We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love.


Ba! " (U15.110)

Anyway, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug? This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread and wine in Omar. Hold my stick.


Damn your yellow stick. Where are we going?" (U15.115)

Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

(Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him and slowly holds out his hands, his head going back till both hands are a span from his breast, down turned in planes intersecting, the fingers about to part, the left being higher.)


Which is the jug of bread? It skills not. That or the customhouse. Illustrate thou. Here take your crutch and walk." (U15.121)
"(They pass. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, clasping, climbs in spasms. From the top spur he slides down. Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. The navvy lurches against the lamp. The twins scuttle off in the dark."

"The navvy, swaying, presses a forefinger against a wing of his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot."

"Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the crowd with his flaring cresset."

"Snakes of river fog creep slowly. From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. A glow leaps in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the river. The navvy staggering forward cleaves the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding. On the farther side under the railway bridge Bloom appears, flushed, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a sidepocket."

"From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image."

"A concave mirror at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom."

"Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom."

"He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington,"

"but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of jollypoldy the rixdix dolly.

At Antonio Rabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the bright arclamp. He disappears. In a moment he reappears and hurries on.)


Fish and taters. N. g. Ah!"

"(He disappears into Olhausen's, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In each hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the other a cold sheep's trotter sprinkled with wholepepper."

"He gasps, standing upright. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his ribs and groans.)


Stitch in my side. Why did I run?
(He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding. The glow leaps again.)"

What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.
(He stands at Cormack's corner, watching.)

Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course. South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We're safe." (U15.166)
"(he hums cheerfully.) London's burning, London's burning! On fire, on fire! (He catches sight of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the farther side of Talbot street.) I'll miss him. Run. Quick. Better cross here." (U15.171)