From 2311a5118f9b7bdb106527c5d4c6ff5365959e59 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Ronan Crowley Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2017 10:46:32 -0500 Subject: [PATCH] Dialogue tagging (said/who) #19 --- u12_cyclops.xml | 1156 +++++++++++++++++++++++------------------------ 1 file changed, 578 insertions(+), 578 deletions(-) diff --git a/u12_cyclops.xml b/u12_cyclops.xml index f3cec58..aa62984 100755 --- a/u12_cyclops.xml +++ b/u12_cyclops.xml @@ -4,25 +4,25 @@ and he near drove his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. -―Lo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that bloody -chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? -―Soot's luck, says Joe. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? -―Old Troy, says I, was in the force. I'm on two minds not to give that +―Lo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that bloody +chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? +―Soot's luck, says Joe. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? +―Old Troy, says I, was in the force. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and -ladders. -―What are you doing round those parts? says Joe. -―Devil a much, says I. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the +ladders. +―What are you doing round those parts? says Joe. +―Devil a much, says I. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane – old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him – lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near -Heytesbury street. -―Circumcised? says Joe. -―Ay, says I. A bit off the top. An old plumber named Geraghty. I'm +Heytesbury street. +―Circumcised? says Joe. +―Ay, says I. A bit off the top. An old plumber named Geraghty. I'm hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out -of him. -―That the lay you're on now? says Joe. -―Ay, says I. How are the mighty fallen! Collector of bad and doubtful +of him. +―That the lay you're on now? says Joe. +―Ay, says I. How are the mighty fallen! Collector of bad and doubtful debts. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Tell him, says he, I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round @@ -50,18 +50,18 @@ herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. -―Are you a strict t. t.? says Joe. -―Not taking anything between drinks, says I. -―What about paying our respects to our friend? says Joe. -―Who? says I. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. -―Drinking his own stuff? says Joe. -―Ay, says I. Whisky and water on the brain. -―Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. I want to see the citizen. -―Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? -―Not a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the City Arms. -―What was that, Joe? says I. -―Cattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. I want to give -the citizen the hard word about it.

+―Are you a strict t. t.? says Joe. +―Not taking anything between drinks, says I. +―What about paying our respects to our friend? says Joe. +―Who? says I. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. +―Drinking his own stuff? says Joe. +―Ay, says I. Whisky and water on the brain. +―Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. I want to see the citizen. +―Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? +―Not a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the City Arms. +―What was that, Joe? says I. +―Cattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. I want to give +the citizen the hard word about it.

So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Jesus, I couldn't get over that bloody @@ -120,33 +120,33 @@ citizen up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink. -―There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load -of papers, working for the cause.

+―There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load +of papers, working for the cause.

The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. -―Stand and deliver, says he. -―That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here. -―Pass, friends, says he.

+―Stand and deliver, says he. +―That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here. +―Pass, friends, says he.

Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: -―What's your opinion of the times?

+―What's your opinion of the times?

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion. -―I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

+―I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: -―Foreign wars is the cause of it.

+―Foreign wars is the cause of it.

And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: -―It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. -―Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. I've a thirst on me I -wouldn't sell for half a crown. -―Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. -―Wine of the country, says he. -―What's yours? says Joe. -―Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. -―Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he. -―Never better, a chara, says he. What Garry? Are we going to win? Eh?

+―It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. +―Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. I've a thirst on me I +wouldn't sell for half a crown. +―Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. +―Wine of the country, says he. +―What's yours? says Joe. +―Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. +―Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he. +―Never better, a chara, says he. What Garry? Are we going to win? Eh?

And with that he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he near throttled him.

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower @@ -207,39 +207,39 @@

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him land out a quid. O, as true as I'm telling you. A goodlooking sovereign. -―And there's more where that came from, says he. -―Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? says I. -―Sweat of my brow, says Joe. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the -wheeze. -―I saw him before I met you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek -street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish.

+―And there's more where that came from, says he. +―Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? says I. +―Sweat of my brow, says Joe. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the +wheeze. +―I saw him before I met you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek +street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish.

Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul. -―For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised +―For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house. And look at this -blasted rag, says he. Look at this, says he. The Irish Independent, if you +blasted rag, says he. Look at this, says he. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you -and the marriages.

+and the marriages.

And he starts reading them out: -―Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on +―Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. How's that, eh? Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. Eh? Deaths. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, -Chepstow ... -―I know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience. -―Cockburn. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, +Chepstow ... +―I know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience. +―Cockburn. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown -son! How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? -―Ah, well, says Joe, handing round the boose. Thanks be to God they had -the start of us. Drink that, citizen. -―I will, says he, honourable person. -―Health, Joe, says I. And all down the form.

+son! How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? +―Ah, well, says Joe, handing round the boose. Thanks be to God they had +the start of us. Drink that, citizen. +―I will, says he, honourable person. +―Health, Joe, says I. And all down the form.

Ah! Ow! Don't be talking! I was blue mouldy for the want of that pint. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came @@ -255,29 +255,29 @@ bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. I thought Alf would split. -―Look at him, says he. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a -postcard someone sent him with U. p: up on it to take a li ...

+―Look at him, says he. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a +postcard someone sent him with U. p: up on it to take a li ...

And he doubled up. -―Take a what? says I. -―Libel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds. -―O hell! says I.

+―Take a what? says I. +―Libel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds. +―O hell! says I.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. -―Bi i dho husht, says he. -―Who? says Joe. -―Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round +―Bi i dho husht, says he. +―Who? says Joe. +―Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. O God, I've a pain laughing. U. p: up. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old -lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man. -―When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe. -―Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan? -―Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony. +lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man. +―When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe. +―Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan? +―Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony. That bloody old fool! Ten thousand pounds. You should have seen long -John's eye. U. p ....

+John's eye. U. p ....

And he started laughing. -―Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan? -―Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

+―Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan? +―Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foamy ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of @@ -298,43 +298,43 @@ rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. -―What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen, prowling up and -down outside? -―What's that? says Joe. -―Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Talking about hanging, -I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here.

+―What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen, prowling up and +down outside? +―What's that? says Joe. +―Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Talking about hanging, +I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket. -―Are you codding? says I. -―Honest injun, says Alf. Read them.

+―Are you codding? says I. +―Honest injun, says Alf. Read them.

So Joe took up the letters. -―Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran.

+―Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran.

So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: -―How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? -―I don't know, says Alf. I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy -Dignam. Only I was running after that .... -―You what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With who? -―With Dignam, says Alf. -―Is it Paddy? says Joe. -―Yes, says Alf. Why? -―Don't you know he's dead? says Joe. -―Paddy Dignam dead! says Alf. -―Ay, says Joe. -―Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a -pikestaff. -―Who's dead? says Bob Doran. -―You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm. -―What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five .... What? ... And Willy Murray +―How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? +―I don't know, says Alf. I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy +Dignam. Only I was running after that .... +―You what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With who? +―With Dignam, says Alf. +―Is it Paddy? says Joe. +―Yes, says Alf. Why? +―Don't you know he's dead? says Joe. +―Paddy Dignam dead! says Alf. +―Ay, says Joe. +―Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a +pikestaff. +―Who's dead? says Bob Doran. +―You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm. +―What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five .... What? ... And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's .... What? -Dignam dead? -―What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who's talking about ....? -―Dead! says Alf. He's no more dead than you are. -―Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning -anyhow. -―Paddy? says Alf. -―Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. -―Good Christ! says Alf.

+Dignam dead? +―What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who's talking about ....? +―Dead! says Alf. He's no more dead than you are. +―Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning +anyhow. +―Paddy? says Alf. +―Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. +―Good Christ! says Alf.

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing @@ -375,72 +375,72 @@

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. -―There he is again, says the citizen, staring out. -―Who? says I. -―Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last ten -minutes.

+―There he is again, says the citizen, staring out. +―Who? says I. +―Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last ten +minutes.

And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was. -―Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.

+―Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.

And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: -―Who said Christ is good? -―I beg your parsnips, says Alf. -―Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy -Dignam? -―Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles.

+―Who said Christ is good? +―I beg your parsnips, says Alf. +―Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy +Dignam? +―Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles.

But Bob Doran shouts out of him. -―He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

+―He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. -―The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.

+―The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.

The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. -―The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor -little Paddy Dignam.

+―The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor +little Paddy Dignam.

And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.

Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door. -―Come in, come on, says the citizen. He won't eat you.

+―Come in, come on, says the citizen. He won't eat you.

So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. -―O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this, -will you?

-

And he starts reading out one.

-

― 7 Hunter Street, -Liverpool.

-

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, -Dublin.

-

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i -hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged .... -―Show us, Joe, says I. -―... private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville -prison and i was assistant when .... -―Jesus, says I. -―... Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith ...

+―O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this, +will you?

+

And he starts reading out one. +―7 Hunter Street, +Liverpool. +To the High Sheriff of Dublin, +Dublin. +Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i +hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged .... +―Show us, Joe, says I. +―... private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville +prison and i was assistant when .... +―Jesus, says I. +―... Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith ...

The citizen made a grab at the letter. -―Hold hard, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he +―Hold hard, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five -ginnees.

-

H. Rumbold, -Master Barber.

-

―And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. -―And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here, says he, take them to -hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello, Bloom, says he, what will you have?

+ginnees. +H. Rumbold, +Master Barber. +―And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. +―And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here, says he, take them to +hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello, Bloom, says he, what will you have?

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Gob, he's a prudent member and no mistake. -―Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.

+―Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.

And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with a black border round it. -―They're all barbers, says he, from the black country that would hang -their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.

+―They're all barbers, says he, from the black country that would hang +their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.

And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull.

@@ -453,17 +453,17 @@ business and the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. -―There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf. -―What's that? says Joe. -―The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. -―That so? says Joe. -―God's truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head warder that was in +―There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf. +―What's that? says Joe. +―The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. +―That so? says Joe. +―God's truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a -poker. -―Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, as someone said. -―That can be explained by science, says Bloom. It's only a natural -phenomenon, don't you see, because on account of the ...

+poker. +―Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, as someone said. +―That can be explained by science, says Bloom. It's only a natural +phenomenon, don't you see, because on account of the ...

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon.

The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft @@ -487,8 +487,8 @@ and scratching his scabs. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with his: -―Give us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old doggy! Give the paw -here! Give us the paw!

+―Give us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old doggy! Give the paw +here! Give us the paw!

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog @@ -517,12 +517,12 @@ lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment. Phenomenon! -―The memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and +―The memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. -―Ay, ay, says Joe. -―You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean is .... -―Sinn Fein! says the citizen. Sinn fein amhain! The friends we love are by -our side and the foes we hate before us.

+―Ay, ay, says Joe. +―You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean is .... +―Sinn Fein! says the citizen. Sinn fein amhain! The friends we love are by +our side and the foes we hate before us.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums @@ -674,9 +674,9 @@ emotion. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: -―God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Blimey it makes +―God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of -my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

+my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and @@ -699,10 +699,10 @@ starts mousing around by Joe and me. I'd train him by kindness, so I would, if he was my dog. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. -―Afraid he'll bite you? says the citizen, jeering. -―No, says I. But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

+―Afraid he'll bite you? says the citizen, jeering. +―No, says I. But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

So he calls the old dog over. -―What's on you, Garry? says he.

+―What's on you, Garry? says he.

Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them. Someone that has @@ -749,25 +749,25 @@

So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. And Joe asked him would he have another. -―I will, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

+―I will, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. Entertainment for man and beast. And says Joe: -―Could you make a hole in another pint? -―Could a swim duck? says I. -―Same again, Terry, says Joe. Are you sure you won't have anything in the -way of liquid refreshment? says he. -―Thank you, no, says Bloom. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet +―Could you make a hole in another pint? +―Could a swim duck? says I. +―Same again, Terry, says Joe. Are you sure you won't have anything in the +way of liquid refreshment? says he. +―Thank you, no, says Bloom. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Martin asked me to go to the house. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and -nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. -―Holy Wars, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. -So the wife comes out top dog, what? -―Well, that's a point, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. -―Whose admirers? says Joe. -―The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom.

+nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. +―Holy Wars, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. +So the wife comes out top dog, what? +―Well, that's a point, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. +―Whose admirers? says Joe. +―The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand that Dignam owed @@ -784,20 +784,20 @@ there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her. Choking with bloody foolery. And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that. Shake hands, brother. You're a rogue and I'm another. -―Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however +―Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity -of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. -―No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate +of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. +―No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your -confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. -―Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. The goodness of your heart, I +confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. +―Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of -speech.

+speech.

And off with him and out trying to walk straight. Boosed at five o'clock. Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14 A. Blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing @@ -816,19 +816,19 @@ procuring rooms to street couples. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him.

So Terry brought the three pints. -―Here, says Joe, doing the honours. Here, citizen. -―Slan leat, says he. -―Fortune, Joe, says I. Good health, citizen.

+―Here, says Joe, doing the honours. Here, citizen. +―Slan leat, says he. +―Fortune, Joe, says I. Good health, citizen.

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. -―Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? says Joe. -―Friend of yours, says Alf. -―Nannan? says Joe. The mimber? -―I won't mention any names, says Alf. -―I thought so, says Joe. I saw him up at that meeting now with William -Field, M. P., the cattle traders. -―Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all -countries and the idol of his own.

+―Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? says Joe. +―Friend of yours, says Alf. +―Nannan? says Joe. The mimber? +―I won't mention any names, says Alf. +―I thought so, says Joe. I saw him up at that meeting now with William +Field, M. P., the cattle traders. +―Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all +countries and the idol of his own.

So Joe starts telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the @@ -848,45 +848,45 @@ for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Then comes good uncle Leo. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Ga ga ga ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. -―Anyhow, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London -to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons. -―Are you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going? I wanted to see him, as -it happens. -―Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, tonight. -―That's too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly. Perhaps only Mr Field -is going. I couldn't phone. No. You're sure? -―Nannan's going too, says Joe. The league told him to ask a question +―Anyhow, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London +to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons. +―Are you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going? I wanted to see him, as +it happens. +―Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, tonight. +―That's too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly. Perhaps only Mr Field +is going. I couldn't phone. No. You're sure? +―Nannan's going too, says Joe. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the -park. What do you think of that, citizen? The Sluagh na h-Eireann. -Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnham. Nat.): Arising out of the question of my +park. What do you think of that, citizen? The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

+

Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnham. Nat.): Arising out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as -to their pathological condition? -Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con.): Honourable members are already in +to their pathological condition?

+

Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con.): Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. The answer to the honourable -member's question is in the affirmative. -Mr Orelli O'Reilly (Montenotte. Nat.): Have similar orders been issued for +member's question is in the affirmative.

+

Mr Orelli O'Reilly (Montenotte. Nat.): Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the -Phoenix park? -Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. -Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous +Phoenix park?

+

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative.

+

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury -bench? (O! O!) -Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. -Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. Ind.): Don't hesitate to shoot. (Ironical -opposition cheers.) -The speaker: Order! Order! (The house rises. Cheers.) -―There's the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. There he is +bench? (O! O!)

+

Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question.

+

Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. Ind.): Don't hesitate to shoot. (Ironical +opposition cheers.)

+

The speaker: Order! Order! (The house rises. Cheers.)

+

―There's the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. There he is sitting there. The man that got away James Stephens. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. What was your best throw, -citizen? -―Na bacleis, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. There was a time I -was as good as the next fellow anyhow. -―Put it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody sight better. -―Is that really a fact? says Alf. -―Yes, says Bloom. That's well known. Did you not know that?

+citizen? +―Na bacleis, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. There was a time I +was as good as the next fellow anyhow. +―Put it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody sight better. +―Is that really a fact? says Alf. +―Yes, says Bloom. That's well known. Did you not know that?

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that. And of course Bloom had to @@ -937,27 +937,27 @@ V. G.; the rev. B. R. Slattery, O. M. I.; the very rev. M. D. Scally, P. P.; the rev. F. T. Purcell, O. P.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P. P.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C. C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. -―Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett -match? -―No, says Joe. -―I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. -―Who? Blazes? says Joe.

+―Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett +match? +―No, says Joe. +―I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. +―Who? Blazes? says Joe.

And says Bloom: -―What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the -eye. -―Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the -odds and he swatting all the time. -―We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what put -English gold in his pocket. -―True for you, says Joe.

+―What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the +eye. +―Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the +odds and he swatting all the time. +―We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what put +English gold in his pocket. +―True for you, says Joe.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: -―Now, don't you think, Bergan? -―Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was only a +―Now, don't you think, Bergan? +―Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. God, he gave him one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made him puke what -he never ate.

+he never ate.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by @@ -986,14 +986,14 @@ the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. -―He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I hear he's running a -concert tour now up in the north. -―He is, says Joe. Isn't he? -―Who? says Bloom. Ah, yes. That's quite true. Yes, a kind of summer tour, -you see. Just a holiday. -―Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? says Joe. -―My wife? says Bloom. She's singing, yes. I think it will be a success too. -He's an excellent man to organise. Excellent.

+―He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I hear he's running a +concert tour now up in the north. +―He is, says Joe. Isn't he? +―Who? says Bloom. Ah, yes. That's quite true. Yes, a kind of summer tour, +you see. Just a holiday. +―Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? says Joe. +―My wife? says Bloom. She's singing, yes. I think it will be a success too. +He's an excellent man to organise. Excellent.

Hoho begob says I to myself says I. That explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Concert tour. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that @@ -1009,17 +1009,17 @@

And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert. -―Hello, Ned. -―Hello, Alf. -―Hello, Jack. -―Hello, Joe. -―God save you, says the citizen. -―Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned? -―Half one, says Ned.

+―Hello, Ned. +―Hello, Alf. +―Hello, Jack. +―Hello, Joe. +―God save you, says the citizen. +―Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned? +―Half one, says Ned.

So J. J. ordered the drinks. -―Were you round at the court? says Joe. -―Yes, says J. J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. -―Hope so, says Ned.

+―Were you round at the court? says Joe. +―Yes, says J. J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. +―Hope so, says Ned.

Now what were those two at? J. J. getting him off the grand jury list and the other give him a leg over the stile. With his name in Stubbs's. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, @@ -1029,35 +1029,35 @@ boots out of the pop. What's your name, sir? Dunne, says he. Ay, and done says I. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. -―Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? says Alf. U. p: up. -―Yes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective. -―Ay, says Ned. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only +―Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? says Alf. U. p: up. +―Yes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective. +―Ay, says Ned. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined -first. -―Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing. God, I'd give anything to hear -him before a judge and jury. -―Was it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing -but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. -―Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. -―Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence -against you. -―Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not compos -mentis. U. p: up. -―Compos your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy? +first. +―Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing. God, I'd give anything to hear +him before a judge and jury. +―Was it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing +but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. +―Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. +―Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence +against you. +―Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not compos +mentis. U. p: up. +―Compos your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy? Look at his head. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on -with a shoehorn. -―Yes, says J. J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for -publishing it in the eyes of the law. -―Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. -―Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife. -―Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and -half. -―How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he ... -―Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fish nor -flesh. -―Nor good red herring, says Joe. -―That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know what that -is.

+with a shoehorn. +―Yes, says J. J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for +publishing it in the eyes of the law. +―Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. +―Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife. +―Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and +half. +―How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he ... +―Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fish nor +flesh. +―Nor good red herring, says Joe. +―That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know what that +is.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody @@ -1069,21 +1069,21 @@ has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who was he, tell us? A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world. -―And moreover, says J. J., a postcard is publication. It was held to be +―And moreover, says J. J., a postcard is publication. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In my opinion -an action might lie.

+an action might lie.

Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion? Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. -―Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. -―Good health, Ned, says J. J. -―There he is again, says Joe. -―Where? says Alf.

+―Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. +―Good health, Ned, says J. J. +―There he is again, says Joe. +―Where? says Alf.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin. -―How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe. -―Remanded, says J. J.

+―How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe. +―Remanded, says J. J.

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. What? Do you see any green @@ -1092,23 +1092,23 @@ kidney too. J. J. was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. -―Who tried the case? says Joe. -―Recorder, says Ned. -―Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. -―Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of +―Who tried the case? says Joe. +―Recorder, says Ned. +―Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. +―Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on -the bench. -―Ay, says Alf. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock +the bench. +―Ay, says Alf. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the -corporation there near Butt bridge.

+corporation there near Butt bridge.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry: -―A most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking man! How many -children? Ten, did you say? -―Yes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid. -―And the wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave the court +―A most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking man! How many +children? Ten, did you say? +―Yes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid. +―And the wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave the court immediately, sir. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! A poor hardworking -industrious man! I dismiss the case.

+industrious man! I dismiss the case.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it @@ -1139,33 +1139,33 @@ consequence of information received. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor. -―Those are nice things, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling -the country with bugs.

+―Those are nice things, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling +the country with bugs.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. -―Because, you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have -repetition. That's the whole secret. -―Rely on me, says Joe. -―Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. We want -no more strangers in our house. -―O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. It's just that Keyes, -you see. -―Consider that done, says Joe. -―Very kind of you, says Bloom. -―The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in. We +―Because, you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have +repetition. That's the whole secret. +―Rely on me, says Joe. +―Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. We want +no more strangers in our house. +―O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. It's just that Keyes, +you see. +―Consider that done, says Joe. +―Very kind of you, says Bloom. +―The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in. We brought them in. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon -robbers here. -―Decree nisi, says J. J.

+robbers here. +―Decree nisi, says J. J.

And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. -―A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our -misfortunes. -―And here she is, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with -Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. -―Give us a squint at her, says I.

+―A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our +misfortunes. +―And here she is, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with +Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. +―Give us a squint at her, says I.

And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. Misconduct of society belle. Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago @@ -1173,14 +1173,14 @@ her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. -―O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, how short your shirt is! -―There's hair, Joe, says I. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that -one, what?

+―O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, how short your shirt is! +―There's hair, Joe, says I. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that +one, what?

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast. -―Well, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? What did +―Well, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? What did those tinkers in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish -language?

+language?

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most obedient city, @@ -1188,56 +1188,56 @@ prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. -―It's on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the bloody brutal -Sassenachs and their patois.

+―It's on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the bloody brutal +Sassenachs and their patois.

So J. J. puts in a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. -―Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To hell with them! The +―Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To hell with them! The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Tonguetied sons of -bastards' ghosts. -―The European family, says J. J. .... -―They're not European, says the citizen. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan +bastards' ghosts. +―The European family, says J. J. .... +―They're not European, says the citizen. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in -Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance.

+Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance.

And says John Wyse: -―Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

+―Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: -―Conspuez les anglais! Perfide Albion!

+―Conspuez les anglais! Perfide Albion!

He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. -―What's up with you, says I to Lenehan. You look like a fellow that had -lost a bob and found a tanner. -―Gold cup, says he. -―Who won, Mr Lenehan? says Terry. -―Throwaway, says he, at twenty to one. A rank outsider. And the rest -nowhere. -―And Bass's mare? says Terry. -―Still running, says he. We're all in a cart. Boylan plunged two quid on my -tip Sceptre for himself and a lady friend. -―I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave -me. Lord Howard de Walden's. -―Twenty to one, says Lenehan. Such is life in an outhouse. Throwaway, -says he. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Frailty, thy name is -Sceptre.

+―What's up with you, says I to Lenehan. You look like a fellow that had +lost a bob and found a tanner. +―Gold cup, says he. +―Who won, Mr Lenehan? says Terry. +―Throwaway, says he, at twenty to one. A rank outsider. And the rest +nowhere. +―And Bass's mare? says Terry. +―Still running, says he. We're all in a cart. Boylan plunged two quid on my +tip Sceptre for himself and a lady friend. +―I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave +me. Lord Howard de Walden's. +―Twenty to one, says Lenehan. Such is life in an outhouse. Throwaway, +says he. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Frailty, thy name is +Sceptre.

So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard. -―Not there, my child, says he. -―Keep your pecker up, says Joe. She'd have won the money only for the -other dog.

+―Not there, my child, says he. +―Keep your pecker up, says Joe. She'd have won the money only for the +other dog.

And J. J. and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. -―Some people, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't -see the beam in their own. -―Raimeis, says the citizen. There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't +―Some people, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't +see the beam in their own. +―Raimeis, says the citizen. There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what that means. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? And our potteries and textiles, the finest in the whole world! And our wool that was sold in @@ -1255,15 +1255,15 @@ pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions -of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? -―As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with +of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? +―As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Larches, firs, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. I was reading a report of lord -Castletown's .... -―Save them, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm +Castletown's .... +―Save them, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. Save the trees of -Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. -―Europe has its eyes on you, says Lenehan.

+Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. +―Europe has its eyes on you, says Lenehan.

The fashionable international world attended en masse this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine @@ -1294,31 +1294,31 @@ crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. -―And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. We had our trade with +―And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were -pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. -―And will again, says Joe. -―And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the -citizen, clapping his thigh. Our harbours that are empty will be full again, +pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. +―And will again, says Joe. +―And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the +citizen, clapping his thigh. Our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with -the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And will again, says he, when the +the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And will again, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the -three sons of Milesius.

+three sons of Milesius.

And he took the last swig out of the pint. Moya. All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. Cows in Connacht have long horns. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. -―Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. What will you have? -―An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. -―Half one, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up. Terry! Are you asleep? -―Yes, sir, says Terry. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Right, sir.

+―Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. What will you have? +―An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. +―Half one, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up. Terry! Are you asleep? +―Yes, sir, says Terry. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Right, sir.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down @@ -1327,42 +1327,42 @@ up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. Gob, they ought to drown him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. -―But what about the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? -―I'll tell you what about it, says the citizen. Hell upon earth it is. Read the +―But what about the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? +―I'll tell you what about it, says the citizen. Hell upon earth it is. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships -at Portsmouth. A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One.

+at Portsmouth. A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One.

So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun. -―A rump and dozen, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John +―A rump and dozen, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the -breech.

+breech.

And says John Wyse: -―'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

+―'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Then he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. -―That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. +―That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges -and whipped serfs. -―On which the sun never rises, says Joe. -―And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, they believe it. The unfortunate -yahoos believe it.

+and whipped serfs. +―On which the sun never rises, says Joe. +―And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, they believe it. The unfortunate +yahoos believe it.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. -―But, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I mean wouldn't it -be the same here if you put force against force?

+―But, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I mean wouldn't it +be the same here if you put force against force?

Didn't I tell you? As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. -―We'll put force against force, says the citizen. We have our greater +―We'll put force against force, says the citizen. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. They were driven out of house and home in the black '47. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the @@ -1373,69 +1373,69 @@ peasants in hordes. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships. But those that came to the land of the free remember the land of bondage. And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of -Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. -―Perfectly true, says Bloom. But my point was .... -―We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. Since the poor -old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. -―Ay, says John Wyse. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us +Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. +―Perfectly true, says Bloom. But my point was .... +―We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. Since the poor +old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. +―Ay, says John Wyse. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Fontenoy, eh? And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria -Teresa. But what did we ever get for it? -―The French! says the citizen. Set of dancing masters! Do you know what +Teresa. But what did we ever get for it? +―The French! says the citizen. Set of dancing masters! Do you know what it is? They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. Aren't they trying to make an entente cordial now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious -Albion? Firebrands of Europe and they always were. -―Conspuez les français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. -―And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, haven't we had +Albion? Firebrands of Europe and they always were. +―Conspuez les français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. +―And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the -elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

+elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. -―Well, says J. J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. -―Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. There's a bloody sight more pox than -pax about that boyo. Edward Guelph-Wettin! -―And what do you think, says Joe, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops +―Well, says J. J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. +―Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. There's a bloody sight more pox than +pax about that boyo. Edward Guelph-Wettin! +―And what do you think, says Joe, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the horses his jockeys rode. The earl -of Dublin, no less. -―They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

+of Dublin, no less. +―They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

And says J. J.: -―Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. -―Will you try another, citizen? says Joe. -―Yes, sir, says he. I will. -―You? says Joe. -―Beholden to you, Joe, says I. May your shadow never grow less. -―Repeat that dose, says Joe.

+―Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. +―Will you try another, citizen? says Joe. +―Yes, sir, says he. I will. +―You? says Joe. +―Beholden to you, Joe, says I. May your shadow never grow less. +―Repeat that dose, says Joe.

Bloom was talking and talking with John Wyse and he quite excited with his dunducketymudcoloured mug on him and his old plumeyes rolling about. -―Persecution, says he, all the history of the world is full of it. Perpetuating -national hatred among nations. -―But do you know what a nation means? says John Wyse. -―Yes, says Bloom. -―What is it? says John Wyse. -―A nation? says Bloom. A nation is the same people living in the same -place. -―By God, then, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living -in the same place for the past five years.

+―Persecution, says he, all the history of the world is full of it. Perpetuating +national hatred among nations. +―But do you know what a nation means? says John Wyse. +―Yes, says Bloom. +―What is it? says John Wyse. +―A nation? says Bloom. A nation is the same people living in the same +place. +―By God, then, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living +in the same place for the past five years.

So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he, trying to muck out of it: -―Or also living in different places. -―That covers my case, says Joe. -―What is your nation if I may ask? says the citizen. -―Ireland, says Bloom. I was born here. Ireland.

+―Or also living in different places. +―That covers my case, says Joe. +―What is your nation if I may ask? says the citizen. +―Ireland, says Bloom. I was born here. Ireland.

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him right in the corner. -―After you with the push, Joe, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab +―After you with the push, Joe, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. -―Here you are, citizen, says Joe. Take that in your right hand and repeat -after me the following words.

+―Here you are, citizen, says Joe. Take that in your right hand and repeat +after me the following words.

The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully @@ -1463,34 +1463,34 @@ scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. -―Show us over the drink, says I. Which is which? -―That's mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. -―And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Also -now. This very moment. This very instant.

+―Show us over the drink, says I. Which is which? +―That's mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. +―And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Also +now. This very moment. This very instant.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. -―Robbed, says he. Plundered. Insulted. Persecuted. Taking what belongs -to us by right. At this very moment, says he, putting up his fist, sold by -auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. -―Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? says the citizen. -―I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. -―Right, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men.

+―Robbed, says he. Plundered. Insulted. Persecuted. Taking what belongs +to us by right. At this very moment, says he, putting up his fist, sold by +auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. +―Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? says the citizen. +―I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. +―Right, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men.

That's an almanac picture for you. Mark for a softnosed bullet. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. -―But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for +―But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very -opposite of that that is really life. -―What? says Alf. -―Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. I must go now, says he -to John Wyse. Just round to the court a moment to see if Martin is there. If -he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Just a moment.

+opposite of that that is really life. +―What? says Alf. +―Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. I must go now, says he +to John Wyse. Just round to the court a moment to see if Martin is there. If +he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Just a moment.

Who's hindering you? And off he pops like greased lightning. -―A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Universal love. -―Well, says John Wyse. Isn't that what we're told. Love your neighbour. -―That chap? says the citizen. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. Love, -moya! He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

+―A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Universal love. +―Well, says John Wyse. Isn't that what we're told. Love your neighbour. +―That chap? says the citizen. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. Love, +moya! He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14 A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. M. B. loves a fair gentleman. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. @@ -1500,19 +1500,19 @@ Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. -―Well, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. More power, citizen. -―Hurrah, there, says Joe. -―The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen.

+―Well, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. More power, citizen. +―Hurrah, there, says Joe. +―The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen.

And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. -―We know those canters, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. +―We know those canters, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? The bible! Did you read that skit in -the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England? -―What's that? says Joe.

+the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England? +―What's that? says Joe.

So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: -―A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented +―A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. @@ -1531,34 +1531,34 @@ Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl -hands. -―Widow woman, says Ned. I wouldn't doubt her. Wonder did he put that -bible to the same use as I would. -―Same only more so, says Lenehan. And thereafter in that fruitful land the -broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. -―Is that by Griffith? says John Wyse. -―No, says the citizen. It's not signed Shanganagh. It's only initialled: P. -―And a very good initial too, says Joe. -―That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Trade follows the flag. -―Well, says J. J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo +hands. +―Widow woman, says Ned. I wouldn't doubt her. Wonder did he put that +bible to the same use as I would. +―Same only more so, says Lenehan. And thereafter in that fruitful land the +broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. +―Is that by Griffith? says John Wyse. +―No, says the citizen. It's not signed Shanganagh. It's only initialled: P. +―And a very good initial too, says Joe. +―That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Trade follows the flag. +―Well, says J. J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Did you read that report by a man what's this -his name is? -―Casement, says the citizen. He's an Irishman. -―Yes, that's the man, says J. J. Raping the women and girls and flogging -the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. -―I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. -―Who? says I. -―Bloom, says he. The courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on -Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. -―Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in -anger in his life? -―That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to back +his name is? +―Casement, says the citizen. He's an Irishman. +―Yes, that's the man, says J. J. Raping the women and girls and flogging +the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. +―I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. +―Who? says I. +―Bloom, says he. The courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on +Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. +―Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in +anger in his life? +―That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. He's the only man -in Dublin has it. A dark horse. -―He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. -―Mind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out. -―There you are, says Terry.

+in Dublin has it. A dark horse. +―He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. +―Mind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out. +―There you are, says Terry.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob (hundred shillings to five) while I was letting off my (Throwaway twenty to) letting off my load gob says I to @@ -1584,8 +1584,8 @@ his penny diamonds. Loans by post on easy terms. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Distance no object. No security. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. -―Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. And there's the man now that'll tell you -all about it, Martin Cunningham.

+―Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. And there's the man now that'll tell you +all about it, Martin Cunningham.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration @@ -1593,69 +1593,69 @@ king's expense.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. -―Ho, varlet! cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party. -Saucy knave! To us!

+―Ho, varlet! cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party. +Saucy knave! To us!

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. -―Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. -―Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And -for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. -―Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare -larder. I know not what to offer your lordships. -―How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant -countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?

+―Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. +―Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And +for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. +―Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare +larder. I know not what to offer your lordships. +―How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant +countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. -―Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king's +―Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king's messengers (God shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. The king's friends (God bless His Majesty!) shall not go afasting in my house I -warrant me. -―Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman -by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?

+warrant me. +―Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman +by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?

Mine host bowed again as he made answer: -―What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of +―What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old -Rhenish? -―Gadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well. Pistachios! -―Aha! cried he of the pleasant countenance. A poor house and a bare -larder, quotha! 'Tis a merry rogue.

+Rhenish? +―Gadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well. Pistachios! +―Aha! cried he of the pleasant countenance. A poor house and a bare +larder, quotha! 'Tis a merry rogue.

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. -―Where is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and orphans. -―Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about -Bloom and the Sinn Fein? -―That's so, says Martin. Or so they allege. -―Who made those allegations? says Alf. -―I, says Joe. I'm the alligator. -―And after all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the -next fellow? -―Why not? says J. J., when he's quite sure which country it is. -―Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is -he? says Ned. Or who is he? No offence, Crofton. -―Who is Junius? says J. J. -―We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. -―He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he +―Where is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and orphans. +―Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about +Bloom and the Sinn Fein? +―That's so, says Martin. Or so they allege. +―Who made those allegations? says Alf. +―I, says Joe. I'm the alligator. +―And after all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the +next fellow? +―Why not? says J. J., when he's quite sure which country it is. +―Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is +he? says Ned. Or who is he? No offence, Crofton. +―Who is Junius? says J. J. +―We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. +―He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. We know that in -the castle. -―Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack Power. -―Not at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name was Virag, the +the castle. +―Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack Power. +―Not at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself. He changed it by deedpoll, the father -did. -―That's the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen. Island of saints and -sages! -―Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. For that matter -so are we. -―Yes, says J. J., and every male that's born they think it may be their +did. +―That's the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen. Island of saints and +sages! +―Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. For that matter +so are we. +―Yes, says J. J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he -knows if he's a father or a mother. -―Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. -―O, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his +knows if he's a father or a mother. +―Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. +―O, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin -of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered. -―En ventre sa mère, says J. J. -―Do you call that a man? says the citizen. -―I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe. -―Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. -―And who does he suspect? says the citizen.

+of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered. +―En ventre sa mère, says J. J. +―Do you call that a man? says the citizen. +―I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe. +―Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. +―And who does he suspect? says the citizen.

Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. One of those mixed middlings he is. Lying up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Do you know what I'm telling @@ -1663,17 +1663,17 @@ throw him in the bloody sea. Justifiable homicide, so it would. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Give us your blessing. Not as much as would blind your eye. -―Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is he? We can't wait. -―A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. That's what he is. Virag from -Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God. -―Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned. -―Only one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. and S. -―You, Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry. -―Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, -says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. -―Well, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all here is my prayer. -―Amen, says the citizen. -―And I'm sure He will, says Joe.

+―Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is he? We can't wait. +―A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. That's what he is. Virag from +Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God. +―Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned. +―Only one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. and S. +―You, Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry. +―Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, +says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. +―Well, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all here is my prayer. +―Amen, says the citizen. +―And I'm sure He will, says Joe.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians @@ -1738,38 +1738,38 @@ Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the blessed answered his prayers. -―Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. -―Qui fecit coelum et terram. -―Dominus vobiscum. -―Et cum spiritu tuo.

+―Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. +―Qui fecit coelum et terram. +―Dominus vobiscum. +―Et cum spiritu tuo.

And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: -―Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super +―Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per -Christum Dominum nostrum. -―And so say all of us, says Jack. -―Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. -―Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. And butter for fish.

+Christum Dominum nostrum. +―And so say all of us, says Jack. +―Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. +―Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. And butter for fish.

I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but in he comes again letting on to be in a hell of a hurry. -―I was just round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you. I hope I'm -not .... -―No, says Martin, we're ready.

+―I was just round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you. I hope I'm +not .... +―No, says Martin, we're ready.

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver. Mean bloody scut. Stand us a drink itself. Devil a sweet fear! There's a jew for you! All for number one. Cute as a shithouse rat. Hundred to five. -―Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. -―Beg your pardon, says he. -―Come on boys, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Come along now. -―Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. It's a secret.

+―Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. +―Beg your pardon, says he. +―Come on boys, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Come along now. +―Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. It's a secret.

And the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. -―Bye bye all, says Martin.

+―Bye bye all, says Martin.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. -―Off with you, says Martin to the jarvey.

+―Off with you, says Martin to the jarvey.

The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop, the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. A many comely nymphs drew @@ -1786,10 +1786,10 @@ dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. -―Let me alone, says he.

+―Let me alone, says he.

And begob he got as far as the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him: -―Three cheers for Israel!

+―Three cheers for Israel!

Arrah, sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about @@ -1800,18 +1800,18 @@ calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: -―Eh, mister! Your fly is open, mister!

+―Eh, mister! Your fly is open, mister!

And says he: -―Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. -And the Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew. Your God. -―He had no father, says Martin. That'll do now. Drive ahead. -―Whose God? says the citizen. -―Well, his uncle was a jew, says he. Your God was a jew. Christ was a jew -like me.

+―Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. +And the Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew. Your God. +―He had no father, says Martin. That'll do now. Drive ahead. +―Whose God? says the citizen. +―Well, his uncle was a jew, says he. Your God was a jew. Christ was a jew +like me.

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop. -―By Jesus, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. -By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Give us that biscuitbox here. -―Stop! Stop! says Joe.

+―By Jesus, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. +By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Give us that biscuitbox here. +―Stop! Stop! says Joe.

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyaságos uram Lipóti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander @@ -1845,12 +1845,12 @@ anyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: -―Where is he till I murder him?

+―Where is he till I murder him?

And Ned and J. J. paralysed with the laughing. -―Bloody wars, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

+―Bloody wars, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him. -―Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Stop!

+―Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Stop!

Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel @@ -1901,9 +1901,9 @@ and Joe for aiding and abetting. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. What? O, Jesus, he did. And he let a volley of oaths after him. -―Did I kill him, says he, or what?

+―Did I kill him, says he, or what?

And he shouting to the bloody dog: -―After him, Garry! After him, boy!

+―After him, Garry! After him, boy!

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. Hundred @@ -1917,4 +1917,4 @@ Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.

- +