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d.a.m.n death. Long live life!
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Levitates over heaps of slain, in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosph.o.r.escent face)_
My methods are new and are causing surprise. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.
STEPHEN: Kings and unicorns! _(He fills back a pace)_ Come somewhere and we'll... What was that girl saying?...
PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Stick one into Jerry.
BLOOM: _(To the privates, softly)_ He doesn't know what he's saying.
Taken a little more than is good for him. Absinthe. Greeneyed monster. I know him. He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right.
STEPHEN: _(Nods, smiling and laughing)_ Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.
PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a b.u.g.g.e.r who he is.
PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a b.u.g.g.e.r who he is.
STEPHEN: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.
_(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish ta.s.selled shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)_
KEVIN EGAN: H'lo! _Bonjour!_ The _vieille ogresse_ with the _dents jaunes_.
_(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.)_
PATRICE: _Socialiste!_
DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: _(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his helm, with n.o.ble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates)_ Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!
BLOOM: _(To Stephen)_ Come home. You'll get into trouble.
STEPHEN: _(Swaying)_ I don't avoid it. He provokes my intelligence.
BIDDY THE CLAP: One immediately observes that he is of patrician lineage.
THE VIRAGO: Green above the red, says he. Wolfe Tone.
THE BAWD: The red's as good as the green. And better. Up the soldiers!
Up King Edward!
A ROUGH: _(Laughs)_ Ay! Hands up to De Wet.
THE CITIZEN: _(With a huge emerald m.u.f.fler and shillelagh, calls)_
May the G.o.d above Send down a dove With teeth as sharp as razors To slit the throats Of the English dogs That hanged our Irish leaders.
THE CROPPY BOY: _(The ropenoose round his neck, gripes in his issuing bowels with both hands)_
I bear no hate to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.
RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: _(Accompanied by two blackmasked a.s.sistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens)_ Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a sheet in the cellar, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. Phial containing a.r.s.enic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows.
_(He jerks the rope. The a.s.sistants leap at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.)_
THE CROPPY BOY:
Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.
_(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the cobblestones. Mrs Bellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)_
RUMBOLD: I'm near it myself. _(He undoes the noose)_ Rope which hanged the awful rebel. Ten shillings a time. As applied to Her Royal Highness.
_(He plunges his head into the gaping belly of the hanged and draws out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails)_ My painful duty has now been done. G.o.d save the king!
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Dances slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and sings with soft contentment)_
On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine!
PRIVATE CARR: Here. What are you saying about my king?
STEPHEN: _(Throws up his hands)_ O, this is too monotonous! Nothing.
He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his. Money I haven't. _(He searches his pockets vaguely)_ GAVE IT TO SOMEONE.
PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money?
STEPHEN: _(Tries to move off)_ Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet these necessary evils? _ca se voit aussi a paris._ Not that I... But, by Saint Patrick...!
_(The women's heads coalesce. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the potato blight on her breast.)_
STEPHEN: Aha! I know you, gammer! Hamlet, revenge! The old sow that eats her farrow!
OLD GUMMY GRANNY: _(Rocking to and fro)_ Ireland's sweetheart, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna. Strangers in my house, bad manners to them!
_(She keens with banshee woe)_ Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! _(She wails)_ You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?
STEPHEN: How do I stand you? The hat trick! Where's the third person of the Blessed Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.
CISSY CAFFREY: _(Shrill)_ Stop them from fighting!
A ROUGH: Our men retreated.
PRIVATE CARR: _(Tugging at his belt)_ I'll wring the neck of any f.u.c.ker says a word against my f.u.c.king king.
BLOOM: _(Terrified)_ He said nothing. Not a word. A pure misunderstanding.
THE CITIZEN: _Erin go bragh!_
_(Major Tweedy and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Both salute with fierce hostility.)_
PRIVATE COMPTON: Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He's a proboer.
