Ulysses

Eh? He disengages himself. Why should I not speak to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? He points his finger. I’m not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. Retaining the perpendicular. He staggers a pace back. Bloom Propping him. Retain your own. Stephen Laughs emptily. My centre of gravity is displaced. I have forgotten the trick. Let us sit down somewhere and discuss. Struggle for life is the law of existence but modern philirenists, notably the tsar and the king of England, have invented arbitration. He taps his brow. But in here it is I must kill the priest and the king. Biddy The Clap Did you hear what the professor said? He’s a professor out of the college. Cunty Kate I did. I heard that. Biddy The Clap He expresses himself with much marked refinement of phraseology. Cunty Kate Indeed, yes. And at the same time with such apposite trenchancy. Private Carr Pulls himself free and comes forward. What’s that you’re saying about my king? Edward the Seventh appears in an archway. He wears a white jersey on which an image of the Sacred Heart is stitched, with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner’s and Probyn’s horse, Lincoln’s Inns’ bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachussetts. He sucks a red jujube. He is robed as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, marked made in Germany. In his left hand he holds a plasterer’s bucket on which is printed: Défense d’uriner. A roar of welcome greets him. Edward The Seventh Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly. Peace, perfect peace. For identification bucket in my hand. Cheerio, boys. He turns to his subjects. We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Mahak makar a back. He shakes hands with Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, Bloom and Lynch. General applause. Edward the Seventh lifts the bucket graciously in acknowledgement. Private Carr To Stephen. Say it again. Stephen Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up. I understand your point of view, though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age of patent medicine. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is the point. You die for your country, suppose. He places his arm on Private Carr’s sleeve. Not that I wish it for you. But I say: Let my country die for me. Up to the present it has done so. I don’t want it to die. Damn 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 phosphorescent 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 falls 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. Taking a little more than is good for him. Absinthe, the 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 bugger who he is. Private Compton We don’t give a bugger who he is. Stephen I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull. Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled 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 rabbit face nibbling a quince leaf. Patrice Socialiste! Don Emile Patrizio Franz Rupert Pope Hennessy In medieval hauberk, two wild geese valant on his helm, with noble 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 muffler and shillelagh, calls.

May the God above
Send down a dove
With teeth as sharp as razors
To slit the throat
Of the English dogs
That hanged our Irish leaders.

The Croppy Boy

The rope noose 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 assistants, advances with a 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 arsenic retrieved from the body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows. He jerks the rope, the assistants leap at the victim’s legs and drag him downward, grunting: the croppy boy’s tongue protrudes violently. The Croppy Boy

Horhot ho hray ho rhother’s hest

He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his death clothes on to the cobblestones. Mrs Bellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervy 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 His Royal Highness. He plunges