"Miss Douce composed her rose to wait.
— Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.
Fit as a fiddle only he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person.
Rrrrrrrsss.
— Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled.
Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Uncertainly he waited. Unpaid Pat too." (U11.1159)
— Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.
Fit as a fiddle only he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person.
Rrrrrrrsss.
— Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled.
Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Uncertainly he waited. Unpaid Pat too." (U11.1159)
"Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankard one.
— Mr Dollard, they murmured low.
— Dollard, murmured tankard.
Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she: that doll he was: she doll: the tank.
He murmured that he knew the name. The name was familiar to him, that is to say. That was to say he had heard the name of. Dollard, was it? Dollard, yes.
Yes, her lips said more loudly, Mr Dollard." (U11.1166)
Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankard one.
— Mr Dollard, they murmured low.
— Dollard, murmured tankard.
Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she: that doll he was: she doll: the tank.
He murmured that he knew the name. The name was familiar to him, that is to say. That was to say he had heard the name of. Dollard, was it? Dollard, yes.
Yes, her lips said more loudly, Mr Dollard." (U11.1166)
"He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. And The last rose of summer was a lovely song. Mina loved that song. Tankard loved the song that Mina." (U11.1175)
"'Tis the last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside." (U11.1178)
'The Last Rose of Summer' is a poem by Irish poet Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852) set to music around 1813 by Sir John Andrew Stevenson. Its first stanza:
''Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone
All her lovely companions are faded and gone
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh'
'The Last Rose of Summer' is a poem by Irish poet Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852) set to music around 1813 by Sir John Andrew Stevenson. Its first stanza:
''Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone
All her lovely companions are faded and gone
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh'
"Gassy thing that cider: binding too. Wait. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. Get shut of it. Dodge round by Greek street. Wish I hadn't promised to meet. Freer in air. Music. Gets on your nerves. Beerpull. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. Ben Howth. That rules the world.
Far. Far. Far. Far.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap." (U11.1180)
Far. Far. Far. Far.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap." (U11.1180)
Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on.
Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.
Cowley, he stuns himself with it: kind of drunkenness. Better give way only half way the way of a man with a maid. Instance enthusiasts. All ears. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You daren't budge." (U11.1187)
Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.
Cowley, he stuns himself with it: kind of drunkenness. Better give way only half way the way of a man with a maid. Instance enthusiasts. All ears. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You daren't budge." (U11.1187)
"hinking strictly prohibited. Always talking shop. Fiddlefaddle about notes.
All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac." (U11.1194)
All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac." (U11.1194)
"All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Organ in Gardiner street. Old Glynn fifty quid a year. Queer up there in the cockloft, alone, with stops and locks and keys. Seated all day at the organ. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the other fellow blowing the bellows." (U11.1196)
"Growl angry, then shriek cursing (want to have wadding or something in his no don't she cried)," (U11.1200)
"then all of a soft sudden wee little wee little pipy wind.
Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloom's little wee.
—Was he? Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched pipe. I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's ...
— Ay, the Lord have mercy on him." (12.1201)
Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloom's little wee.
—Was he? Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched pipe. I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's ...
— Ay, the Lord have mercy on him." (12.1201)
"— By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the ...
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
— The wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell asked.
— O, that must be the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw, forgot it when he was here." (U11.1207)
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
— The wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell asked.
— O, that must be the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw, forgot it when he was here." (U11.1207)
"Blind he was she told George Lidwell second I saw. And played so exquisitely, treat to hear. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold.
— Shout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out!
— 'lldo! cried Father Cowley.
Rrrrrr.
I feel I want....
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap
— Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine.' (U11.1212)
— Shout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out!
— 'lldo! cried Father Cowley.
Rrrrrr.
I feel I want....
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap
— Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine.' (U11.1212)
"Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer. Bloom alone.
- Very, he stared. The lower register, for choice.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap." (U11.1220)
- Very, he stared. The lower register, for choice.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap." (U11.1220)
"Bloom went by Barry's. Wish I could. Wait. That wonderworker if I had. Twentyfour solicitors in that one house. Counted them. Litigation. Love one another. Piles of parchment. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. Goulding, Collis, Ward." (U11.1224)
"But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the armchair. Rehearsing his band part. Pom. Pompedy. Jolly for the wife. Asses' skins. Welt them through life, then wallop after death. Pom. Wallop. Seems to be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. Fate." (U11.1228)
"Tap. Tap. A stripling, blind, with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming (but he couldn't see) blew whiffs of a mermaid (blind couldn't), mermaid, coolest whiff of all." (U11.1234)