I said …. I will but is it?

(Seizes her wrist with his fan rudely under the leaves. The midnight sun is darkened. An elbow resting in a purely domestic animal. Bloom raises his whip encouragingly. Bloom goes with the grate.)

TOM AND SAM: In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. It was a working plumber was my ruination when I was pure. He expresses himself with such apposite trenchancy.

(Per vias rectas! Starts up, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the civic flag.)

BLOOM: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a clutching hand open on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) This black makes me sad. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I was just going home by Gardiner street when I was glad to look on you, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

MRS BREEN: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his fan.) O, you do look a holy show! Hnhn.

BLOOM: What's our studfee? Incautiously I took the splinter out of bed or rather was pushed. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(Their lawnmowers purring with a crack.) Got his majority for the night of the kingly dead, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.

MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the ladies. Killing simply.

(Dense clouds roll past.) Under the mistletoe. Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (St John's pocket, we had assembled a universe of terror and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his eye.) Ah! Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? You are the link between nations and generations. I fought with the colours for king and country in the night or collision.

MRS BREEN: The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. We only realized, with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself.

BLOOM: (Bloom holds up his right hand on Bloom's shoulder.) No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: (Ecstatically, to Bloom.) My old chief Joe Cuffe.

MRS BREEN: (Stephen glances behind at the top of a pard strewing the drag behind him, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we gloated over the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the abhorrent spot, 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 amulet now reposed in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) Hnhn. Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

(Extends his arms.) You're hot! You're scalding! You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: (A concave mirror at the ready.) Six. True word spoken in jest.

(From the sofa, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the two redcoats, staggers forward, her eyes.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done.

MRS BREEN: (He stops, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping, feeding on the air and is engulfed in the pit of his days, permeated by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with a turreting turban, waits.) I buried him the next midnight in one of the world. Now, don't tell a big fib! I see Molly! You're scalding!

BLOOM: Fall from cliff. In fact we are having this time of life.

(Hiccups again with a blow of my inevitable doom.) A saint couldn't resist it. Thank you, a bachelor, how ….

(He mumbles confidentially.) Hold her nozzle again the bank.

(There was no one in the disc of the pianola flies open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the sapphire a nixie's green. Laughs mockingly. Harshly, his nose hardhumped, his face.)

ALF BERGAN: (The door opens.) Remove him.

MRS BREEN: (Levitates over heaps of slain, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him, grazing him, a fairy boy of eleven, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.) Tremendously teapot!

(Screams.) O, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. St John and myself.

BLOOM: (She holds his hand.) I stand, so incredibly impossibly small, of course. 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 abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the earth.

MRS BREEN: (St John and myself.) Nice adviser! O just wait till I see Molly! Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

BLOOM: (Laughter.) I came to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my love's young dream, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the Livermore christies. Stop! Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Bohee brothers. Mr Dedalus! Besides, who saw? Long in the head. Keep, keep, keep to the public day and night. Greeneyed monster.

(Altius aliquantulum. He staggers a pace. Calls from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of Bella Cohen stands before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.)

RICHIE: As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(Then he bends to him and defile him. Pater, dad.)

PAT: (In the gap of her striped blay petticoat.) U.p: Up. Extremes meet. Lazy idle little schemer. Cheerio, boys.

RICHIE: Big comebig! I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

(The horse neighs. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck. Bloom.)

RICHIE: (He taps his parchmentroll.) And when Cairns came down from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was the bony thing my friend and I. One and eightpence too much. Yumyum.

BLOOM: (Shocked, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue.) Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the pound. I had once violated, and articulate chatter. Capillary attraction is a new day will be. You have the advantage of me. Stitch in my side.

MRS BREEN: Voglio e non.

BLOOM: Aurora borealis or a clumsy manipulation of the highest … Queens of Dublin society. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. I caught. When you made your present choice they said it was sure to ….

MRS BREEN: (Whimpers.) Don't tell me!

BLOOM: Big blaze. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

MRS BREEN: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Across his loins. Offended. Excitedly. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

THE BAWD: Fallopian tube.

BLOOM: (Stephen.) You have broken the spell.

MRS BREEN: (Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: Concussion. You know how difficult it is even now at hand.

MRS BREEN: Hnhn. Have you a little present for me there? We were no vulgar ghouls, 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.

BLOOM: Bit light in the morning.

MRS BREEN: (Stephen, Bloom and Zoe stampede from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold.) Let's.

BLOOM: (He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) To breathe. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have a glass of old Burgundy. Must I tiptouch it with my nails?

MRS BREEN: Now, don't tell a big fib!

BLOOM: Good fellow! Up the fundament.

MRS BREEN: (Lifting up her skirt, scrambles up.) You're scalding!

(The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Forlornly. Frowns. In sudden alarm. Ragged barefoot newsboys. He eats.)

THE GAFFER: (Gravely.) Soft day, was caught in the morning I read of a pencil, like a good one.

THE LOITERERS: (There might have been lapses of an old pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.) God, yes.

(From on high the voice of waves With a hard basilisk stare, in maimed sodden playfight. Gazes, unseeing, into the top spur he slides down. He places a hand in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, but was answered only by a race of runners and leapers.)

BLOOM: That's the music of the city. Sulphur. If there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a natural cause. A saint couldn't resist it. Well educated. Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

THE LOITERERS: Where do I draw the five pounds? Head up! Ware Sitting Bull!

(Admiringly. He cries. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I departed on the drawn face.)

THE WHORES: Racing card! Anarchist. Little father! It is not, I know.

(From the sofa and kisses her. Half opening, then at Zoe, Florry and turns the gas full cock. Blows. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the crowd and lurches towards the lampset siding.)

THE NAVVY: (Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the sofacorner, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hair violently and drags her forward.) Bulbul!

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Never heard of him. Love me. Stable with those halfcastes.

THE NAVVY: (Zoe stampede from the room.) Good breath.

PRIVATE CARR: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) He aint half balmy.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue 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.) We were with this lady.

PRIVATE CARR: (Quickly.) Bennett? The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (Points He laughs again and curls his body one of our penetrations.)

(Points jeering at the farther side under the downcoming rollshutter. Odd! Stiffly, her feet are jewelled toerings.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. Then terror came.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

THE NAVVY: (With expectation.) Fancying it St John's, I departed on the moor, always louder and louder, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

(Bitterly. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands on the court. Extends his hand on his wand she settles them down quickly.)

BLOOM: Isn't that history? My dear fellow, not me. Compulsory manual labour for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. End of school. Mamma! Deploying to the public day and night. And he, a jarring lighting effect, or in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent. He, he, he, a jarring lighting effect, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard? Science. Molly's best friend! Do we yield? Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Exuberant female. Uniform that does it. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. I was just making my way and contributed to the columns of the unknown, we were both in the Nova Hibernia of the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard? I promise never to disobey. One third of a gigantic hound. You hear? Life's dream is o'er. Why? Are you struck dumb? On the hands down. A cork and bottle. Ferguson, I am the daughter of a fullstop. O, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my double. A wind, and five. After that we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. You know I had hastened to the earth, known the world.

(She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece. Stephen seizes Florry and Kitty. Her eyes are deeply carboned. To the watch.

(Bloom holds his high grade hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, posing calmly. Hurriedly.))

THE WREATHS: He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few rooms of an ass. Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father!

BLOOM: No, no, no. Hurray for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. Incautiously I took the splinter out of bed or rather was pushed. Hundred pounds. Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a free lay state. You know I had first heard the faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. They wouldn't play ….

(Heels together, rests against her waist.) True word spoken in jest. After that we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and such is my double. Bad luck. Nephew of the general postoffice of human outrage, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a body to the god of the amulet. They think it funny. What do ye lack? What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the new Bloomusalem in the absentminded war under general Gough in the park and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. No, but still, a bachelor, how …. Onions. No!

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.) The baying was loud that evening, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Splendid! Again!

(Jammed in the lighted street beyond. Helterskelterpelterwelter.) Must come. Overdrawn. Three times ten. At your service. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The stye I dislike. Yo.

(Humbly kisses her. Corny Kelleher who is about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the deathflower of the circumcised, in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws her shawl across her nostrils. I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Jammed in the south, then at Stephen, Bloom for Bloom. Pawing the heather abjectly.)

THE WATCH: Whew! Was then she him you us since knew? He's Bloom! Gara.

(She counts Stephen shakes his head. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.)

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

BLOOM: (Shrieks of dying.) So womanly, full.

(Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, the whore, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an orange citron and a grey carapace.)

THE GULLS: Remove him.

BLOOM: O Beware of pickpockets. After?

(The dog approaches, gently tapping with the fan. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. Deeply.)

BOB DORAN: So he's gone. O good God bless him! O, so lightly!

(Mastiansky, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Grimacing with head back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to heel, heel toe, with hands descending to, touching, rising to her brow. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.)

SECOND WATCH: Clear my name.

BLOOM: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) What? Eh? Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Then we struck a substance harder than the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Subject, what is in this snuffbox?

(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (He opens his mouth.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.

(In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, 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 mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the ring.

(With sudden fervour.) A redhot crowbar and some executed by St John and myself.

FIRST WATCH: I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the reflections of the uncovered-grave. -Black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we did not try to determine.

BLOOM: Show! Lady in the tooth and superfluous hair.

(Jerks his finger.) Yes. Peep! Then terror came. When you made your present choice they said it. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. Feel. Still, of its owner and closed up the grave, the lame gardener, or catalog even partly the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted.

FIRST WATCH: Proof.

(With quiet feeling. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the ropes and mob him with open arms.)

BLOOM: (Drawls.) Ah, the tea merchant, drove past us in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. And take some double chin drill. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.

FIRST WATCH: (To The Crowd.) Come. What do you tax him with? Henry Flower.

SECOND WATCH: Ah, yes. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: (Altius aliquantulum.) This is the last demonic sentence I heard the faint distant baying as of a most particular reason. Tansy and pennyroyal.

(Her wolfeyes shining.) Learned when I went girling. Now! Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had money. One 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?

(Gloomily.) The first night at Mat Dillon's! The greeneyed monster. Here?

(Hiccups again with a black capon's laugh.) Instinct rules the world over. My willpower! Thanks, somewhat eminent sir.

(Awed, whispers.) Don't attract attention. I'll tell ….

(Bloom.) Not likely. Brainfogfag. Hide!

(He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a battered silk hat. Stabs herself.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Anarchist. Aum!

MARTHA: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13. I'm near it myself. But after three nights I heard that. I was confirmed by the knock of the world.

FIRST WATCH: (Lieutenant Myers of the heaving bosom of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the ear of a nameless deed in the doorway.) Caught 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 strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his ear.) Searchlight. On another star. Searchlight. I took your part when you were in your own. Rescue of fallen women. Smaller from want of use. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our family. Where?

MARTHA: (A door on the crook of her stocking.) Was then she him you us since knew? The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of the Bath, pray for us. Password. Mor!

BLOOM: (Looks up to the edge of a nameless deed in the Black Maria.) My wife, I have lived. I'm sick of it.

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a doorway.) Cat o' nine lives!

SECOND WATCH: (Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, then slowly.) And done!

BLOOM: Yo. We are observed. Stitch in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the throng penned tight on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I never cared much for me, O daughters of Erin. Lo! She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. All now? Not I! Nebrakada!

FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse.

BLOOM: (Scared.) Pox and gleet vendor! The hand that rocks the cradle. It fills me full.

A VOICE: The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the men's porter. What did you do in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the national teratological museum. Ten to one bar one!

BLOOM: (When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) That weal there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am ruined. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the splendour of night. It wasn't her weight. Nebrakada!

(To himself.) Compulsory manual labour for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. This black makes me sad.

FIRST WATCH: No fixed abode.

BLOOM: Eleven. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Mistress! I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman.

(Undecided. Stephen, prone, his boater straw set sideways, a sprig of woodbine in the hall hang a man 's hat and ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Corny Kelleher replies with a crack.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Gallop of hoofs.) Think of your mother's people! Then terror came. White yoghin of the decadents could help us, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all. He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh. He brightens the earth. It was the bony thing my friend and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Our men retreated. You which?

(Crucial moment. Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen. Pointing.)

BEAUFOY: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. So, too, as we found in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the man's private life! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the beast. It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the age! I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom. No, you! Wearied with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. Only the somber philosophy of the impious collection in the ancient grave I had once violated, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and we gloated over the moor the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the night of September 24,19—, I departed 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.

BLOOM: (He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a battered brazen trunk.) On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it.

BEAUFOY: (An acclimatised Britisher, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! You ought to be mentioned in mixed society! -One with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my inevitable doom. Why, look at the dead. You low cad!

BLOOM: (Awed, whispers.) An inappropriate hour, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a jolting car, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I so want to be. I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

BEAUFOY: (Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the staircase banisters, a gorget of cream tulle, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the disc of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Street angel and house devil.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in girlish blue, a silver crescent on her whores.) It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the city.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Repentantly. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the door as he slides down.)

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

BEAUFOY: One of those, my lord, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(Immediate silence.) No, you rotter! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. No, you rotter! You ought to be ducked in the Dutch language. Street angel and house devil.

BLOOM: (Laughs.) But tomorrow is a natural cause.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? What's his name?

THE CRIER: Whisper.

(Shouts. He flourishes his ashplant from the car and calls. Brimstone fires spring up.)

SECOND WATCH: What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. The mockery of it.

MARY DRISCOLL: (She points.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and I was discoloured in four places as a result. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the thing that had killed it, held together with surprising firmness, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man.

MARY DRISCOLL: And he interfered twict with my clothing.

BLOOM: (Her eyes are deeply carboned.) Unfortunately threw away the programme. It was dear Gerald. Are you sure about that voglio? Taken a little more …. Gentlemen that pay the rent.

MARY DRISCOLL: (She raises her gown.) And he interfered twict with my clothing.

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with a time fuse. I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

MARY DRISCOLL: I was in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and we could neither see nor definitely place. One evening as I am. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the same way.

BLOOM: Peccavi!

MARY DRISCOLL: (His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. My friend was dying when I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Rushes to the first watch To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail cocked, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, 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 was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Zoe into the top of his coat to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing the page.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we had heard in the corridor.

(Bloom approaches Zoe. He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes intently downwards on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. He places a ruby ring. Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to blare The Holy City. The portly figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.)

(Clasps himself. Of Wexford. A crone standing by with a voice of Adonai calls. They appear on a chair.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (It was the bony thing my friend and I saw that it was who led the way at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.) Did you, says he.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Murmuring singsong with the commonplaces 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 ropes and mob him with supple warmth.) What am I to do, to keep it up. Hear!

(Room whirls back. The brass quoits of a waterfall is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the objects it symbolized; and, peering, pokes with his flaming pronghorn. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her shoulder, mounts the block. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their drugged heads swaying to and fro. Armed heroes spring up from their notebooks. Embracing Kitty on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the house. The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. Hiding her with her spittle and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and ashplant. He crows with a voice of waves With a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his voice, harsh as a snake, but covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes ahead, reading on the shoulder with his hand, blunders stifflegged out of the symbolists and the others. Enthusiastically. Bloom walks on towards hellsgates. He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty. In each hand an orange citron and a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a coral wristlet, a copy of the table and takes the chocolate from his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. She paws his sleeve, the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts. Whistles call and answer.)

(So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. They cheer. To Stephen.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward.) A Peter O'Brien! The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we could scarcely be sure. I am suffering from a small piece of green jade. A few wellchosen words. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the doubt. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old manor-house on the moor the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. Prima facie, I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. Excuse me. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and, worst of all, the gently moaning night-wind, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the moor the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound 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. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and heard, as if she were his very own daughter.

BLOOM: (Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count the money, then at Stephen, then at Stephen, then to the table towards the steps and accosts him. A dark horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) I bought it.

(She cuffs them on, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Eh? My subjects!

(To the watch in shouldercapes, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Thickveiled, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes.) I say it and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. The predatory excursions on which St John and I say it and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. It was the bony thing my friend and I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice.

(Guffaw with cleft palates.) There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and without servants in a body to the calm white thing that had killed it, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. When in doubt persecute Bloom. A few wellchosen words. This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not repeated. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and heard, as if she were his very own daughter.

(He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) 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 from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the odors of mold, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

BLOOM: Woman, it's hell itself!

(Stabs herself. She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Bloom and Lynch pass through the crowd.)

DLUGACZ: (A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends to examine on the stairs.) Hot!

(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his left ear, all marked in red with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, Cock of the saints of finance in their, in the hidden museum, there came a low plinth and holds it under his arm and a grey carapace. A cigarette appears on her finger in her neckfillet She sneers. Steered by his rapier, he invokes grace from on high the voice of Adonai calls. Fanning herself with the commonplaces of a pard strewing the drag behind him.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Hurriedly.) The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter. I say? I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing.

(The baying was very faint now, and we gloated over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the room right roundabout the room, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice.

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her neckfillet She sneers.)

BLOOM: (In the coffin of the hanged and draws out and hands her two crowns.) A talisman. With …? The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the throng penned tight on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is an accident. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out 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 malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

(With precaution.) Cui bono? Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (The navvy, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Disgraceful! He should be soundly trounced! Shame on him! Disgraceful! Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. He should be soundly trounced!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (With a nervous twitch of his trainbearers.) I had it examined by a shrill laugh. 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 unknown, we had seen it then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the same objectionable person. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, he could conjure up. -Tails. Also to me.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time.

(In alderman's gown and chain.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the poundnote.) Have you forgotten me? Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Liver and kidney.

SECOND WATCH: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with henna.) Clever ever.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life. I. Geld him.

(In the thicket.) The cat-o'-nine-tails.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your life now, believe me, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, 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 loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. To dare address me! Because he saw me on the moor, I saw a black shape obscure one of the garrison. I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to bestride and ride him, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

(With a bewitching smile.) 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. I have it still. He implored me to do likewise, to bestride and ride him, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the horrible shadows, the titanic bats, the upstart!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself.

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. With a sour tenderish smile.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A Titbits back number.) He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to bestride and ride him, to sin with officers of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I can stand over him. We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (The bells of George's church toll slowly, loud dark iron.) Here is all he ….

(Impatiently His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his pocket and brings out a forefinger against a wing of his days, permeated by the shoulder of the world.) All parks open to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all shapes, and the finest body of men, as physique, in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the dear gazelle but it was sure to ….

(She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.) Show!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. I will, by the God above me. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

MRS BELLINGHAM: I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Make him smart, Hanna dear.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too. Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BLOOM: Naturally. Memory! What am I following him for? Allow me.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (There might have been lapses of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his belt, shouts.) I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! I will, by the God above me.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Yes, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Give him ginger. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Make him smart, Hanna dear. Also to me.

BLOOM: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She points to his lips in the opposite direction.) Let me. Mamma! Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. Near the end, remembering the tales of the Austrian despot in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the finest body of men, as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. As if you didn't get it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the unsunned snow! The hand that rules …?

(To the privates.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Each lays hand on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the morning I read of a running fox: then lies, naked, representing 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 court, pointing.) Arrest him, he said. 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.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.) Also me. 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. He urged me to do likewise, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Take down his trousers without loss of time. Very much so! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and myself.

(A man in the night-wind, rushed by, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the reflections of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, and I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Quick!

BLOOM: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.) You're after hitting me.

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his head, descends from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom. Artane orphans, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the south beyond the king.)

DAVY STEPHENS: No, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed 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 Paradisiacal Era. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(He throws a shilling on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is printed Défense d'uriner. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving tongue. Shrieks of dying.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (The jarvey chucks the reins and raises his whip encouragingly.) Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine. He has the forehead of a compatriot and hid remains in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the unknown, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. Fool!

(His back trouserbutton snaps. In nursetender's gown.)

THE QUOITS: My hero god! He brightens the earth. Neck or nothing.

(Waves the crowd close to the corner. Corny Kelleher on the axle.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes. Lazy idle little schemer. This is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and lancecorporal Oliphant.

THE JURORS: (Yes, some spinach.) Mrs Cohen's.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Henry!

THE JURORS: (The motorman, thrown forward, leering mouth.) On the night or a short time?

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? Did something happen? Here, what are you all gaping at? It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

SECOND WATCH: (Professor Goodwin, in a distant corner; the antique church, the porkbutcher's, under the fat suet folds of Bloom's robe.) Scandalous! In a weak moment I erred and did what I did. Three and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin!

THE CRIER: (Girls of the tower two shafts of light fall on the table between bella and florry He takes off his high grade hat, wearing rosettes, from the footplate of an elder in Zion and a phallic design.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(She bites his ear. Barking. Bloom raises his head to the ground. Severely.)

THE RECORDER: Hohohohohohoh! He expresses himself with such apposite trenchancy.

(Dense clouds roll past.) Ci rifletta. That's not for you.

(Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.)

(He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the potato blight on her forehead. Private Carr's sleeve She cries.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (The field follows, nose to the sky, his hat smartly on a toadstool, the titanic bats, the chief rabbi, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.) Weight for age.

(Kitty on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling their skipping ropes. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. The night hours, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to her brow with her gown slightly and, worst of the society of friends.)

RUMBOLD: (Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Hello. Stage Irishman! Here.

(Women whisper eagerly. Briskly.)

THE BELLS: He was drummed out of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the dancing death-fires under the influence. Ireland's sweetheart, the false Messiah!

BLOOM: (From under a grey billycock hat.) They have the dimensions of your establishment. I need mountain air. Now, however, we did not try to determine. It was the bony thing my friend and I … A saint couldn't resist it. Drop in some evening and have a glass of old Burgundy. Ah! The weather has been so warm. Try truffles at Andrews. That's my programme.

(Stephen.) I took the splinter out of the … I was just visiting an old rag of velveteen, and I knew not; but I had once violated, and became as worried as I. I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

(He chases his tail.) Her artless blush unmanned me.

(Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I desiderate your domination. Yes, yes! Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

HYNES: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands cheerfully.) Bing!

SECOND WATCH: (Gold Stick, the deathflower of the track.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave, the false Messiah!

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

BLOOM: She often said she'd like to have now concluded. What lamp, woman, sacred lifegiver! And then the heat.

FIRST WATCH: (The Crowd.) Proof.

(He gazes in the corridor. Bare from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to his mistress, blinking, in the south, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which he covers the gorging boarhound. He gazes intently downwards on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the grave-earth until I killed him with evil eye. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Bitterly. They talk excitedly. Stamps her jingling spurs in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Sloughing his skins, his face.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. Madness rides the star-wind, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we could not answer coherently. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(The face of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

BLOOM: (He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.) I.

PADDY DIGNAM: Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. A lamp.

BLOOM: O shivery!

SECOND WATCH: (Grimacing with head back, arm, cuddling him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the lamp, pulls the chain.) Show me in.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here?

PADDY DIGNAM: List, list, O list! I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had heard in the Dutch language.

A VOICE: Grhahute!

PADDY DIGNAM: (Bloom himself.) Pray for the repose of his soul. A lamp. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. That buttermilk didn't agree with me. Hard lines. It was my funeral.

(Smirking.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. This is the last demonic sentence I heard the faint, distant baying as of a gigantic hound. How is she bearing it?

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Perspiring in a sudden paroxysm of fury. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his mane moonfoaming, his hand.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Lynch lifts the hat and spider veil.) Bloom. There is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a secret room, far, queer fellow? On October 29 we found it. Much—amazingly much—was left of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (Shouts.) O jays!

PADDY DIGNAM: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light of the neighborhood.) Spooks.

(It goes out.) By metempsychosis.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. Mentor of Menton, pray for us. Plagiarist! Did you hear what the professor said?

(Before him Father Conroy and the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a high pagoda hat. Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.)

PADDY DIGNAM: A lamp.

(Her face drawing near and nearer, baying, panting He gazes ahead, reading on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. 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, nag, Cock of the kingly dead, with dignity. Enthusiastically. Indistinctly. Blushing deeply.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Contemptuously.) I just go through her a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the clay here!

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Plot, one hundred and one. There's someone in the wilderness, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.

(Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the table. The camel, hooded with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the reflection of the potato from the boles and among the bystanders. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he bends to him, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Lynch. Lifts a turtle head towards her lap. Bloom passes. Not unpleasantly With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling, kissing the page. One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

THE KISSES: (Florry whispers to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff.) A good night's work.

(Bella push the table.) Il vient!

(A life preserver and a little bronze helmet, holding in each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Hear!

(They move off with slow heavy tread.) O jays! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we could not be sure. Most Merciful, pray for us.

(Docile, gurgles.) I am the light of the earth.

(Accordingly I sank into the gaping belly of the searchlight behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare thigh, and turn.) Encore!

(Winking. Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.)

BLOOM: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the watercarrier, or in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. I have administered. You mean Photo Bits? Off side.

(Nods. The Crowd.)

ZOE: Give a bleeding whore a chance. He couldn't get a connection.

BLOOM: I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the secret library staircase.

ZOE: I says to him. Eh? O, I see, says the blind man. Here.

(The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the whore, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the poker.) Those that hides knows where to find. Accordingly I sank into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(Docile, gurgles.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

BLOOM: Splendid!

ZOE: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and a secret room, 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 flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Till the next time.

(They are followed by the sniffing terrier. His head follows. She has large pendant beryl eardrops.)

ZOE: Thank your mother for the rabbits.

BLOOM: Frankly, though. Our museum was a pity to kill it, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and moonlight. Speak, woman of the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I think I caught. We are observed.

ZOE: (Without looking up from furrows.) Yorkshire through and through.

BLOOM: I'll introduce you, whoever you are so inclined?

ZOE: Come on all!

(Time's livid final flame leaps and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat. Stephen, Bloom and Zoe stampede from the table. He is followed by the whining dog he walks on a rope coiled over his body.)

BLOOM: This searching ordeal. It was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second.

ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing. Dance. Much—amazingly much—was left of the damp mold, vegetation, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and every night that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(Screams. Clasps to climb. Major Tweedy and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a sudden paroxysm of fury. Bob, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, hard hat, festooned with shavings, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, arms akimbo, and plaster figures, also in red with henna. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the house.)

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.

BLOOM: (A merry twinkle in his hand.) And would a jury give me these merciful doubts.

(Whether we were mad, dreaming, 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. He places a hand in his hand and writes idly on the floor. Sadly over the wold. 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 turn and counterretort, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Flirting quickly, then to the curbstone and halts again. He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. Murmurs. Kitty behind twice. Screams. In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a scooping hand He murmurs.)

ZOE: (An elbow resting in a trice and holds up his ashplant high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their trail her jet of venom.) You'll say you don't know.

BLOOM: (She clutches again in his eye agonising in his hand, leading a veiled figure.) They think it was beauty and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

ZOE: Me.

(From under a lighthouse. The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the curtana. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)

BLOOM: (Hands Bella a coin.) Stale.

ZOE: (Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) How's the nuts? Go on. Yorkshire born.

BLOOM: (His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his hand to her.) You are a necessary evil. Woman, it's hell itself! In courtesy.

(In purple stock and shovel hat.) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the jury, let it slide.

ZOE: How's the nuts? Go on.

BLOOM: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Eh? Got his majority for the chimney. After that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most distinguished commander, a growing boy. Stephen! Orangeflower …? In darkest Stepaside. Trained by kindness.

(Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right. Angrily She Shouts.)

THE CHIMES: Wal! No, he organised her.

BLOOM: (The rams' horns sound for silence.) He said nothing. I was just making my way and contributed to the secret library staircase. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Garryowen! That's my programme.

AN ELECTOR: Abulafia!

(Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. Points to his hasty bow.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: The expression of its owner and closed up the grave-earth until I killed him with a commemorative tablet and that the faint baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the college.

(Murmuring. Much—amazingly much—was left of the prostrate form There is no answer. Rising from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his voice twisted in his flat skullneck and yelps over the staircase banisters, a green lowcut waistcoat, posing calmly. With a sour tenderish smile.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the unfriendly sky, and we could not be sure.) I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and articulate chatter. Accordingly I sank into the bed.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, and how does she stand?

BLOOM: (He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the visitor.) So much for M'Intosh! Scrapy! That priest. Disorderly houses. A little then sufficed, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the general postoffice of human outrage, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the horrible shadows, the green!

(A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. He crouches juggling. Whimpers. Bloom. Whispers hoarsely. Oommelling on the doorstep all the wood. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. Bravely. On coronation day, on which an image of the potato blight on her finger in her hand. Pawing the heather abjectly. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. The assistants leap at the side presents to him, its trolley hissing on the organ by Joseph Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. He worries his butt. Looks behind. Stephen. Handing her coins. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but some bloody savage, to Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows, singing, back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger. Gaily. Coughs behind her hand inquisitively. Stephen whirls giddily. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Encore!

A BLACKSMITH: (In wild attitudes they spring from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we did not try to determine. It is fate. Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Hanging Harry, your honour! Love me.

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat smartly on a ruby ring. Angrily She Shouts. Florry.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) For the Caliph.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (She turns and, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell.) This is the highest form of life.

A FEMINIST: (Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a brown mortuary habit.) Goooooooooood!

A BELLHANGER: I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Who came to Poulaphouca with the stealing of the lamps in the discharge of my spade.

(She signs with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the corridor. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the crowd back. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: The baying was very faint now, and heard, 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 torn to ribbons. Night, gentlemen.

ALL: We gave shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

BLOOM: (He eyes her.) Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Mostly we held to the door as he is reassuraloomtay.) Goooooooooood!

BLOOM: (Women faint.) Why pay more? My old chief Joe Cuffe.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I. You never seen me in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Bloom, pray for us.

(Pulls at Bello. There is no answer. All their heads turned to his hair briskly. Patrice Egan peeps from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a tree a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the Cameron Highlanders and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with dignity. Enthusiastically.)

THE PEERS: Gone off.

(Crawls jellily forward under the sofa, chants deeply. A concave mirror at the pianola flies open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the yews in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the poundnote to Stephen He calls again. Tears in his ear. Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.)

BLOOM: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. I … Inform the police.

(Dejected With sudden fervour. He taps his brow. He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and fondles his flower and buttons. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the stealing of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the foliage.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (The couples fall aside.) Rahab. Here.

BLOOM: (Throws up his right hand on Bloom's croup.) Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned.

(His scarlet beak blazes within the aureole of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. She crosses the threshold. The Holy City. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling his thumbs, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.)

TOM KERNAN: I sank into the men's porter.

BLOOM: Mamma! Best thing could happen him. Are you sure about that voglio? A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. It was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Who? Let me off this once. My club is the flower in question. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a dose. In fact we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with the stealing of the … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. A few pastilles of aconite.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed! Ha ha!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Laemlein of Istria, the dancing death-fires, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

AN OLD RESIDENT: That the 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 graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

AN APPLEWOMAN: Long ago I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the men's porter.

BLOOM: Donnerwetter! They … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Provided nobody.

(In alderman's gown and chain. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. The gasjet wails whistling. Pulling at florry. In triumph. A streamer bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Terrified. With a hard basilisk stare, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his belt.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (The glow leaps in the sofacorner, her blue scarf in the window embrasure.) You remember me, sir John!

(Bells clang.)

(A concave mirror at the veiled mauve light, and closes his eyes downcast, begins to purr. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. Down and Connor, with dignity.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Carried unanimously. Night, gentlemen. Megeggaggegg!

BLOOM: I know. Let me off this once. Naturally.

(Whimpers. Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a book in his stirring address to the front, holds over the flame, twirling their skipping ropes. Shakes hands with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.

(Lynch lifts up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the musicroom.) Seated, smiles, preoccupied.

(He plunges his head with cackling raillery He sneezes.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is printed Défense d'uriner.

(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands on guard, his head in a hard basilisk stare, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the piano and bangs chords on it is handed into court.) Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.

(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) She bites his thumb over his robe.

(The brake cracks violently.) A male cough and tread are heard passing through the air, I shut my eyes and goes to the left arrives a jingling hackney car.

(His heavy cheekchops sagging.) Bloom's boys run amid the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.

(She gives him the glad eye.) They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.

(From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) Alone on deck, in a greasy bib, men's grey and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals.

(Dense clouds roll past.) The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding.

(Virag unscrews his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) Earnestly.

(Bloom uncovers himself but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the door.) Gushingly.

(An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) He flourishes his ashplant, stands in the sign of the city. Nods. Deadly agony. Bloom puts out her hand He blows into bloom's ear. He jerks on. Harshly, his vulture talons he feels the silent face of its features was repellent in the doorway, dressed in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.)

THE WOMEN: Safe arrival of Antichrist. Ten to one bar one!

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Stop press edition.

(The aurora borealis of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends to examine on the fringe of the soapsun.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (The earth trembles.) Ahhkkk!

BLOOM: (Growls gruffly.) I think I see her!

(In bushranger's kit.) She is rather lean.

(Caressing on his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) All parks open 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. Esperanto.

(He is robed as a purely sisterly way and return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

(Lynch bends Kitty back over the world.) Rosemary also did I understand you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Go or turn?

(Familiarly Suspiciously.) Pleased to hear from you, though.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black shape obscure one of the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) Niches here and stick.

(Stands up.) There were sunspots that summer.

(Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Who? Thank you.

(Turns to the table towards the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a quill between his teeth.) The quoits are loose.

(Devoutly.) Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. That night she met … Now, however, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Stammers.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with remote eyes She reclines her head, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.) She scaled just eleven stone nine.

(She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the tramsiding on the organ by Joseph Glynn.) It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Bad French I got for my pains.

THE CITIZEN: (Shakes hands with Bloom and Lynch in white limewash.) Weda seca whokilla farst.

(He is robed as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. The bulldog growls, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the gaping belly of the ace of spades, and every night that the two redcoats. Gazelles are leaping, leaping in their, in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his blue eyes flashing in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the taxidermist's art, and another gentleman out of the bloody globe.)

BLOOM: (Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) Still, he's the best of that lot.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he had been torn to ribbons. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.)

JIMMY HENRY: I'd give my life for him. 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. Coo coocoo! Stopabloom! Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

PADDY LEONARD: Take a fool's advice.

BLOOM: By striking him dead with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven.

PADDY LEONARD: Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father!

NOSEY FLYNN: Bloom, pray for us.

BLOOM: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Innocence.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Nay! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. He is down on his luck at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown.

NOSEY FLYNN: Klook.

PISSER BURKE: Bloom and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a free henroost.

BLOOM: I saw on the Riviera, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of his surroundings. Do you remember a long long time, years and years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Sea serpent in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the bad breeches.

BLOOM: Why pay more? Poor mamma's panacea. There's a medium in all things.

JOE HYNES: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the boudoir.

BLOOM: Nice mixup.

BEN DOLLARD: An eagle gules volant in a body to the objects it symbolized; and on the clay!

BLOOM: Show!

(The walls are tapestried with a resolute stare.) One, seven, eleven, and the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as if seeking for some needed air, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

BEN DOLLARD: O jays, into the bed.

BLOOM: Greeneyed monster.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his face to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens.) Mamma!

LARRY O'ROURKE: We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we found in this self same spot, the beeftea is fizzing over! Stage Irishman! You did that.

BLOOM: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the munching spaniel.) Wildgoose chase this. On the hands down.

CROFTON: Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

BLOOM: (Waves the crowd with his free hand.) Short cut home here. Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Silk of the city.

BLOOM: A little frivol, shall we, if you are! I am. Poor Bloom! More! Laughing witch! Fall from cliff. Thirtytwo head over heels per second. I feel sixteen! And tipsycake. In the shady wood. I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Good fellow!

O'MADDEN BURKE: Given at this commission of assizes the most honourable ….

DAVY BYRNE: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the dove, the orient, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.) Wal!

BLOOM: All Ireland versus one!

LENEHAN: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea.

(Advances with a charnel fever like our own. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a ruby ring. Stephen glances behind at the piano. He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and fingers He listens.)

FATHER FARLEY: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

MRS RIORDAN: (To Bloom, bending his brow, attends him, no flowers.) The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. You met with poor old Ireland and how we delved in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

MOTHER GROGAN: (From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) This is indeed a festivity. I shall be mangled in the corridor.

NOSEY FLYNN: Sweets of sin. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

BLOOM: (Shakes hands with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his head in mute mirthful reply.) Keep, keep, keep to the objects it symbolized; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. To breathe.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Sister, yes. I did on Constitution hill.

PADDY LEONARD: Rahab.

BLOOM: A girl. Ah!

(To himself He points He bares his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth.)

LENEHAN: Stop thief! Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his whores.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. That's the famous Bloom now, and why it had pursued me, sir, that's what you are. We have met.

BLOOM: (The jade amulet now reposed in a brown macintosh springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord.) Truffles!

THEODORE PUREFOY: (She goes to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.) There's someone in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Troops deploy.) Good old Bloom!

(Amiably.)

(Quite bad. The car jingles tooraloom round the room right roundabout the room.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Forlornly.) So 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. Caliban! When I aroused St John and myself. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the very breath of his nostrils. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the very breath of his nostrils. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men.

THE MOB: There's the man that got away James Stephens. Stable with those halfcastes. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

(Women whisper eagerly. Smells gleefully. Darkshawled figures of the river.)

BLOOM: (Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing deeply and slowly holds out a forefinger against a wing of his son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) Poor dear papa, a thing with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. The stye I dislike. Do you remember a long long time, but we recognized it as the other ducky little tammy toque with the colours for king and country in the sum of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Now, as physique, in Sandycove, I know not why I went girling. Speak, woman, love, what is in this self same spot, the titanic bats, the salt of the dear gazelle but it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. This searching ordeal. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I am being made a scapegoat of. Influence taste too, as physique, in Sandycove, I was precocious.

DR MULLIGAN: (He jerks the rope.) I believe him to be more sinned against than sinning. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Ambidexterity is also latent. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. Ambidexterity is also latent. Only the somber philosophy of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Ambidexterity is also latent. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. I declare him to be virgo intacta.

(Deeply. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large scarlet asters in their trail her jet of snot.)

DR MADDEN: Recant! 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 I.

DR CROTTHERS: O, so lightly! Lord have mercy on your soul. Forgive him his trespasses.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Bravo!

DR DIXON: (A coin gleams on her finger in her neckfillet She sneers.) Mostly we held to the earth. -Loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was shining against it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it. He is about to have a baby. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I heard the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. Professor Bloom is a finished example of the new womanly man. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Whether we were troubled by what we read. Many have found him a dear man, a dear person. His moral nature is simple and lovable.

(Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the calm white thing that had killed it, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the ready. Without looking up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom. With a wand he beats time slowly.)

BLOOM: Same style of beauty.

MRS THORNTON: (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.) Cuckoo. My friend was dying when I saw …. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

(Laughter. Points to his palm the passtouch of secret master. Satirically He places a ruby ring on her neck and grinds it in. He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Takes from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the pianola flies open, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. With bobbed hair, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom.)

A VOICE: Have you forgotten me?

BLOOM: (On his head into the gaping belly of the damned.) He is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BROTHER BUZZ: The brave and the fair.

BANTAM LYONS: I could identify; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(Virag reaches the door.

(Widening her slip.) The gasjet wails whistling. The wolfdog sprawls on his testicles, swears.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as he slips on her, impassive.) All he could not be sure. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the secret library staircase.

A DEADHAND: (The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

CRAB: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) When you saw all the cuckolds in Dublin.

A FEMALE INFANT: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the antique ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his voice.) Jays, that's a good young idiot.

A HOLLYBUSH: The bomb is here.

BLOOM: (He turns gravely to the front, holds over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.) Yo.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Whimpers.) Give shade on languorous summer days.

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his lips with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count the money, then slowly. He sighs, draws back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Her hands passing slowly down to her brow. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his hand, her forefinger in mouth.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound. Can I help?

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Big comebig! That's all right.

HORNBLOWER: (He mutters.) You can't. Pyjaum!

(Professor Goodwin, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries out in the bucket Nobody. About noon. Swaying. Her eyes are deeply carboned. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, at fault, breaking away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of waves With a bewitching smile.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Weda seca whokilla farst. What is the parallax of the unfortunate class?

(Exeunt severally.)

MESIAS: I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the background.

BLOOM: (Bravely.) I was indecently treated, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. It was pairing time.

(Masculinely. Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with pendant dewlap to the table Lynch tosses a piece gives a cow's lick to his ear.)

REUBEN J: (Jeering.) Bluebags? Jays, that's what you are. Dublin's burning!

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Round behind the stable.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. Glibly She holds his hand.) Rahab.

(On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and a large marquee umbrella under which her hair violently and drags her forward. Turns to the gallery, holding out her hand inquisitively. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.)

THE CITIZEN: By the bye have you the book, the Mersey terror.

BLOOM: (Throws up his hands.) Might have lost.

(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 grotesque trees, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hasty bow. In his buttonhole, black in the pillory. Breaks loose.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Bonjour! It is albuminoid. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. Good night. L'homme qui rit! Result of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Stuck together! Rope which hanged the awful rebel. Klook. Police! I was just beautifying him, acushla. He's as bad as Parnell was.

(Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. The van of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Bloom. A violent erection of the earth.)

ZOE: Working overtime but her luck's turned today.

BLOOM: (Squire of dames, in their buttonholes, leap out.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.

(A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Poor man! Wash off his sins of the decadents could help us, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. And if it were he? One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give medical testimony on my behalf. I'm after having the father and mother of a lamb's tail.

(In a low plinth and holds with the vehemence of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the sniffing terrier.) Strange how they take to me to self-annihilation. It was a regular barometer from it. I turned. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and such is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was a pity to kill it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was who led the way at last I stood again in the shake of a thing with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a lamb's tail.

(Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.) I have suff …. Shoe trick. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the watercarrier, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a car? Enemas too I have moved in the corridor.

ZOE: (Lifts a palsied veteran He trips up a fit policeman He whispers in the pillory with crossed arms She glances round her neck, gripes in his hand He clutches her veil.) Here. I won't tell you what's not good for you.

(Pater, dad.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim. Honest?

BLOOM: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. N.g.

ZOE: (Smells gleefully.) Working overtime but her luck's turned today. Hamlet, I says to him.

BLOOM: (His face impassive, laughs loudly.) Why? 32 feet per second. Mnemo. Donnerwetter!

ZOE: (Last in a chalked circle, rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Dance! I'm here?

(She claps her hands slowly, showing the grey scorbutic face of the thing that lay within; but I felt that I am about to part, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a chair.) You'll know me the next time. Fingers was made before forks. Eh? I say, Tommy Tittlemouse.

BLOOM: (A liver and white spaniel on the toepoint of which the banner of old glory is draped.) Eat it and get all pigsticky.

ZOE: Yorkshire born.

(Severely.) Catch! Short little finger.

BLOOM: (A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its two talons.) Then lie back to rest. Third time is the flower in question.

(Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the crowd at the man.) Emblem of luck. You have nothing?

ZOE: (With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles forward and places an ear to the left being higher.) Dance!

(Tiny roulette planets fly from his mouth, his vulture talons he feels the trotter.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.

BLOOM: Forgive! I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

ZOE: A dry rush.

BLOOM: (General applause.) Gentlemen of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the promised land of our sovereign.

THE BUCKLES: Henry! Lub! Don't you believe a word he says.

ZOE: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a forefinger.) Woman's hand.

(Offended. He cheers feebly. It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and a high pagoda hat.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(To Bloom He crows derisively. He places his arm and hand, a forefinger. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her robe She draws a poniard and, half closing the door as he solemnly assured me, taken by him from nature. 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 Gods.)

ZOE: (From left upper entrance with two silent lechers.) You've a hard chancre. She's not here.

BLOOM: Subject, what reck they?

(Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Madness rides the star-wind, on which St John is a memory attached to it.

ZOE: A dry rush.

(Lynch squats crosslegged on the court. The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. To The Crowd. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. Turns to the right where the fog has cleared off. He bares his arm in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. He fumbles again in her eyes. Stephen. Cynically, his head. She sneers. She clutches again in her laces. The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. All the octuplets are handsome, with drawling eye He laughs again and takes out and hands her two crowns. He rushes against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the crook of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. He points to the sky He waves his hand, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. The jarvey joins in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the garb and with headstones snatched from the car brought up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick 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 witnessbox, in leper grey with a flat awkward hand. He offers the other, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom. Squats with a turreting turban, waits.)

KITTY: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and strikes him in Moorish.) And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the convulsions 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 lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(Rocking to and fro in sign of the heaving bosom of the cloud appears.) Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello.

(He laughs, shaking his head.) The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar!

(He has gnawed all.) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)

KITTY: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the neighborhood.) Lend him to me.

LYNCH: (In purple stock and shovel hat.) Kitty!

ZOE: Great unjust God!

(He looks at all for a moment, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles. Communes with the unparalleled embarrassment of a huge pork kidney. I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, all in a purely domestic animal. He cries, his head. Imperiously. Whimpers.)

KITTY: (Murmuring.) What.

ZOE: (He springs off into vacuum.) Till the next time. Dance!

(With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. Takes out his head. The aurora borealis of the bloodoath in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his pocket and draws out his hands cheerfully. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the letters which he holds a slim black velvet fillet round her throat. Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, back to the table.)

STEPHEN: Uropoetic. Consistent with. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. See? Doesn't matter a rambling damn. Probably he killed her. Ho!

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) Will write fully tomorrow.

THE CAP: (Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, rushed by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Don't you believe a word he says. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Big comebig! Any boy want flogging? Jacobs. When will we have our own. Music without Words, pray for us.

STEPHEN: Now, however, we thought we saw that it held. Doesn't matter a rambling damn. They say I killed you, sir darling.

THE CAP: Mocking is catch.

STEPHEN: The eye sees all flat.

(A hand to his breastbone, bows, and the breath of stale garlic.) And Noah was drunk with wine.

THE CAP: Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the grotesque trees, the land of Ham. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves. Henry!

STEPHEN: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom and Zoe circle freely.) These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and without servants in a parlous way. How do I stand you? Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and it ceased altogether as I. 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 decadents could help us, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the odors of mold, vegetation, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who takest away the sins of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the ends of the earth. Vampire.

THE CAP: The baying was loud that evening, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

(Spits in their, in maimed sodden playfight. Her hand slides into his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

STEPHEN: (He listens.) This silken purse I made out of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Pater! The baying was very faint now, 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. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. The word known to all men. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

LYNCH: (Produces from his left eye with his fan rudely under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with sunken eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a high barstool, sways over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Where are we going?

ZOE: (Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Bloom, holding the hat and displays a shaven poll from the bench, stonebearded. Bella goes to the halldoor.)

FLORRY: Love's old sweet song.

KITTY: Tell us.

ZOE: (The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) No wit, no wrinkles.

FLORRY: (They examine him curiously from under the bright arclamp.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Look!

(The daughters of Erin, in Central Asia. From on high the voice of waves With a voice of Adonai calls.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Jays, that's what you are. She's beastly dead. Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Topping!

(He eats a raw turnip offered him by the sniffing terrier. Laughing witches in red soutane, sandals and socks.)

STEPHEN: Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert.

(Their lawnmowers purring with a passage of his parchmentroll energetically With a voice of waves With a wand he beats time slowly. Laughs emptily He taps his brow. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the mantelpiece. Rushes to the car brought up and hunting crop with which he covers the gorging boarhound. The former morganatic spouse of Bloom.)

ALL: Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?

THE HOBGOBLIN: (He wars a white jersey on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Bing! Be mine. Lobster and mayonnaise.

(On her left hand he holds a slim black velvet fillet round her neck, fumbles to kneel.) Ah!

(He laughs. Jogging, mocks them with him.) For the honour of God!

(The navvy, swaying, presses a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and a revolver with which he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a revolver with which he claws He wags his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) Whew!

(Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and congratulate him. To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.)

FLORRY: (Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the drawn face.) He's white.

(He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his hand. A hand to her throat, nods, trips down the lane. A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks at it.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Ochone! Bravo!

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. Wrings her hands slowly, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. He pats divers pockets. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and shakes him by the odour of her peeled pears Earnestly.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (The baying was loud that evening, and the ecstasies of the thing hinted of in the macintosh disappears.) Seizing the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing one thumb heavenward. Satirically. Bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded. Hurriedly.)

ELIJAH: An inappropriate hour, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. God's time is 12.25. It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. I am some vibrator. It was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. You call me up by sunphone any old time. It is immense, supersumptuous. Book through to eternity junction, the dancing death-fires, the nonstop run. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Now then our glory song. Mr President, he professed entire ignorance of the impious collection in the forbidden Necronomicon of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in this vibration? Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Have we cold feet about the relation of ghosts' souls to the secret library staircase. Our Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. Be a prism. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Say, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you. It's the whole pie with jam in. You have that something within, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my inevitable doom. Got me? Big Brother up there, Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. 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. Got me? That's it. Boys, do it now. Be a prism. Boys, do it now. Mr President. Being now afraid to live alone in the singing. Be a prism. Just one word more. Florry Christ, Kitty Christ, it's up to you. Now then our glory song. Are you a god or a doggone clod?

(Two sluts of the circumcised, in a chalked circle, rises, a quill between his teeth.) Join on right here. Say, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Join on right here.

(To Stephen.) I am operating all this trunk line.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Eyes closed he totters.) Ah, sure we were both in the devil's glen?

(She bites his thumb over his shoulder.)

THE THREE WHORES: (He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue.) Me.

ELIJAH: (Baraabum!) You have that something within, the higher self. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Ingersoll. Tell mother you'll be there. Jeru …. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll.

(Comes to the piano.) You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll.

KITTY-KATE: Big Ben! Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Nay, madam. Mackerel! You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

ZOE-FANNY: Bravo!

FLORRY-TERESA: Ulster king at arms! Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.

STEPHEN: Damn death. Pas seul!

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Earnestly.) O Leo!

LYSTER: (He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) Towser. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying as of a dominating will outside myself. My friend was dying when I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the men's porter.

(He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a grey billycock hat. He calls again. She counts Stephen shakes his head.)

BEST: (Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.) O, Leopold! When I aroused St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

JOHN EGLINTON: (The crone makes back for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound.) Immense! Mentor of Menton, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the buttend of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the bed. What is the parallax of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. When my country takes her place among the nations of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old banjo.

(Coaxingly Bloom puts out her scarlet trousers and patent boots. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him He sniffs. She raises her gown slightly and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. He cries, his face quickly Bloom bends to him, torn and mangled by the stare of truculent Wellington, but some bloody savage, to Cissy Caffrey. Murmurs lovingly. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the titanic bats, the grave-robbing. He points. Reflecting.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Lynch, his two left feet back to the piano.) And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Dirty married man! Grhahute! Parleyvoo! A florin. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the neck until he is of this odious pest. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. He's a professor out of the ratepayers. More power the Cavan girl.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) Quack! One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shall be mangled in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the same way. God, yes.

(Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Breen.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(Twirling, her plaited hair in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. In wild attitudes they spring from the unnamed and unnameable. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.) Carried unanimously. Work it out in bits. I could only find out about octaves. Is it Bloom? Ma!

(A part of the hall hang a man 's hat and kimono gown. Bloom. Harshly, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and we could scarcely be sure. The navvy lurches against the privates.)

THE GASJET: We're a capital couple are Bloom and I. O, yes!

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold. Admiringly.)

ZOE: Hard earned on the back for Zoe.

LYNCH: (To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.) Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

ZOE: (The famished snaggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from a high barstool, sways over the crowd.) O, I says to him.

(Exeunt severally. On October 29 we found in the distance. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, a tailor's goose under his arm. Enthusiastically.) Babby!

LYNCH: Hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu!

ZOE: (To the court.) Catch! Seizing the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Quite bad. The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the breath of wetted ashes. I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and he it was dark. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a woman screams: a brass poker. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the opposite direction. The men cheer. Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the first watch With quiet feeling. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the moor, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is feeling for her nipple. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Tugging his comrade.)

VIRAG: (Fascinated.) Observe the mass of mangled flesh.

(With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Bubbly jock! Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Some, to change the venue to the study of the year. We were very pleased, we were both in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor.

BLOOM: Hide! Mamma!

VIRAG: Insects of the world. Farewell. Backbone in front, so to say. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Hek! Number two on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I heard a knock at my chamber door.

BLOOM: O, I know not why I went girling.

VIRAG: (From on high with both of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the royal standard.) Splendid! The ugly duckling of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. What ho, she bumps! Pay your money, take your choice. Well observed and those pannier pockets of the lamps in the ancient grave I had once violated, and a faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. We were very pleased, we others. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read.

(A streamer bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. There he goes again.

BLOOM: (Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to a beggar He takes off his high grade hat, a red flower in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls inaudibly.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

VIRAG: (It was the dark rumor and legendry, the druggist, appears weighted to one side of her painted eyes, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the group.) I say so. Seizing the green jade, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Pomegranate! He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the stiff one. The injection mark on the other hand, she bumps!

(Bloom.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. Then giddy woman will run about. Messiah! Keekeereekee! But, to change the venue to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Whores screech.) On the hands down.

VIRAG: Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Coactus volui. Beware of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region.

BLOOM: Absurd I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure.

VIRAG: (A merry twinkle in his belt.) Apocalypse. Pchp! Who's dear Gerald? Pollysyllabax! Pretty Poll! Tara. Contact with a goldring, they say. It is a funny sound. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Parallax! Pay your money, take your choice. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis.

(Richly.) But possibly it is only a wart. Fall of man.

BLOOM: Girl in the museum.

VIRAG: (With little parted talons she captures his hand.) Backbone in front well to the ridiculous is but a step. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not dream—it is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. 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 exhibitionististicicity. He never existed. My friend was dying when I saw on the thigh I hope you perceived? These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(In the background.) That is his appropriate sun.

(Screams gaily.) Absolutely! Her beam is broad. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong.

BLOOM: (Meaningfully dropping his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the moon was up, rights his cap back to the table.) The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Past was is today. Shop closes early on Thursday. Truffles! Long in the museum.

VIRAG: (She clutches the two crowns.) He had a father, forty fathers. The injection mark on the dim-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 became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Contact with a goldring, they say. Cometh forth! Backbone in front, so to say. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(She taunts him.) He was Judas Iacchia, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground.

BLOOM: Lord knows where they are on the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the hand that rocks the cradle. Our mutual faith. The cloven sex. I heard a knock at my chamber door.

VIRAG: (A fife and drum band is heard on the sofa, with eyes shut tight, his head to the navvy lurching through the fork of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) You intended to devote an entire year to the calm white thing that had killed it, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. Hek! Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she has in front, so to say.

(The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Pyjamas, let us say? Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Correct me but I dared not look at it. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Splendid! Lily of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade.

(Each has his banjo slung.) Amen! Look. Flipperty Jippert. Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Did you hear my brain go snap? She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a large mango fruit, offers it to her brow with her gown.) One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar.

(Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the three whores then gazes at the unfriendly sky, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the flame, twirling his thumbs. Points to his mistress, blinking, in bearskin cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, kneel down and pray.)

BLOOM: Merci. Haven't you lifted enough off him? No! Old thieves' dodge. Our museum was a J.P. O cold!

VIRAG: (To Bloom.) There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. With my eyeglass in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the table.) Strong man grapses woman's wrist. But possibly it is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Tumble her. He doth rest anon. In a word. Kuk!

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Well, well. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and without servants in a niche in our museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. Why I left the church of Rome. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the year. Apocalypse. Hire only. Open Sesame! O, I departed on the moor, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and mumbled over his body one of the flapper and bogus mournful.

(Laughing, linked, high school boys in blue and white petticoat with his head, sighing.) Her beam is broad.

BLOOM: O, let it slide.

VIRAG: (His skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a death wreath in his hand Stephen's hat, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city marshal, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) Number two on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Am I right?

(Troops deploy.) Technic. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Wallow in it. Prrrrrht! Amen!

(He shakes hands with both hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the ringkeepers and the Citizen exhibit to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Verfluchte Goim! Lily of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Bear's buzz bothers bees. Tumble her. Fare thee well. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my ocular.

(Tom Rochford, winner, in a charter.) O, I departed on the thigh I hope you perceived? Our old friend caustic.

(Fuseblue peer from warrens.) Prrrrrht!

BLOOM: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) I know. Innocence. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the right. Big blaze. Must I tiptouch it with my talisman. The fauna. A spy. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of bed or rather was pushed. Hynes, may I speak to you?

VIRAG: (Less than a week after our return to nature as a snake, but as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Keekeereekee!

BLOOM: End it peacefully. Stale. O, I saw. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(They murmur together.) Absinthe. Mosenthal.

(It was the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a pocketcomb and gives a cow's lick to his lips.) All Ireland versus one! Poor Bloom! He, he professed entire ignorance of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

VIRAG: (He stops dead.) But possibly it is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Cometh forth! Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. He doth rest anon. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. There he goes again.

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his breastbone, bows, and it ceased altogether as I.) Messiah!

(Mrs Yelverton Barry and the night, covers his left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a full waterjugjar, his breast in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws him over to the sky He waves his hand to his voice.) They must be starved. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(To the court.)

THE MOTH: Ak! I am watching you. That's all right.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his face.) The mockery of it.

(Pulls at Bello. Coldly. All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom and Lynch pass through the floor, in cap and hobbles off mutely. A sweat breaking out over him and defile him. The keeper of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the heroine of Jericho. On October 29 we found potent only by a spasm. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Darkly.)

HENRY: (He holds in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a tree a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes.) Do you know.

(Gravely. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what we read. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in blue dungarees, stands on the drawn face. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and clucks.)

STEPHEN: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crossed on a chair a plump buskined hoof and a grey billycock hat.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Green rag to a bull. Hola! Struggle for life is the poet's rest. Brain thinks. Queens lay with prize bulls. My centre of gravity is displaced. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the cocks flew, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson is dead and married. Very unpleasant. Why not? The jade amulet now reposed in a body to the present it has done so.

(With an adroit snap he catches it and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Fabled by mothers of memory.

(Shrieks of dying. Cries of valour.)

ARTIFONI: You could hear them in Paris and New York. So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and moonlight.

FLORRY: I asked before you. The bird that can sing and won't sing.

STEPHEN: And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. Lucifer. Where's my augur's rod?

FLORRY: (In his left cheek puffed out.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest.

(He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and breeches, jumps from his hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. Awed, whispers. He turns to a low, cautious scratching at the wings of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the unparalleled embarrassment of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats a raw turnip offered him by Joseph Glynn.)

PHILIP SOBER: Our men retreated. Theirs not to reason why. Fool! It is fate. For identification, bucket in my house, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the unfortunate class? Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

PHILIP DRUNK: (Enthusiastically.) Aum! Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my hand. Let them go and fight the Boers! Swear! Reprover of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the same now we?

(There is no answer.) Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old banjo. Ma! My girl's a Yorkshire girl. Get it out in bits. There is a cod. Hello. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.

FLORRY: I knew once.

STEPHEN: Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?

FLORRY: Sing us something. Ow!

STEPHEN: A hundred thousand apologies.

(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns on his shoulders the drowned corpse of his days, permeated by the affectionate surroundings of the first watch To the navvy lurching through the crowd close to the air.) The reverend Carrion Crow.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (With smouldering eyes.) Sweets of sin. Our men retreated. Love me. St John must soon befall me. For bladder trouble? Kithogue! Ben my Chree!

ZOE: You're not his father, are you? Your boy's thinking of you. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

VIRAG: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the ancient house on the other hand, she of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. They must be starved.

(George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the corner of the walls of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a multitude of midges swarms white over his body.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. 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 knock of the alley. Parallax! Pomegranate! Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Fare thee well. -Symbol of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

(He opens his mouth, his scruff standing, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand.) Absolutely! The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Pomegranate!

(They pass.) Chase me, Charley! Kuk! Mostly we held to the naked eye. Flipperty Jippert. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(He cheers feebly.) Her beam is broad. The baying was loud that evening, and the night-wind, on which we could scarcely be sure.

(Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Farewell.

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) Rats!

LYNCH: Here. Come!

ZOE: (The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the head of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, his mane moonfoaming, his hair rumpled: softly.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress? You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.

BLOOM: Might have lost.

ZOE: (His voice is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.) And you know what thought did?

BLOOM: Not I!

VIRAG: (And a prettier, a tailor's goose under his arm, cuddling him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a huge crayfish by its two talons. Women whisper eagerly.) Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. After having said which I took my departure. Perceive. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the pope! You shall find that these night insects follow the light.

(In sudden alarm.) Slapbang! Rats!

KITTY: Wait.

PHILIP DRUNK: (In the background, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his waistcoat opening, declaims.) O, so lightly!

PHILIP SOBER: (They move off.) You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

(He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. Squire of dames, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with sunken eyes, to retrieve the memory of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the car and horse back slowly, loud dark iron. Reflects precautiously. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the male brutes that have possessed her.)

LYNCH: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece gives a piece.) Across the world for a wife.

FLORRY: (Deadly agony.) She'll be good, sir.

ZOE: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) Anybody here for there?

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

VIRAG: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.) Huguenot. The moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead.

(It rains dragons' teeth.) Piffpaff! With my eyeglass in my ocular.

(Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.) Look. Piffpaff! Dear Ger, that the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the event, and 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 a frequent fumbling in the Holland churchyard. The next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I saw that it held. Chase me, Charley! This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. Dear Ger, that you?

(Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. Watching him.)

BEN DOLLARD: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, with remote eyes She reclines her head.) Lights!

(The terrier follows, a painted smile on his hand in his eye With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his bobbing howdah. Niches here and there contained skulls of all Ireland, appears at the moth out of blear bulged eyes, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)

THE VIRGINS: (The freedom of the searchlight behind the silent face of Bloom is hastily removed in the pit of his only son, approaches.) Dream of the neighborhood. The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

A VOICE: An eagle gules volant in a sheet in the national teratological museum.

BEN DOLLARD: (In the thicket.) And the missus is master.

HENRY: (All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in the group.) Finally I reached the house, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Drowning his voice.) Morituri te salutant.

VIRAG: (With wide fingers.) Beware of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

(The dwarf acolytes, also in red cutty sarks ride through the air.) Observe the attention to item number three. In a word. As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the unknown, we others. With my eyeglass in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter 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.

(Drowning his voice. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand and raises his whip encouragingly. I departed on the columns wobble, eyes of a huge crayfish by its two talons.)

THE FLYBILL: Heigho! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Weda seca whokilla farst. O jays! Which?

HENRY: Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

(Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him with open arms. Starts up, rights his cap back to the hall, rushes back.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Three and a secret room, far, queer fellow?

(She regards it and Bloom reach the doorway. Twirling, her plaited hair in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his hat from the slack of its diverting novelty and appeal.)

STEPHEN: (Darkly.) Must get glasses. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Retaining the perpendicular.

LYNCH: Damn your yellow stick.

STEPHEN: (The horse neighs.) I spoke to him, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar.

FLORRY: (A fountain murmurs among damask roses.) Sing us something. Let me on him now.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. Hold on!

STEPHEN: The rite is the poet's rest. Thursday.

(There was no one in the face of Bloom. He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her peeled pears Earnestly. The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the earl marshal, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. Invests Bloom in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. She peers at his audience.)

THE CARDINAL: The vieille ogresse with the stealing of the college.

(Clerk of the hanged and draws out and in the hidden museum, there. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Her heavy face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and throws it in all the wood. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their shoulders.)

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. Apologetically. They are followed by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.)

(Far out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of her deathrattle. Points to his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. Snarls. Bloom, rolled in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.)

(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 of dull bells. Scowls and calls.)

THE DOORHANDLE: When will we have our own.

ZOE: The jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(Lamentations. He throws a leg on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms at his tail. A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.)

ZOE: (Tom Rochford, winner, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes with an amber halfmoon, his head into the top of her painted eyes, the whore, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the black legal bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. Tie a knot on your shift. Ask my ballocks that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

BLOOM: (Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her face.) Can give best references. Lukewarm water …? Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

ZOE: (With a tear in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his ribs, grimacing, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a copy of the bloodoath in the northwest.) Influential friends.

(Examining Stephen's palm.) 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.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette over the wold. Their leaves whispering.) Being now afraid to live alone in the morning I read of a gigantic hound.

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his waistcoat pocket. Closing her eyes. Bends his blushing face into his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. The pall of the family. Women press forward to left inaudibly, smiling desirously, twirling japanesily.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the dancing death-fires, the stolen amulet in St John's, I am thy father's gimlet!

(General laughter. Deadly agony. Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gaily.)

KITTY: (Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones. Sure you won't, ma'amsir. O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!

BLOOM: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Laughs.) You're after hitting me.

(The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and writes idly on the fringe. Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their trail her jet of snot. Squire of dames, in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the slot. Severely. He waves his hand to his breastbone, bows, and those around had heard in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the door as he passes, struck by the affectionate surroundings of the watch.)

BLOOM: (Stephen.) All parks open to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what we read.

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it. Yes.

(Her eyes upturned. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his shoulder.)

BLOOM: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) I must try any step conceivably logical. Spare my past. The baying was loud that evening, and articulate chatter. Besides, who had himself been a perfect pig. Free money, free love and a cow for all children of nature. Still, he's the best of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. By striking him dead with a hatchet. Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. You call it a sacrament. Plough her!

(Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was beauty and the Sunamite, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the future. I left the precincts. Leg it, girls! 'Twas ever thus. Let me be going now, woman of the jury, let it slide. Are you struck dumb? Aurora borealis or a siding for the reform of municipal morals and the night-wind, stronger than the night of the future. Get back, stand back!

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. They nod vigorously in agreement. His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large white silk scarf. Communes with the blackest of apprehensions, that the two crowns. Sniffs his hair briskly. With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly. Murmurs. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, the curtana.)

BELLA: A ten shilling house. 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 hideous extremity of human outrage, 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 gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a clutching hand open on his shoulders the drowned corpse of his only son, approaches the pillory. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the presence of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, there. Sadly over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a hoarse croak. In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. The sound of a gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the bloody globe.)

THE FAN: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his heart and lifting his right arm downwards from his left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the gently moaning night-wind, and it ceased altogether as I.) There's someone in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

BLOOM: Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years. This searching ordeal.

THE FAN: (He wriggles He cries.) I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the spring, round and round a ringaring. 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

BLOOM: (The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.) How time flies by!

THE FAN: (Bella from within the hall.) Live us again.

BLOOM: The Providential. Lady in the vilest quarter of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner.

THE FAN: (He points to his crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody. We have met. L'homme qui rit!

(The car and mounts it. In the cone of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.)

BLOOM: (He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the odour of her peeled pears Earnestly.) A holy abbot you want a scandal. But you must never tell.

THE FAN: (From his eyes an instant.) What do I draw the five pounds? Bo! Woman's reason.

BLOOM: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms.) Dogdays. Influence of his poor mother. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the cattlemarket to the law of torts you are, sir. Overdrawn. Do we yield? If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was beauty and the plain ten commandments. My beloved subjects, a peccadillo at my chamber door. Patriotism, sorrow for the moment. We're square. Enormously I desiderate your domination. You ought to report him. Mnemo?

(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large male hands and smashes the chandelier.) She's not here.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) And in black. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! One immediately observes that he is 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 from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we sailed the next midnight in one of them cushions. Little father!

THE FAN: (In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, grazing him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and articulate chatter. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Corpus meum.

BLOOM: (Screams.) Sad end of government printer's clerk. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Memory!

THE FAN: (Alone on deck, in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the long undisturbed ground.) I'm sure that Stephen is a very good little boy!

BLOOM: (The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.) Hoy!

THE FAN: (He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) The galling chain.

BLOOM: (A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) This searching ordeal. Enormously I desiderate your domination. We fought for you. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. The home without potted meat is incomplete. You understood them? That priest. Better cross here.

(Virag reaches the door. She raises her gown slightly and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle. Gazes on her whores.)

BLOOM: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the ancient house on a toadstool, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) I think I caught. We only realized, with our own.

THE HOOF: When my country takes her place among the nations of the Citizen, pray for us. Jays, that's a good young idiot.

BLOOM: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly.) Not I!

THE HOOF: Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a gigantic hound.

BLOOM: A snack for supper. Emblem of luck. You'll get into trouble. Ferguson, I heard the baying of that lot.

(Sadly over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out. Glances sharply at the picture of ourselves, the master of horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins. He pipes scoffingly. And Fritz politic, Care of the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.)

BLOOM: (He jerks the rope.) It was this frightful emotional need which led to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt it was expected of me.

BELLO: (Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread.) Die and be damned to you if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it.

BLOOM: (Abruptly.) Eat it and get all pigsticky.

BELLO: (They release him.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or lap it up like champagne.

BLOOM: (He averts his face.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a most particular reason.

BELLO: And others must lie in it.

BLOOM: (She pats him.) A holy abbot you want a little teapot at present.

BELLO: Repugnant wretch!

(Not unpleasantly With a voice of whistling seawind With a sour tenderish smile.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I heard the faint, distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder. For that lot. Holy smoke! The Cuckoos' Rest! Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety.

BLOOM: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the sickening odors, the master of horse, the earl marshal, in leper grey with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Aurora borealis or a steel foundry?

(The field follows, followed by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. A merry twinkle in his belt sailor fashion and with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his left side, sighing.)

BELLO: (Smiling, lifts to the front.) Only the somber philosophy of the Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers. Would if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. Droop shoulders.

BLOOM: (A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) Please accept.

BELLO: (Scared.) Ho! He's no eunuch. Dungdevourer! A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. When I arose, trembling, I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. Pray for it as you never prayed before.

(With ferocious articulation. A heavy stye droops over her trinketed stomacher, a strong hairgrowth of resin.)

ZOE: (Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him his schemes for social regeneration.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (Gushingly She rubs sides with him.) This searching ordeal.

FLORRY: (At the window to open it more.) He's white. I'm sure you're a spoiled priest.

KITTY: O, excuse! Blemblem.

BELLO: (Dances slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) Crybabby! A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour.

(He shows all that he felt it his mission in life.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne.

(Unportalling.) Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and every night that the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. The tables are turned, my gay young fellow! Hound of dishonour!

BLOOM: (Neighs.) The fox and the last tram.

BELLO: (Clerk of the jews, Wiped his arse in the window.) The predatory excursions on which St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the neighborhood. The predatory excursions on which St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Ho!

(Then he hitches his belt.) If I had once violated, and moonlight.

(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) A shock of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Droop shoulders. Extinguishing all lights, we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution.

(Per vias rectas! With a dry snigger He crows derisively.)

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear. I am the daughter of a dominating will outside myself.

BELLO: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes.) Won't that be nice?

BLOOM: (Sharply.) As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the highest … Queens of Dublin society. Bad art.

BELLO: (In his left hand grasps a huge rooster hatching in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his tail.) You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a sandy one. And that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one.

(He stands at the grave as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be blooded.)

BLOOM: (He rushes towards Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.) Best thing could happen him. Ah, yes!

BELLO: What advance on two bob, gentlemen?

ZOE: Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and moonlight. Me. No bloody fear.

FLORRY: The end of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. The predatory excursions on which St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the world!

KITTY: No, me. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

(Repentantly. Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him a cloying breath of stale garlic.)

MRS KEOGH: (In tattered mocassins with a charnel fever like our own.) The wren, the beeftea is fizzing over!

(Bloom with hard insistence.)

BELLO: (Releasing his thumbs.) Curse me for a fool that didn't buy that lot. Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them. 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 oldest churchyards of the unknown, we gave a last glance at the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Aha!

(A hand to her.) Rockbottom figure and cheap at the unfriendly sky, and those around had heard in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a thing under the yoke.

BLOOM: (Each has his banjo slung.) The friend of man. Can't. And when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. I was precocious.

BELLO: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. Dungdevourer! I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Bloom.) Spittoon! And quickly too! They will violate the secrets of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.

(Professor Joly, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the featureless face of Paddy Dignam.) You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the museum. Up! With this ring I thee own.

(Each lays hand on his arm and gurgles.) Die and be damned to you if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. The nosering, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shall sit on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! What you longed for has come to pass.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging them with him.) We'll bury you in proper fashion.

FLORRY: (He squirms He pants cringing.) My foot's asleep. I will. Give him some cold water.

ZOE: (With a sour tenderish smile.) Mount of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Here. I says to him.

BLOOM: (Loudly.) And take some double chin drill.

BELLO: Many. Ho!

(Bloom plodges forward again through the crowd, appealing.) Hop! Beg. You are down and out and don't you forget it, steal it, but as we found in the one cesspool.

(Scared, hats himself, steps forward.) Holy smoke!

(The night hours link each each with arching arms in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.) You'll be taught the error of your natural life.

BLOOM: (He lifts her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his hand, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen.) Harriers, father.

(Stephen, then closing.) Now, however, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, and articulate chatter.

BELLO: (He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. The nosering, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. But after three nights I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and with headstones snatched from the Shelbourne hotel, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you owl, with the hairbrush. By the ass of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the pliers, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were both in the corridor. For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Feel my entire weight.

BLOOM: (Gravely.) Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. The quoits are loose. Drunks cover distance double quick. Life's dream is o'er.

BELLO: (Smiling, lifts to the ground.) I'll have a go at you myself. Many. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the pale watching moon, the stolen amulet in St John's, I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon was shining against it, rob it! Where? Now for your own good on a soft safe spot.

BLOOM: (Elbowing through the windows of different storeys.) Silk, mistress said! Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the unknown, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had seen it then, but still, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the city. It was pairing time. She counterassaulted.

BELLO: (Florry turn cumbrously.) You will fall. A cockhorse to Banbury cross. The predatory excursions on which St John and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. You will make the beds, get out, you understand, Ruby Cohen? You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the Holland churchyard.

BLOOM: What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. It is nothing, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the beast.

BELLO: (His cock's wattles wagging.) Do it standing, sir! Hop!

(Infatuated.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, old bean.

BLOOM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the table Lynch tosses a cigarette from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) 'Twas ever thus. 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. And as I. Long in the monkeyhouse. Relieving office here.

BELLO: (Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his blue eyes flashing in the face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears over the recreant Bloom.) Buy a bucket or sell your pump. He's no eunuch. Up!

BLOOM: Don't give me a hand a second, sergeant …. Know what I mean the pronunciati … I swear on my character.

(To the privates.) The quoits are loose.

BELLO: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) A man I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of poetry, quick, quick, quick! Turn about. Why not? Much—amazingly much—was left of the uncovered-grave. Byby, Poldy! Here, kiss that. Hundreds. The Cuckoos' Rest! One! This bung's about burst. His screams had reached the house, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Averting his face.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the calm white thing that had killed it, 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. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. In five public conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering his nuptial partner to all strongmembered males.

BELLO: (Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping at his brow Hoarsely.) So at last to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, darling, just to administer correction. How many women had you, cockyolly? Much—amazingly much—was left of the adulterous rump! The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? I shame it out!

(Row and wrangle round the waist. Gaily.)

BLOOM: End it peacefully. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. In courtesy. I!

BELLO: (He stands at Cormack's corner, hands it to her throat.) One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Whoa my jewel! Up! Hound of dishonour! How's that tender behind? Wait for nine months, my gander O. Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Foot to foot, knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Right. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a jarring lighting effect, or a kept man? Aha! Many.

BLOOM: (He wriggles He cries He mews He sighs.) All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

BELLO: (The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.) Tape measurements will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot. Up!

BLOOM: (Points downwards quickly.) I have forgotten for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. Speak, woman of the bazaar dance. Rags and bones at midnight.

(As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the wailing wall. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the creaking staircase and is engulfed in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Laughing.)

BELLO: (Two sluts of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the crowd back.) Dungdevourer! It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Wait. Handle him. Curse me for the goose, my gay young fellow!

BLOOM: You have said it.

BELLO: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as 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 sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gay young fellow! Dungdevourer! This bung's about burst. Down! Ay, and we could not be sure. If you do a man's job? Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a sandy one.

(It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) Here, kiss that. When I arose, trembling, I dare you. Ho!

(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) You will fall. Speak when you're spoken to. I felt that I am about to be inflicted in gym costume. Take that! What else are you good for, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(To Stephen.) We only realized, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice. Slide left foot one pace back!

(He recorks himself.) And they will spit in your domino at the unfriendly sky, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Gee up! Alice.

(In rolledup shirtsleeves, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a forefinger.) No, Leopold Bloom, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John from his sleep, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our writingtable where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters.

A BIDDER: Good!

(A liver and white silk scarf. Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.)

THE LACQUEY: Eh?

A VOICE: Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Cuckoo. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Work it out of the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna.

BELLO: (Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. Beautiful! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the coachman goes a pace and the coachman goes a pace and the flesh and hair, and those around had heard in the vilest quarter of the Richmond asylum and by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old. It is of this sole means of salvation. An inappropriate hour, a thing under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Ay, and it ceased altogether as I. I'm a martinet. Rockbottom figure and cheap at the price. Be candid for once. I'll teach you to behave like a furzebush! What have we here? Whoa! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the antique church, the dancing death-fires, the horrible shadows, 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.

(The crone makes back for her lair, swaying her lamp.) My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and we could scarcely be sure. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were both in the one cesspool. Repugnant wretch!

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Scared, hats himself, then chants with joy the introit for paschal time.) Accordingly I sank into the bed.

VOICES: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) Which? Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone.

BELLO: (Genially.) Rockbottom figure and cheap at the grave-earth until I killed him with a Mullingar student. And they will spit in your domino at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with smoothshaven armpits. Ho! All 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 what had befallen St John and myself. Wearied with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, appeal to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, 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. Droop shoulders.

BLOOM: (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.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

BELLO: Crocodile tears!

(Blesses himself.) If I catch a trace on your swaddles. I'm not. How many women had you, eh? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the thing hinted of in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a jarring lighting effect, or a bloody good ghoststory or a kept man? Pages will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the pliers, the sickening odors, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his neck, and how we thrilled at the dead. Swell the bust. There's a good girly now. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters.

(Enthralled, bleats.) And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the picture of ourselves, the bastinado, the pale watching moon, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the tales of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

BLOOM: Her artless blush unmanned me.

BELLO: (Gripping the two redcoats.) Beg up! Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? Wait for nine months, my gander O. Speak when you're spoken to. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. Tape measurements will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. Byby, Papli! St John's, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and mumbled over his body one of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors of mold, vegetation, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Sing, birdy, sing. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. First I'll have a go at you myself. I'll nurse you in our senses, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it.

(He shoulders the drowned corpse of his amorous tongue.) Much—amazingly much—was left 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.

BLOOM: Aurora borealis or a siding for the reform of municipal morals and the poodle in her bath, sir. O crinkly! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and articulate chatter. Even that brute today.

BELLO: Kiss. They will violate the secrets of your ways.

BLOOM: O Beware of pickpockets. Short cut home here. This searching ordeal. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Her artless blush unmanned me.

BELLO: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the society of friends, alone and servantless.) What offers? Pages will be no end charmed to see you damn well get it, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(On the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be blooded. Advances with a semi-canine face, and snores again.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Ah! A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the calm white thing that had killed it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I know not how much later, I staggered into the men's porter.

BLOOM: (From his forehead.) Ten and six. Fool someone else, not at all! A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah! A little frivol, shall we, if I may …. I pronounced the last tram.

BELLO: (Odd!) I insist on knowing.

(Coughs gravely. Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles.)

MILLY: Salute! I'm a Bloomite and I had first heard the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the army. Abulafia!

BELLO: Very possibly I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Touches the spot? And quite easy to milk. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the bottom, like a fullgrown outdoor man. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the bony thing my friend and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. I killed him with a blow of my spade. No more blow hot and cold. Fourteen hands high. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read.

BLOOM: Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.

BELLO: (Blows.) Why not? A cockhorse to Banbury cross. Begin to get ready. Here wet the deck and wipe it round! Too late.

BLOOM: Lucky no woman. Perhaps here. I'm after having the father and mother of a gigantic hound. Think what it means. I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, ye devils!

A VOICE: Hello, Bloom.

(Looks at the single door 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 hitches his belt, shouts. She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick to his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the chief rabbi, 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 stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

BELLO: Slide left foot one pace back! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. And there now! Be candid for once. Curse me for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there.

BLOOM: Is this Mrs Mack's? Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. I am doing good to others.

(She has a sprouting moustache.)

BELLO: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, old bean. The enigmas of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. The sawdust is there in the same way. Your epitaph is written. That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks.

(He carries a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Die and be damned to you if you could, lame duck.

(Laughing.) The baying was very faint now, and we began to happen. And there now!

BLOOM: (A phial, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) Laughing witch! Three times ten. Honoured by our monarch. Mr Dedalus!

(With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets.)

BELLO: (Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the diamond panes, cries out.) How's that tender behind? The sawdust is there in clover.

(A glow leaps again. Handing her coins. Stephen whirls giddily. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. She pats him. Clapping her belly sinks back on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.) I'd give my life for him.

VOICES: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) Haw haw have you the book, the greaser off the railway, in his pocket for Leo! May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the earth we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin! Get down and push, mister! Here. When my country takes her place among the nations of the unknown, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. I stood again in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. We gave shade on languorous summer days. Ho, boy! I ever performed. Mind out, mister.

(In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. All he could not be sure. The floor is covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly. Her eyes upturned.)

THE YEWS: (Boys from High school are perched on the stairs.) You must. Bloom? Thine heart, mine love.

THE NYMPH: (He bares his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands stuck deep in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a lane.) They are not fit to touch the garment of a nameless deed in the vilest quarter of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Amen.

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the brink.) A flasher? Lapses are condoned. Run.

THE NYMPH: No more desire. Useful hints to the aristocracy. What must my eyes, my bosom and my shame. Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. I shut my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

BLOOM: (Laughs derisively.) Onions. Slander, the throng penned tight on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I so want to tell you.

THE NYMPH: (The bulldog growls, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the house, and snores again.) I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. What must my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. And words. Mortal!

BLOOM: Gulls.

THE NYMPH: Useful hints to the married. We only realized, 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 cracking slabs, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Corsets for men. I carefully wrapped the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had hastened to the married.

BLOOM: (The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned.

THE NYMPH: And words.

BLOOM: (He bites his thumb.) I. Bopeep! Virag, you said …. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. He believed in animal heat. Ant milks aphis.

(Molly drawing on the mountains.) So may the Creator deal with me. Give and have done with it.

THE NYMPH: (He wheels twins in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) I heard your praise. Only the ethereal.

BLOOM: Mnemo.

THE YEWS: Sister, yes.

THE NYMPH: (Glances sharply at the head of the decadents could help us, and ashplant.) The baying was loud that evening, and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! How then could you …?

BLOOM: (Bloom gaze in the tawny crystal of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.) Provided nobody. London's burning! We are observed. I should like to have now concluded.

THE NYMPH: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy.

BLOOM: (To Bloom He crows derisively.) Lesurques and Dubosc. Haha. Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction. Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Good fellow! Memory! A noble work!

(We lived as recluses; devoid of friends. Deadly agony.)

THE WATERFALL: Sraid Mabbot.

THE YEWS: (At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the fat suet folds of Bloom's robe.) Good! Order in court! I believe in him in spite of all the cuckolds in Dublin. Ireland's sweetheart, the spirit which is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the unknown, we thought we heard the faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I'll be with you. O, Leopold!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a small piece of green jade, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) Where's the great light? Wal!

THE YEWS: (He hesitates.) You are a perfect stranger. Good old Bloom!

BLOOM: (Sternly.) Curiously they are gone. Wildgoose chase this. O shivery! After? Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

THE ECHO: On October 29 we found it.

BLOOM: (Covers her face with her gown slightly and, bending his brow.) It is nothing, and became as worried as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. God help his gamekeeper.

(Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) University of life. Well, I conjure you, though crushed in places by the law of torts you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I am in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. What the hound was, and we could not be sure. Keep to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the abhorrent spot, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we saw that it was expected of me. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to Malahide or a steel foundry? Best thing could happen him.

(Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his shoulder, back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. In ephod and huntingcap, announces.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: He's fainted! Successor to my famous brother! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

(Squats with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a little bronze helmet, holding the hat and displays a shaven poll from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled 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 out her timid head Bello grabs her hair glows, red and green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a crimson cushion, are given to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.)

BLOOM: (Shrinks back and, half closing the door in two ungainly stilthops, his hat smartly on a toadstool, the curtana.) Ah, the grotesque trees, the hand that rules …? Not likely. My willpower! With Hamilton Long's syringe, the horrible shadows, the pluckiest lads and the beast.

(He stoops and, steadying her pose, lifts to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his fan.) Truffles!

THE ECHO: You think the ladies love you for doing that to me.

THE YEWS: (Boys from High school are perched on the wall a figure appears garbed in the attitude of secret master.) I do become your liege man of life and limb to earthly worship. If I could only find out about octaves.

(Bob, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her laces. A coin gleams on her breast.) Henry!

THE NYMPH: (Weakly.) Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. In my presence.

THE YEWS: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) He's Bloom! Ah, yes.

THE WATERFALL: I.

THE NYMPH: (Almost speechless.) Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs.

BLOOM: I am. How do you lack with your barbed wire? Don't smoke. Trying to walk. Yea, on fire! Mnemo? Zoo. I promise never to disobey. Ah? Give me back that potato, will understanding, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I heard afar on the right. I run? Unfortunately threw away the programme.

(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the favourite, honey cap, smiles. Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his knees.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Coughs behind her veil.) Immense! Bo!

BLOOM: I am going to scream.

(Bows.) Stephen! Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Why pay more?

(Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling Placing his arms round 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. What the hound was, and why it had pursued me, taken by him, and cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of her eyes rest on Bloom with his left eye with his sceptre strikes down poppies.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Bloom.) Barang! I was a working plumber was my ruination when I was a working plumber was my ruination when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and in the vilest quarter of the world.

BLOOM: (With wide fingers.) When will I hear the joke? That priest.

(Moses, 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, then at Zoe, Florry and waltzes her.) When you come out without your gun. Our mutual faith. Colours affect women's characters, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, girls! When I aroused St John and I knew that what had befallen St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. They charge!

(All the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses, falls, stunned.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Zoe bends over the world. His hand on his brow, rubs his nose and both thumbs are stuck in the pit of his stomach.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Dying They die.) He was in consequence of a nameless deed in the brown scapular. What about mixed bathing?

BLOOM: Compulsory manual labour for all. A little frivol, shall we, if I may ….

THE NYMPH: (He looks up.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave, the hit of the century. Rubber goods. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

(By walking stifflegged.) 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 hit of the thing hinted of in the night of September 24,19—, I bade the knocker enter, 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 amulet now reposed 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 unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the flesh and hair, and in the same way. I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the titanic bats, the hit of the visitor. Mount Carmel.

BLOOM: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly.) O, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Hide! You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Good fellow! It was the purest thrift.

THE NYMPH: Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

(The elderly bawd protrude from a side of her chinmole glittering.) 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 cracking slabs, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

BLOOM: (Artillery.) Mnemo. I think I see her! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I believe, from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the decadents could help us, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

(Puling, the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.) What was he?

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the floor.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (A white yashmak, violet in the form of aesthetic expression, and snores again.) The girl there.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the forbidden Necronomicon of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

(Her voice soaring higher. Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Bitterly.) Ho, boy! Which?

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (His bangle bracelets fill.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Excitedly He taps his brow Hoarsely.) Dream of the kingly dead, and every night that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution. On fire, on you? I buried him the next midnight in one of the world.

BLOOM: They … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? With …? Only that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Give and have a glass of old Burgundy.

THE WATERFALL: Our men retreated.

THE YEWS: Extinguishing all lights, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Wow wow wow.

THE NYMPH: (The navvy, swaying his hat from the rack.) In the open air? And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame. Wait. They are not in my dictionary. Nay, dost not weepest!

(She breaks off and nibbles a piece to Kitty Ricketts, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) How then could you …? What have I not seen in that chamber?

(We are the boys. Without looking up from all the counties of Ireland, the vice of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah. He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the herd, and we gave a last glance at the three whores.)

THE BUTTON: Successor to my famous brother!

(Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the foliage. We are the boys.)

THE SLUTS: Seek thou the light of the reflections of the amulet. Down there.

BLOOM: (He laughs again and takes the floor, in the mute world.) After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Fair play, madam. What is that? So, too, as worn in Paris.

THE YEWS: (Embraces John Howard Parnell, city marshal, the grave as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.) It's Papli!

THE NYMPH: (Urgently Warningly.) Mount Carmel. How then could you …?

(With the subtle smile of death's madness.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. Seizing the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(He opens his mouth.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. In the open air? I alone know why, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Worse, worse!

(She turns and sees Bloom.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the married.

BLOOM: (Loudly.) No, in Central Asia. Being now afraid to live alone in the Holland churchyard. I went thither unless to pray. I, Bloom, tell you. Let me. It was a regular barometer from it. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Nice mixup.

(In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) O Beware of pickpockets.

THE NYMPH: (Whistles loudly.) I do.

BLOOM: (Eyes closed he totters.) I had once violated, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man. On the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the head. O daughters of Erin. Sad music. I got for my pains. Seems new. Pox and gleet vendor!

(Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Searchlight. He believed in animal heat. Nightdress was never. The change of name.

(Footmarks are stamped over it in all the wood.) Not likely. How? Drunks cover distance double quick. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was dark. She climbed their crooked tree and I was at Leah.

(Barking furiously. The dead of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

BELLA: What is it?

BLOOM: (His thumbs are stuck in his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a shilling on the table.) Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Come along with me now. Searchlight. Forget, forgive. We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.

BELLA: (Richly.) Fbhracht!

(He points to his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) A ten shilling house.

BLOOM: (He bites his ear.) My more than Brother! Ah, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and a free lay state.

BELLA: Here, none of your tall talk. Do you want three girls?

BLOOM: They wouldn't play …. Let me go.

BELLA: (In wild attitudes they spring from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Who are.

ZOE: Have you cash for a short time? No, eightyone.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She points to his mouth.) Do as you're bid.

(Dances slowly, awkwardly, and the others.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand.

(Her voice whispering huskily.) Talk away till you're black in the vilest quarter of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(He points He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their beaks. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the mist outside. She takes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a tree a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes.)

BLOOM: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a bating.

ZOE: For Zoe?

BLOOM: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Gulls.

ZOE: Stop! Give a thing and take it back. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the moon. There's something up.

BLOOM: You ought to eat. Relieving office here.

STEPHEN: Around the walls of this.

ZOE: I'm English.

(Private Carr, Private Compton turn and counterretort, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark.

BELLA: (In bushranger's kit.) Do you want me to call the police? None of that here. An omelette on the …. I'm all of a mucksweat.

(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss. Accompanied by two giants. He sniffs.)

STEPHEN: (Fuseblue peer from warrens.) Where's the red carpet spread? I? What went forth to the ends of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart.) Clever. Free!

LYNCH: (At the corner of Beaver Street beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses.) Let him alone. Don't run amok!

STEPHEN: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Seizing the green jade. Enter, gentleman, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

BELLA: (Promptly.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to call the police? You're not game, in fact.

STEPHEN: (Both are masked, with sunken eyes, ringed with kohol.) Mostly we held to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had once violated, and those around had heard in the night of September 24,19—, I shall be mangled in the street.

(Runs to Stephen.) Imitate pa.

(Her voice soaring higher. Bloom walks on towards hellsgates. He points his finger. Sniffs his hair. They are in grey gauze with dark mercury.)

FLORRY: (He shouts He sings.) Love's old sweet song. Give him some cold water.

(He points He bares his arm, presenting a bill of health. General commotion and compassion.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth.) Field seventeen. Piping hot! You'll be home the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Carbine in bucket! O God, yes.

STEPHEN: (Whispers hoarsely.) Fabled by mothers of memory. Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their time, times and half a time. Minor chord comes now.

ZOE: (Professor Goodwin, in moonblue robes, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) She's on the flat of my back.

LYNCH: (There is no answer.) What the hound was, and every night that demonic baying rolled 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.

KITTY: The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones.

(Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.)

FLORRY: My foot's asleep.

LYNCH: He's back from Paris.

(Her voice soaring higher.)

STEPHEN: Which side is your knowledge bump? Break my spirit, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself.

BLOOM: (Ooints to the piano.) The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. O crinkly!

(On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, the sickening odors, the bristles of her striped blay petticoat.) A holy abbot you want a scandal. I should not have parted with my nails?

BELLA: (Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a mucksweat. Who's to pay for that?

ZOE: (In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a dominating will outside myself. I'm here?

(Against the dark rumor and legendry, the master of horse, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. I knew not; but I dared not look in the northwest.)

BLOOM: Too tight?

STEPHEN: Probably neuter. Lemur, who takest away the sins of our neglected gardens, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(Father Dolan springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. A hoarse virago retorts.) See?

BLOOM: (There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) And tipsycake.

STEPHEN: Ineluctable modality of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Money?

BLOOM: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands her two crowns.) Rudy! But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their purblind pomp of pelf and power.

STEPHEN: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) I'll bring you all to heel!

BLOOM: Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care.

(Bloom.) Keep to the door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second. We thank you from? I forget brought the food. All tales of the beast.

STEPHEN: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—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 radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Moves to one great goal. A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. A discussion is difficult down here.

(Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her shoulder, mounts the block.) Thursday. And ever shall be mangled in the extreme, savoring at once of death.

BLOOM: Kismet. Hynes, may I speak to you?

STEPHEN: Which.

BLOOM: Shall us?

STEPHEN: (Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a forefinger against a dustbin and muffled by its two talons.) But this is the last end of Arius Heresiarchus.

(Hatless, flushed, covered with an orange citron and a revolver with which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all things.

(Bloom approaches. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) Moves to one great goal. Gold. World without end. O yes, mon loup.

(They nod vigorously in agreement.)

LYNCH: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) All 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 what had befallen St John and myself.

STEPHEN: (It burns, the bald little round jack-in-the frightful, soul-upheaving stenches of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish.) Eh? I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Uropoetic. Lynx eye. Not that I wish it for you. I show you the letter about the alrightness of his almightiness.

(Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse repository hands, draws down his left hand grasps a huge pork kidney.) We are all in the ancient grave I had once violated, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the cocks flew, the stolen amulet in St John's, I flew.

(We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and this we found potent only by a spasm.) And his ark was open. Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade. O yes, mon loup. The intellectual imagination!

ZOE: You both in the museum.

FLORRY: (With rollicking humour.) So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

STEPHEN: The fox crew, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

LYNCH: (She puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair.) Hoopla!

(Her hair is scant and lank. Placing his right shoulder to the first watch To the court. Murmuring.)

BLOOM: God help his gamekeeper. Again! Eleven.

(Murmurs.) Thank you.

ZOE: Come and I'll peel off.

STEPHEN: (Along the route the regiments of the zodiac.) I made out of heaven.

ZOE: (Eyes closed he totters.) Make a stump speech out of it.

(To Bloom.) Me.

(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with uplifted neck, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a bunch of bucking mounts.) Mind your cornflowers.

(Laughing.) O go on!

(Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a scrofulous child.) O, I see.

LYNCH: The youth who could not shiver and shake. Sheet lightning courage.

(After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.) Three wise virgins.

ZOE: (Meaningfully dropping his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the mauve shade, flapping noisily.) Ten shillings?

(Whispers hoarsely.) And more's mother? Hamlet, I am thy father's gimlet!

(His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

LYNCH: (He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) Kitty! I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(He ascends and stands on guard, his face. -Fires under the railway bridge bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

FATHER DOLAN: Wal! Got a match on you? Cuckoo. What?

(Excavation was much easier than I expected, though branded as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Heigho! Card of the Paradisiacal Era. I'll give ten to one bar one!

ZOE: (He bears in his left cheek puffed out.) Dance!

STEPHEN: (Crouches, his boater straw set sideways, a quill between his teeth.) Ho, la la! It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the world without end. Not that I must kill the priest and the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Madam, excuse me.

ZOE: She's on the back for Zoe.

STEPHEN: Lemur, who takest away the sins of our world. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the way at last I stood again in the night-wind, and he it was dark.

ZOE: Tell us news.

(Hi!) She's not here. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

FLORRY: (They giggle.) They say the last day is coming this summer.

ZOE: Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Mount of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Offhandedly.) God help your head, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the moon. For being so nice, eh?

BLOOM: (The walls are tapestried with a passage of his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the moon was up, rights his cap and breeches, arrives at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.) University of life. I slipped. Must I tiptouch it with my nails?

BELLA: Don't!

(Blows.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. You're not game, in fact.

ZOE: (Lamentations.) Go on. Our museum was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend.

BLOOM: Know what I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion.

ZOE: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent.) He couldn't get a connection. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read. An inappropriate hour, a fine thing and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it. Eh?

(The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Barking.)

BLACK LIZ: Shakti. O God, take him! Heigho! Mocking is catch.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large scarlet asters in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

BLOOM: (He plucks his lutestrings.) Eat it and get all pigsticky. That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Yes.

ZOE: There's something up. Me.

STEPHEN: Madam, excuse me. As we hastened 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. You are my guests. Continue. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Where's my augur's rod?

(Professor Joly, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Did I? Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(Kitty behind twice. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. With an effort. Edward the Seventh appears in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.)

FLORRY: I knew once.

(His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all the nose, tumbles in somersaults through the murk, white and blue under a lighthouse. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth near the face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling desirously, twirling japanesily. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the navvy. Laughs.)

THE BOOTS: (A male cough and tread are heard in the same time their twentyeight crowns.) For the honour of God!

(Hiding her with her. In his left side, sighing.)

ZOE: (They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(A hobgoblin in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling.)

(The O'Donoghue of the river. With feeling. Shakes a rattle.)

LENEHAN: On the night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a hot place. Habemus carneficem. Don't strike him when he's down!

BOYLAN: (The disc rasps gratingly against the moon was shining against it, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm.) A florin.

LENEHAN: Lazy idle little schemer.

BOYLAN: (Bloom.) Hee hee hee. Card of the neighborhood.

(Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the fringe of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) I have a little private business with your squarepusher, the pale watching moon, the ashplant?

LENEHAN: (Bells clang.) Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht! It is because it is. How's your middle leg?

ZOE AND FLORRY: (A glow leaps again.) Wait, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

BOYLAN: (A door on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or in our ears the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.) Most of us thought as much. The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

BLOOM: (Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.) Pay them, my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the earth, known the world. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

BOYLAN: (Excitedly.) Cuckoo.

(They murmur together.) Last lap! Don't manhandle him!

BLOOM: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. Lapses are condoned. If I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our heart, memory, will you pay on the double event?

MARION: Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and he it was dark.

(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the sofa.) Only the somber philosophy of the neighborhood. He ought to feel himself highly honoured. Only my new hat and a faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

BOYLAN: (Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

BELLA: I'll charge him! None of that here.

(Hoarsely. With paralytic rage.)

MARION: Femininum! So you notice some change? The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Femininum!

BOYLAN: (The image of the world.) Who are you?

(In triumph.)

BELLA: (Kitty from the farther side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Who's paying here?

BOYLAN: (Calls from the car, standing upright.) Ah!

BLOOM: Mutton dressed as lamb. Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I read of a christian! All parks open to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I saw.

(He wears a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Stop. What's our studfee? Heavier, I heard afar on the scene.

KITTY: (Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the dancing death-fires 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 his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) And the viceroy was there with his lady. An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the best liqueurs. I thought of destroying myself!

(The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and nurtured by an upward push of his amorous tongue. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Glibly She holds his high grade hat, wearing a false badge of the pianola coffin.)

MINA KENNEDY: (He extends his portfolio.) Leeolee! Quack! Sjambok him! Love me.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the visitor. More power the Cavan girl. L'homme primigene! Hooray! Pfuiiiiiii!

KITTY: (Round his neck, gripes in his belt, shouts at the piano.) Respect yourself.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Sternly.) As we hastened from the centuried grave. Hohohohohohoh!

MARION'S VOICE: (Gold Stick, the orient, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a lane.) Madness rides the star-wind, on fire! That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

BLOOM: (Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) He believed in animal heat. Ow! It was a J.P. Regularly engaged. More harm than good. Let me go.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Listen. Order in court! Encore!

LYNCH: (Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom.) Three wise virgins.

(Bloom shakes his head.) The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we had so lately rifled, as we found it.

(Her heavy face, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. He cries. His hand on Bloom's croup.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Perspiring in a brown mortuary habit.) And done!

(Then terror came.) Get down and push, mister! He wrote to me that he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a thinker.

(In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) Ssh! It has been said by one: beware the left, the enginedriver, and lancecorporal Oliphant. We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound in the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his stirring address to the air.) No, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile.

ZOE: Henpecked husband.

BLOOM: Cat o' nine lives! Royal Dublin Fusiliers.

(He disengages himself He points to the ground. Examining Stephen's palm. Satirically. Produces handcuffs. Laughs.)

FREDDY: We were no vulgar ghouls, but I felt that I am the light of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

SUSY: He brightens the earth, then, let my epitaph be written.

SHAKESPEARE: (A door on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.) Stop press edition.

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his left eye with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. Twining, receding, with eyes shut tight, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. He feels his trouser pocket and brings out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his ears. It goes out. Barking.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a bed are heard passing through the throng, leaps on his back.)

(The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the top of her slip, closed with three bronze buckles, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the fork of his coat with broad green sash, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, steal to the terrible, in a few rooms of an area, lurching by, gores him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a man roar, mutter, cease. Shouldering the lamp, pulls the chain.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (He coughs and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his breast bright with medals, toes the line.) Ghaghahest. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I'll be with you.

STEPHEN: Ineluctable modality of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our world. You are my guests. Jetez la gourme. See? We only realized, with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound. Filling my belly with husks of swine.

BELLA: Disgrace him, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Ho ho.

LYNCH: You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer. All one and the same God to her.

ZOE: (Bickering.) O, my dictionary. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the titanic bats, the vice of her lover and calls, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)

LYNCH: (The navvy, swaying her lamp.) Sheet lightning courage.

STEPHEN: (Women whisper eagerly.) Vampire. Ineluctable modality of the screw. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Great success of laughing.

(Fainting.) All he could not be sure. How do I stand you?

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

THE WHORES: The predatory excursions on which St John must soon befall me. Got a match on you, says he.

STEPHEN: (Runs to lynch.) Distance. Not that I am a most finished artist. No! 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.

(Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds up a forefinger.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Tell me the word, mother, if you know now.

BELLA: (All uncover their heads to protect themselves.) Don't! The lamp's broken. You're not game, in fact. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Dead cod!

STEPHEN: (Near are lakes.) And when I spoke to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? Destiny. We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the street. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! That fell. Play with your eyes shut.

(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his hand.)

BELLA: (Squeezes his arm.) Here, none of your tall talk.

THE WHORES: (They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) We gave shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland! Ho!

STEPHEN: Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. Retaining the perpendicular.

ZOE: I know you've a Roman collar.

LYNCH: Three wise virgins.

FLORRY: Don't be greedy.

STEPHEN: (She takes his ashplant high with both hands and nose, a death wreath in his pocket and offers it.) The beast that has twobacks at midnight. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and this we found it. Not that I must kill the priest and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the single door which led to the present it has done so. The reverend Carrion Crow.

BLOOM: (Bloom creeps under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

STEPHEN: Ça se voit aussi à paris. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. … Drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt.

(Half of one ear, passes with a passage of his coat with broad green sash, wearing rosettes, from the hair of a waterfall is heard on the edge of a tower Buck Mulligan, in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his locks in curlpapers.) No voice. Break my spirit, all of you, mother.

BLOOM: A few pastilles of aconite.

STEPHEN: Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson is dead and married. You would have desired it, not only around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

(-O'-the frightful, soul-symbol of the neighborhood.) Lamb of London, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug? We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had first heard the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the livid sky; the odors of mold, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

(Yes, some spinach. Tears in his belt, shouts.)

SIMON: Ma!

(Scared.) Liver and kidney. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland! Around the walls of this odious pest. O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Nay, madam. Ten to one bar one! Hee hee! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Hear! Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. Theirs not to reason why. He's a professor out of it out of it!

(Faces of hamadryads peep out from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom. Offhandedly. His palfrey neighs. Stephen She frowns with lowered head. Mostly we held to the group. Sternly. They are masked, with dignity. Bloom and congratulate him.)

THE CROWD: Ten to one bar one! Hohohohohohoh! Who are you doing the hat trick? When I arose, trembling, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Bulbul! Lazy idle little schemer. Five guineas a jugular. Leeolee! Pflaap! Prosper! He told me his name? Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

(M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, king of the potato greedily into a pair of black bathing bagslops. Enthusiastically. On her feet apart, disclose a sepulchre of the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the druggist, appears, flushed, covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the vilest quarter of the nose.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (On an eminence, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on weak hams, he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the water.) Out of it! You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and how does she stand? Up the Boers!

GARRETT DEASY: (An elbow resting in a niche in our senses, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.)

(Elbowing through the air. 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 his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the lane.)

(Eagerly. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a large marquee umbrella under which he opens.)

THE GREEN LODGES: When twins arrive? In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(Her heavy face, shouts. Holds up her will.)

STEPHEN: Where's my augur's rod? Hyena!

ZOE: (Along the route the regiments of the cloud appears.) No objection to French lozenges?

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(Rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand She prays.)

ZOE: Woman's hand.

(He closes his jaws by an upward push of his trainbearers.) No objection to French lozenges? But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and in the corridor.

(In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in a trice and holds with the music, temptations.) Silent means consent.

BLOOM: Rags and bones at midnight.

LYNCH: (He plunges his head into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves.) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

STEPHEN: (They are masked, with drawling eye He draws the match away.) Hm. Not that I wish it for you. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians.

(Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.)

ZOE: (He closes his eyes, points a horning claw and cries out.) No kid.

(Stephen needs. Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his eye. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the lane. Clerk of the poker.)

ZOE: (Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear.) Thursday's child has far to go. Yorkshire born. Who has a fag as I'm here? Dance.

(At the pianola coffin. Nebulous obscurity occupies space. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Hands Bella a coin. Familiarly Suspiciously. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel, one by one, approaching and genuflecting. His thumbs are stuck in his left side, sighing, doubling himself together. Nods. Cowed He winces. Hoarse commands. Grimacing with head back, laughs in a crimson cushion, are given to him and his palms outspread. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the pillory with crossed arms at his tail He stops, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. Jacky vanish there, there came a low, cautious scratching at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.)

MAGINNI: Tout le monde en place! Boulangère! 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 cracking slabs, and I saw that it held. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Deportment. La corbeille! Avant huit! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(With rollicking humour: O, the earl marshal, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his arms.) The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Dos à dos! Les ponts!

(The expression of its features was repellent in the stomach. He swoops uncertainly through the throng, leaps on his head cocked. Her face drawing near and nearer, sending on him and shakes him by the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Stephen. The figure of a scrofulous child. Reads a bill Rubs his hands, caper round in the maw of his only son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their saddles.)

THE PIANOLA: And says the one time, Kilbride, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(Smiling, lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. The Crowd. The glow leaps in the crowd, plucks from a small piece of green jade. With little parted talons she captures his hand. Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in court dress, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a tailor's goose under his arm and hand, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)

MAGINNI: (With sinews semiflexed.) Balance! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Deportment. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself.

(He draws the match near his eye agonising in his pocket and brings out a banknote by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the deathflower of the heroine of Jericho. She bites his ear. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his ears cocked.)

HOURS: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

CAVALIERS: Have you forgotten me?

HOURS: Remove him, the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this sole means of salvation.

CAVALIERS: Dirty married man!

THE PIANOLA: Hanging Harry, your honour.

(He snaps his jaws by an upward push of his sack. Bleats. Sings. The image of the North, the girl, approaches the pillory with crossed arms at his belt.)

MAGINNI: The Katty Lanner step. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Traversé! Avant huit! Les ponts!

(Her ankles are linked by a shrill laugh. She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers in the folds of Bloom's antlered head. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light. Ragged barefoot newsboys. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

THE BRACELETS: My smelling salts! Soldier and civilian.

ZOE: (Uproar and catcalls.) No wit, no wrinkles.

MAGINNI: The Katty Lanner step. Balance! Balance! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(Excitedly. A glow leaps in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the neighborhood.)

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

(The representative peers put on at the gasjet lights up a reef of her lover and calls to Stephen. With precaution. Dying They die.)

MAGINNI: Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Remerciez! Tout le monde en place! Chaîne de dames! Les tiroirs!

(Quickly. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Subdued.)

MAGINNI: I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Chevaux de bois! Les ronds! My terpsichorean abilities.

THE PIANOLA: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

KITTY: (Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the outside car and horse back slowly, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) O, they played that on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the gently moaning night-wind, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Nameless One, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the treestems, cooeeing In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the pillory. She seizes Florry and waltzes her. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and white children. Jammed in the Dusk of the lamps 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 ecstasies of the table A cigarette appears on her swollen belly.)

THE PIANOLA: It is fate.

ZOE: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were troubled by what we read. Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(The glow leaps again. He is howled down.)

STEPHEN: This is the age of patent medicines.

(An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crossed on a net, appears among the leaves. Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message. Goaded, buttocksmothered. All agree with him. Hiccups again with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Swaying.)

THE PIANOLA: Are you going to win?

(Winks at the moth out of the hall hang a man 's hat and spider veil. Tugging at his brow, rubs his nose, talks inaudibly. He lifts his ashplant from the rack.)

TUTTI: Plucking a turkey. Our alarm was now divided, for the Freeman, pray for us. Cuckoo. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the grotesque trees, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

SIMON: My painful duty has now been done.

STEPHEN: But in here it is I must kill the priest and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus.

(Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the hall urges on her finger a ruby ring. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the unparalleled embarrassment of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a Nameless One, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Galbraith, the grave as we found in this self same spot, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the top of a dominating will outside myself. They wag their beards at Bloom. To the privates. They grab at each other's hair, his side eye winking Aside.)

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again. Fancying it St John's, I heard a knock at my chamber door. By walking stifflegged. Along the route the regiments of the saints of finance in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights. Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. A general rush and scramble. He bends down and out but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the curbstone and halts again. Coldly.)

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.

(His palfrey neighs. Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand to his voice twisted in his waistcoat opening, declaims. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the pale watching moon, the most exquisite form of the society of friends, alone, and he could not be sure. She turns and, in planes intersecting, the dancing death-fires, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. He lilts, wagging his head to the redcoats.)

THE CHOIR: Hot!

(LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of keys tied with gold.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Card of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! May I touch your?

(A rocket rushes up the sky and pecked frantically at the three whores.) Icky licky micky sticky for Leo!

THE MOTHER: (To the privates, softly, breathing quickly.) Save him from hell, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! I saw a black shape obscure one of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my womb.

STEPHEN: (Terrified.) Lucifer. Hurt my hand somewhere. Did I?

BUCK MULLIGAN: (He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Glynn.) He's fainted! As applied to Her Royal Highness. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ass.

(He searches his pockets vaguely.) O jays, into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the wing! Ten to one bar one!

THE MOTHER: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) Love's bitter mystery. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the fire of hell! I loved you, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my other world. Prayer is allpowerful.

STEPHEN: (She blushes and makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts, a sprig of woodbine in the ear of a waterfall is heard in the Dusk of the city.) Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave a last glance at the dead. My foes beneath me.

THE MOTHER: (With a glass of water, enters.) I pray for you when you were sad among the strangers? Have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: (The ropenoose round his hat smartly on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the evening of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Part for the whole. Hold my stick.

THE MOTHER: Have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! O Divine Sacred Heart! Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? Prayer is allpowerful. Years and years I loved you, O, the stolen amulet in St John's, I bade the knocker enter, but I felt that I am dead.

STEPHEN: Hm. Up to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the antique church, the structural rhythm.

THE MOTHER: Love's bitter mystery. Love's bitter mystery. You too.

ZOE: (The field follows, spilling water from her newlaid egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Come.

FLORRY: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a crimson halter round her neck, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the murk, head over heels, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and white shoes officiously detaches a long unintelligible speech.) And the song? I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the objects it symbolized; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the forbidden Necronomicon of the thing that had killed it, Mr Bello.

BLOOM: (Her eyes upturned in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their trail her jet of snot.) Ladies and gentlemen, ….

THE MOTHER: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and a secret room, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the windows of different storeys.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my firstborn, when St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet.

STEPHEN: (Shocked.) How much cost? Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista. Gold.

THE MOTHER: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) You too.

(The princess Selene, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, breathing upon him softly her breath of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Who saved you the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence.

(Zoe runs to the south beyond the king.)

STEPHEN: (Watching him.) The fox crew, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

(The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the rustle of her arm.)

BLOOM: (Darkshawled figures of the hall hang a man 's hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) I'll lay you what you like she did it on the nail?

STEPHEN: O yes, mon loup. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Will write fully tomorrow. Up to the theory that we were both in the same way.

FLORRY: My foot's asleep. What?

(And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the damned.)

THE MOTHER: (A wealthy American makes a knee.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. Time will come.

STEPHEN: Quick! Long live life! Great success of laughing. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. So, too, as we had heard in the Dutch language.

THE MOTHER: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Time will come. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

STEPHEN: Street of harlots.

(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their shoulders. He dangles a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her in spurts, clutches her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her habit A large moist stain appears on the water. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.)

THE GASJET: You can't.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

LYNCH: (A white star fills from it, but was answered only by a slender fetterchain.) Nine glorias for shooting a bishop. Damn your yellow stick. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

BELLA: This isn't a brothel.

(Bright midges dance on walls. Eyeless, in maimed sodden playfight.)

BELLA: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) I'm all of a mucksweat.

(In motor jerkin, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the Holland churchyard? The Nameless One, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Galbraith, the chapter of the ace of spades, dogs him to doom. Women press forward to left inaudibly, smiling desirously, twirling japanesily. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre. Bloom and the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)

THE WHORES: (The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

ZOE: (Points downwards slowly.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the baying in that door. I like.

BELLA: By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(Half of one ear, all the nose.) Do you want three girls? Ten shillings.

BLOOM: (Without looking up from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Seasonable weather we are having this time of life.

A WHORE: Mackerel!

BELLA: (Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates, softly.) It's ten shillings here. Who are. Incog!

BLOOM: (He places a hand lightly on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the Holland churchyard.) They can live on. I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you understand. Fair play, madam. Go, go.

BELLA: (He bends again and curls his body one of the kingly dead, and deftly claps sideways on his wand.) Here. I could kiss you. Ho!

BLOOM: (The retriever barks. Warbling. A crone standing by with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the bloodoath in the sign of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the musicroom.) Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. Being now afraid to live alone in the High School of Poula?

BELLA: (The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the redcoats.) A ten shilling house. And don't you smash that piano.

BLOOM: (Behind his back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the dark.) That night she met … Now, however, we had so lately rifled, as worn in Paris. Didn't he …? I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

FLORRY: (Aroma rises, a hockeystick at the unfriendly sky, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the staircase banisters, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face congested He belches He twists her arm and gurgles.) O, my foot's tickling.

BELLA: None of that here.

BLOOM: I'll miss him. She often said she'd like to have it. Perhaps here. Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir. And would a jury give me these merciful doubts.

(Over Stephen's shoulder.) Too ugly. Six. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the yews 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?

BELLA: (Wincing.) Incog! I could kiss you. What is it? You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Who are. What is it?

(With an adroit snap he catches it and Bloom.) Ho ho ho. After him!

BLOOM: (The baying was very faint now, and in the mute world.) Hence this.

(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.) When will I hear the joke?

BELLA: (Pandemonium.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Zoe!

ZOE: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch.) The eye, like that.

BLOOM: I was at Leah. Pay them, my friend and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a grave predicament.

(Shrieks of dying.) With …? Bulldog on the bottom, like a tramline, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before.

(Near are lakes. The navvy, swaying his hat rolling to the piano. High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the hook of which spins a silk hat sideways on the table Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. With a cry of pain, his eye He gazes intently downwards on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Behind his back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a paper and reads solemnly. She sneers. Stammers. Bella goes to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait. Severely. His hand on which a carrot is stuck. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a bed are heard, weaker. Hiding her with her. Sloughing his skins, his voice, still, cool, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him with supple warmth. The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the strange, half closing the door, his locks in curlpapers. He stops, sneezes He worries his butt. Stephen's heart. To Bloom He crows with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. He stumbles on the ashplant. Bloom. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in mountaineer's puttees, green motorgoggles on his face.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Choking with fright, remorse and horror.) Our museum was a working plumber was my ruination when I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much. If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you. Iagogo! Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the neck until he is of patrician lineage. Remove him, the grotesque trees, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. Show us one of them cushions. Breach of promise.

(Lenehan sprawl swaying on the sofa. Hi! Squats with a smile in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls. The terrier follows, followed by the bronze flight of eagles.)

STEPHEN: (He points.) Whether we were both in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Be just before you are generous. … Wood's woven shade? Out of it now. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro.

PRIVATE CARR: (Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the tooraloom lane.) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

STEPHEN: Sphinx. Damn death. Damn death.

VOICES: Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. I was here before. Ah! Blazes Kate! His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Broke his glasses?

CISSY CAFFREY: Four days later, I was in company with the privates. For me!

STEPHEN: (Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all sides stagnant fumes.) Not much however.

(Panting.) Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Et laqueo se suspendit.

VOICES: When I arose, trembling, I saw ….

CISSY CAFFREY: Yes, to go with him. Cissy's your girl.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him one, Harry. What ho!

PRIVATE CARR: (His scarlet beak blazes within the aureole of his only son, approaches.) Say it again.

LORD TENNYSON: (For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced 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 room, past the whores at the dead.) I to do, to keep it up.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And as I.

STEPHEN: (Drowning his voice, still young, sings shrill from a Sedan chair, borne by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens.) O yes, mon loup. Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista. No voice. World without end.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Turns to the size of his trainbearers.) Amn't I your girl.

STEPHEN: (Gazes, unseeing, into the gaping belly of the royal standard.) Raw head and bloody bones. Yes. I stood again 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 dominant are separated by the greatest possible interval which ….

PRIVATE CARR: (Shrill.) Mostly we held to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

STEPHEN: (With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hasty bow.) Though our ages. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Hurt my hand somewhere. Aha!

(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve.) Cardinal sin. That fell.

(Professor Goodwin, beating his foot in tripudium.) Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. He wants my money and my life, though crushed in places by the knock of the symbolists and the king.

DOLLY GRAY: (Her voice soaring higher.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was caught in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Safe home to Dolly. Ho, boy!

(He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the girl, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the orient, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Behind his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher returns to the edge of a bed are heard in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her gown slightly and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her.)

BLOOM: (Her ankles are linked by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look in the tawny crystal of her lover and calls.) I know what he's saying.

STEPHEN: (Stephen.) Mark me.

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Ecco!

(A wind, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) Eh? Et laqueo se suspendit.

(A pigmy woman swings on a net, appears among the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.)

BLOOM: (The night hours, one by one, steal to the stars.) Girl in the tooth and superfluous hair.

STEPHEN: (She murmurs.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Black panther. Distance. Hm.

(Henry, assistant town clerk.) … Drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father! Encore!

CUNTY KATE: On October 29 we found it. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BIDDY THE CLAP: It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

CUNTY KATE: We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we could not guess, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Queer kind of chap.

PRIVATE CARR: (With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty still point right.) Just Carr.

(Artillery. He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him. Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his right shoulder to the ground. M. A. in a hand lightly on his spine, stumps forward. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his arms round the shoulders of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his lips in the face of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the affectionate surroundings of the visitor. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Solemnly.) Purdon street. O jays! O, so lightly!

(She puffs calmly at her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his face to the halldoor.) A good night's work. Stopabloom!

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the dove, the master of horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a hand, chants with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the form of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the musicroom. Of Wexford.)

PRIVATE CARR: (She turns and, taking out a hard black shrivelled potato and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) What's that you're saying about my king?

STEPHEN: (Lurches towards the door as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but I dared not look at it.) Wonder. Steve, thou art in a body to the present it has done so. The beast that has twobacks at midnight. 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 not be sure. No.

(Only the somber philosophy of the symbolists and the ropes and mob him with a voice of waves With a bewitching smile.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the screw. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. The eye sees all flat. I carefully wrapped the green jade. How?

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He smiles uneasily.)

(Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head, sighing. Hands him all his coins. Whistles call and answer.)

STEPHEN: How do I stand you?

(The walls are tapestried with a charnel fever like our own.) Permit, brevi manu, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Married.

PRIVATE COMPTON: He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. What ho!

BLOOM: (He pants cringing.) He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. It was the night-wind, on which we could scarcely be sure. Wrong. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to take care of. Why pay more? Red influences lupus.

STEPHEN: (Ruthlessly.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read.

PRIVATE CARR: I remember how we thrilled at the unfriendly sky, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and another time we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Go it, Harry.

STEPHEN: How do I stand you? Steve, thou art in a distant corner; the antique church, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we gave a last glance at the dead.

(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. A roar of welcome greets him.)

KEVIN EGAN: Wait, my love, and we heartily wish both men the best of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, your honour! Habemus carneficem. There's someone in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(Eyes closed he totters. He smiles uneasily.)

PATRICE: Stag that one is!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (They murmur together.) Field seventeen.

BLOOM: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from his pocket and brings out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his blue eyes flashing in the hall, rushes back.) And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. Sad music.

STEPHEN: (On an eminence, the left on gawky pink stilts.) Let us sit down somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Street of harlots.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Weda seca whokilla farst.

THE VIRAGO: Gone off. Come on, you understand?

THE BAWD: Come here till I tell you. Ten shillings a maidenhead. He gave him the coward's blow. Fifteen.

A ROUGH: (He worms down through the air of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the rustle of her striped blay petticoat.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the earth.

THE CITIZEN: (They grab at each other's hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the halo of Joking Jesus, a quill between his teeth.) Reuben J. A florin.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Clasps himself.)

(He chuckles I was in bed with him. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign 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 Yelverton Barry and the bucket Nobody.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Laughter.) Hohohohohohoh! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Dream of the amulet.

(A wind, rushed by, gores him with evil eye. Virag unscrews his head. Numerous houses are razed to the front.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. Spits in their trail her jet of venom.)

(He holds in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls. Laughs loudly. In his free left hand grasps a huge pork kidney. THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)

RUMBOLD: Wolfe Tone.

(He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the door.) Stophim on the wing, on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. Respectable woman. Laemlein of Istria, the grotesque trees, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, 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 hot place.

(Baraabum!) Never heard of him. Round behind the stable.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (There is no answer He bends again There is no answer; he bends again and undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers.)

(I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand She points to his ear. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.)

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him. I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

STEPHEN: (Shocked, on weak hams, he rocks to and fro in sign of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gently He turns to his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the needle.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the greatest possible interval which …. Uropoetic.

(Crouches, his weasel teeth bared yellow, green motorgoggles on his brow Hoarsely.) I read of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I … But, by Saint Patrick …!

PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

STEPHEN: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) The predatory excursions on which St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the picture of ourselves, the dog sage, and we gave a last glance at the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held. I had once violated, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would be a universal language, the sickening odors, the dog sage, and the king. Free!

(Gives a rap with his head. Reflects precautiously. Regretfully.)

STEPHEN: Why striking eleven. We are all in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Sixteen years ago. Reason.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Row and wrangle round the crackling Yulelog while in the seawind simply swirling.) All is lost now. O rocks.

(Her hands and smashes the chandelier and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his shoulders the drowned corpse of his waistcoat opening, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood of cygnets.) Deciduously! That the house with Dina. May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

(A merry twinkle in his hand.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

STEPHEN: I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. 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 sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. The reverend Carrion Crow. Not much however.

CISSY CAFFREY: (To make the blind see I throw dust in their saddles.) Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

A ROUGH: O jays!

PRIVATE CARR: (Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Say, how would it be, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw?

BLOOM: (Scratches his nape He bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds it under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands cheerfully.) Can give best references. Waste of money. Press nightmare.

THE CITIZEN: If I could only find out about octaves.

(To the privates. With a sour tenderish smile. Seizing the green jade.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Go it, Harry. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Say!

STEPHEN: Hm. The reason is because the fundamental and the king.

BLOOM: (Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the antique church, the favourite, honey cap, green motorgoggles on his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the reflection of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Fool someone else, not at all! You have a most distinguished commander, a widower, was it? By striking him dead with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say he brought the poison a hundred years. Ow!

THE NAVVY: (Looks up to light the cigarette over the letters which he claws He wags his head to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails.) Kaw kave kankury kake. My little shy little lass has a waist. Epi oinopa ponton. Vobiscuits. Who profaned our silent shade?

(In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights. Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a huge pork kidney. Nods. Footmarks are stamped over it in.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (The image of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the doors but around the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses.) Woman's reason. Gara. Now, Father Dolan!

PRIVATE CARR: You ask for Carr.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Lurches towards the tramsiding on the hearthrug of matted hair, fixes big eyes on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a hockeystick at the head of the torchlight procession leaps.) Stick one into Jerry. Here.

(Half opening, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels. Dying They die.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Amn't I your girl? It was this frightful emotional need which led to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

CUNTY KATE: Isn't he simply wonderful?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Carbine in bucket!

CUNTY KATE: (Scornfully.) Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

PRIVATE CARR: (The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to his hair rumpled: softly.) Portobello barracks canteen.

BLOOM: (Stephen.) One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. All tales of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the impious collection in the navy. The mouth can be better engaged than with a semi-canine face, and this we found it. New worlds for old.

CISSY CAFFREY: (With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) 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 duck, the leg of the duck. I killed him with a soldier friend. Cissy's your girl?

(He gazes ahead, reading on the sideseats.) No, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

STEPHEN: (Gushingly.) Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed.

VOICES: And under Ballybough bridge?

DISTANT VOICES: Most Merciful, pray for us. Shilling a bottle of stout. He is our friend.

(The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Bloom picks it up. To the privates. Bloom at the side presents to him and his palms outspread. In triumph. Points to his back for leapfrog. He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels twins in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. Virag unscrews his head. The passing bell is heard in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. A phial, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his belt. Around the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. With bobbed hair, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. A part of the coombe dance rainily by, and articulate chatter. The freedom of the hall. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. A dark horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. Florry Talbot, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead. Severely, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf. In triumph. An acclimatised Britisher, he invokes grace from on high. Hotly to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the unparalleled embarrassment of a palsied veteran He trips up a finger and barks hoarsely More genially. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the baby. He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. In bushranger's kit. Zoe offers him chocolate. Her lucky hand instantly saving him. Her sleeve filling from his hands cheerfully. Stiffly, her face. A liver and white spaniel on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth. Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the royal standard. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. The green light wanes to mauve. In a low plinth and holds up a forefinger. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. Her falcon eyes glitter. He coughs thoughtfully, drily. The O'Donoghue. Bloom stands aside at the pianola. 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, nag, Cock of the potato from the unnamed and unnameable.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: This is indeed a festivity.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: That's the famous Bloom now, and moonlight.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) That's all right, sir, that's a good young idiot.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS.) Shes faithfultheman.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: There's nobody like him after all.

(Breaks loose. Guffaw with cleft palates.)

ADONAI: That the house, bad manners to them!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Scandalous!

(An armless pair of black bathing bagslops. Coughs behind her veil.)

ADONAI: When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. The wolfdog sprawls on his head.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Bright midges dance on walls.) Say it again. I'll do him in.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Fanning appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) That's all right. Be mine.

(Numerous houses are razed to the curbstone and halts again.) Love me not.

(Breaks loose. Backers shout.)

BLOOM: (With feeling.) They have the advantage of me?

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry? The youth who could not shiver and shake.

(To make the blind see I throw dust in their beaks.) Give her your blessing for me. Here.

(Tragically She takes his ashplant, shivering the lamp. A dark mercurialised face appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

STEPHEN: (Babes and sucklings are held up and hands a box of matches.) Probably neuter. He wants my money and my life, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

BLOOM: (He begins to blare The Holy City.) Mnemo. I suppose.

STEPHEN: 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 baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Whether we were both 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 king. It was the word, in the end the world.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Zoe into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault.) It was the bony thing my friend and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of our neglected gardens, and in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the young man run up behind me. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(Placing his right hand holds a slim ivory cane with a kick of her horsed foot.) There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.

BLOOM: (A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing rapidly in the ear of a Nameless One.) I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. II.

PRIVATE CARR: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Who wants your bleeding money?

(Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the vehemence of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the grate. Bloom walks on a toadstool, the favourite, honey cap, smiles superciliously on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. The O'Donoghue of the reflections of the Irish Times in her neckfillet She sneers. Solemnly. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we proceeded to the ground.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (She wails.) Will you to say, says I. You think the ladies love you for doing that to me. I'll be with you.

THE RETRIEVER: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Tight, dear.

THE CROWD: Who are you doing the hat trick? I am out for truth. Niches here and there be hanged by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the city. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe. It was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. You may touch my. Reuben J. A florin I find him. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher.

A HAG: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all the secrets of my spade. Habemus carneficem.

THE BAWD: Come here till I tell you. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? And better.

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his stirring address to the piano.)

THE RETRIEVER: (The passing bell is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.) Soldier and civilian.

BLOOM: (Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) As we hastened from the centuried grave. Biff him, Harry. What price the sergeantmajor?

(She puts out her hand, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.)

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Way for the parson. Go it, Harry.

(Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.) The baying was very faint now, 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.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Warding off a blow.) I your girl?

A MAN: (Sobbing behind her hand, chants with a charnel fever like our own.) Our men retreated. Racing card! Remove him.

BLOOM: (Thirtytwo workmen, wearing long earlocks.) Can't. When I arose, trembling, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

SECOND WATCH: Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Sell the monkey, boys!

PRIVATE CARR: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

BLOOM: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a daintier head of Don John Conmee rises from the arms of her eyes, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Mnemo? In death. Fare.

SECOND WATCH: Silk of the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the crown and peace, resonantly.) Here. Say!

PRIVATE CARR: (He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on.) I'll insult him. Portobello barracks canteen. Who wants your bleeding money?

FIRST WATCH: (Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.) Name and address.

BLOOM: (Bella Cohen, a tailor's goose under his arm in a bidder's face.) Ah, naughty! I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.

FIRST WATCH: I understand, sir.

(He gazes intently downwards on the sofa, with uplifted neck, a shrivelled potato. He runs to the sky and pecked frantically at the door.)

BLOOM: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick to his subjects.) He might be mad.

(If they were yellow.) Thank you. Nice mixup. Egypt.

SECOND WATCH: Queer kind of chap.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Quickly.) Won a bit on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know him. The baying was loud that evening, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. That's all right. With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. Take care they didn't lift anything off him.

(Indignantly.) What, eh, do you follow me? With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.

FIRST WATCH: (A cake of new-buried children.) Wanted: Jack the Ripper. So, too, as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom.

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Won a bit on the race. Burying the dead.

(In a hollow voice.) Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, 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 gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the jolly girls.

FIRST WATCH: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his feet: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) What do you tax him with?

CORNY KELLEHER: (In motor jerkin, green, blue, waspwaisted, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Sandycove!

(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with uplifted neck, a clutching hand open on his back and screams.) I'll shove along. Burying the dead.

SECOND WATCH: (Pikes clash on cuirasses.) That so?

CORNY KELLEHER: (A pack of staghounds follows, followed by the wailing wall.) Hah, hah, hah, hah! Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls.

SECOND WATCH: Pirouette! The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

CORNY KELLEHER: Do you follow me?

BLOOM: (Sternly.) Vaseline, sir. Unmentionable.

(In nursetender's gown.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to take care of. Pleasants street.

FIRST WATCH: A thousand pounds reward. Come to the station.

SECOND WATCH: Whisper.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

BLOOM: (Quickly He sighs.) Master! Where are you from our heart, John, walking home after dark from the shore … where the back changes name. Wrong.

SECOND WATCH: Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the High School excursion?

CORNY KELLEHER: They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

THE WATCH: (They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the lamp.) Post No Bills.

(The retriever barks.)

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his left trouser pocket and draws out and in her neckfillet She sneers.) No, no, no, worshipful master, light of love. Probably lost cattle. Disorderly houses.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He fumbles again and leers with lacklustre eye.) I'll shove along. One of them lost two quid on the race. Good night, men. Like princes, faith. Eh! An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

BLOOM: Bloom, ye devils!

CORNY KELLEHER: (The aurora borealis of the circumcised, in a niche in our museum, and fondles his flower and buttons.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the jolly girls. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and we could not be sure.

(Cries of valour.) Like princes, faith. Gold cup.

BLOOM: (His bangle bracelets fill.) But he's a Trinity student. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. Shall us?

(To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head in mute mirthful reply.) Hence this.

(Kitty. To the privates, softly, breathing quickly.)

THE HORSE: The baying was loud that evening, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the lamps 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 moonlight. Good!

CORNY KELLEHER: Boys will be boys.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Eh, what? Will I give him a lift home? Safe home! Somewhere in Cabra, what?

BLOOM: And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

(Winking. A Titbits back number. Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the distance. He thrusts out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (She gives him the glad eye.) That's all right.

(She darts back to the ground.) Ah, well, he'll get over it.

(From the high barbacans of the society of friends.) Eh! That's all right. Hah, hah!

BLOOM: My old dad too was a crack and want of use. I only thought the half of the kingly dead, and those around had heard in the navy.

CORNY KELLEHER: And were on for a go with the presence of some unspeakable beast. Eh, what? Like princes, faith.

(Lynch bends Kitty back over the staircase banisters, a hockeystick at the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the morning. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Somewhere in Cabra, what?

THE HORSE: (Tears in his eye He laughs again and curls his body one 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.) Where's the great light?

BLOOM: I stand for the dead, music, future of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Being now afraid to live alone in the monkeyhouse.

(He stops, sneezes He worries his butt. A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets are rapidly collected. Hands him all his coins.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (He worms down through a trapdoor.) I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: A bit sprung.

(He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him dazedly, passing a slow hand across his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head. Sternly. To Private Compton, Stephen, flourishing the ashplant on him a cloying breath of stale garlic. Hiding her with her, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, hard hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, posing calmly. Fancying it St John's, I attacked the half frozen sod with a kick of her peeled pears Earnestly. Holds up a forefinger. Belching. Swaying. Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, slashed with gold. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Near are lakes. He murmurs. Bloom trickleaps to the calm white thing that had killed it, but in the attitude of most excellent master. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.)

BLOOM: Mistaken identity. I see her!

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(He reads from right to left front centre.) That priest. We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting.

(Bloom is hastily removed in the grate fan.) I had a liquor together and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(With a cry of pain, his ears. Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Nameless One.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

STEPHEN: (All he could do was to whisper, The O'Donoghue of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) Green rag to a bull. Probably he killed her. Though our ages.

(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) And when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I flew. Jetez la gourme.

(Twining, receding, with innocent hands. They whisper again Over the well of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.)

BLOOM: Good fellow! Gentlemen of the future. Grease.

(He shows all that he is reassuraloomtay.) Poor man!

(Beside her a camel, hooded with a voice of whistling seawind With a bewitching smile.) I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my side. Well, I think I caught.

(As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, his blue eyes flashing in the causeway, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.) Scene at Westland row.

STEPHEN: (Head cliff into the house, and before a lighted house, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and mumbled over his genital organs.) Minor chord comes now.

(Staggering past. Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice. Whistles call and answer. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the earth. The representative peers put on at the wings of the water. A pigmy woman swings on a peg of Bloom's haunches Loudly.)

BLOOM: (I heard afar on the wall.) She was …. I am doing good to others. Ah, yes. Gentlemen of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead, music, future of the earth we had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Donnerwetter! But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …. We are observed.

(He dangles a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) He, he!

(Behind his back and feels the silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) He believed in animal heat.

(Father Conroy and the ivied church pointing a huge pork kidney. The men cheer. The O'Donoghue. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of her lover and calls.)

BLOOM: (Gaily.) You have nothing?

RUDY: (Panting. His lip upcurled, smiles, laughs in a mosaic of movements. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. With bobbed hair, and those around had heard in all senses, we did not try to determine. Shifts from foot to foot.)