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STEPHEN: _Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti._ Queens lay with prize bulls.
Remember Pasiphae for whose l.u.s.t my grandoldgrossfather made the first confess...o...b..x. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark was open.
BELLA: None of that here. Come to the wrong shop.
LYNCH: Let him alone. He's back from Paris.
ZOE: _(Runs to stephen and links him)_ O go on! Give us some parleyvoo.
_(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted smile on his face.)_
LYNCH: _(Oommelling on the sofa)_ Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.
STEPHEN: _(Gabbles with marionette jerks)_ Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.
Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and h.e.l.l show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.
Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with _dessous troublants_. _(He clacks his tongue loudly)_ _Ho, la la!
Ce pif qu'il a!_
LYNCH: _Vive le vampire!_
THE Wh.o.r.eS: Bravo! Parleyvoo!
STEPHEN: _(Grimacing with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself)_ Great success of laughing. Angels much prost.i.tutes like and holy apostles big d.a.m.n ruffians. _Demimondaines_ nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? _(He points about him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the wh.o.r.es reply to)_ Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully b.e.s.t.i.a.l butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly _piece de Shakespeare._
BELLA: _(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a shout of laughter)_ An omelette on the... Ho! ho! ho! ho!... omelette on the...
STEPHEN: _(Mincingly)_ I love you, sir darling. Speak you englishman tongue for _double entente cordiale._ O yes, _mon loup_. How much cost?
Waterloo. Watercloset. _(He ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)_
BELLA: _(Laughing)_ Omelette...
THE Wh.o.r.eS: _(Laughing)_ Encore! Encore!
STEPHEN: Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon.
ZOE: Go abroad and love a foreign lady.
LYNCH: Across the world for a wife.
FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.
STEPHEN: _(Extends his arms)_ It was here. Street of harlots. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Where's the red carpet spread?
BLOOM: _(Approaching Stephen)_ Look...
STEPHEN: No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever shall be. World without end. _(He cries) P_ater! Free!
BLOOM: I say, look...
STEPHEN: Break my spirit, will he? _O merde alors! (He cries, his vulture talons sharpened)_ Hola! Hillyho!
_(Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)_
SIMON: That's all right. _(He swoops uncertainly through the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings)_ Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with those halfcastes. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an a.s.s. Head up! Keep our flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed.
Ulster king at arms! Haihoop! _(He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue)_ Bulbul! Burblblburblbl! Hai, boy!
_(The fronds and s.p.a.ces of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.
A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the leaves. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, hot for a kill. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, la.s.sos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts, hoa.r.s.e bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)_
THE CROWD:
Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the clay!
Ten to one bar one! Ten to one bar one!
Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!
Ten to one bar one!
Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
I'll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!
_(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost, his mane moonfoaming, his eyeb.a.l.l.s stars. The field follows, a bunch of bucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, c.o.c.k of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick at the ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.)_
THE ORANGE LODGES: _(Jeering)_ Get down and push, mister. Last lap!
You'll be home the night!
GARRETT DEASY: _(Bolt upright, his nailsc.r.a.ped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in the prism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop)_
_Per vias rectas!_
_(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes.)_
THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!
_(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pa.s.s beneath the windows, singing in discord.)_
STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.
ZOE: _(Holds up her hand)_ Stop!
PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY:
Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for...
ZOE: That's me. _(She claps her hands)_ Dance! Dance! _(She runs to the pianola)_ Who has twopence?
BLOOM: Who'll...?
LYNCH: _(Handing her coins)_ Here.
