Early draft, draft level 2

MS NLI.9 1-20, Buffalo V.A.5 21-33 Draft details

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|2Repeat phrases episodesº2|

Bronzeº by gold Miss Douce's head by Miss Kennedy's head, over the crossblind of the bar, heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.

— Is that her? Miss Kennedy said.

— Yes, Miss Douce said, sitting beside his ex. Pearl grey and crushed strawberry.

— Exquisite contrast, miss Kennedy said. |2Cream & eau de Nil.2|

— Look at the fellow in the tall silk, Miss Douce said eagerly (all agog)

— Who? Where? Who is he? miss Kennedy asked |2|xall eagernessx|2|

— In the second carriage, Miss Douce said, her wet lips laughing in the sun. He's looking. Mind till I see.

She |2ran (?) dashed2| to the farther corner (of the window), flattening her face against the pane in a halo of her ho hurried breath.

— He's killed looking back, she |2said tittered2| gaily. O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?

Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from the light, |2curving twining2| a loose air behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she |2twisted2| twined a hair. Sadly she twined |2in2| sauntering|2,2| her hair behind |2her a curving2| ear.

— It's them has the fine times, sadly |2then2| she said.

Mr Bloom went |2by Moulang's pipes2| by |2 Wine's antiques, by Carroll's |adusky |bbatteredb|a| plate,2| bearing in his breastpocket, sweets of sin, |2bearing in his memory in his memory bearing2| sweet |2sinful tempting2| words. For Raoul.

The boots came from the hall and |2planked banged |aon the countera|2| his tray of |2quivering |atinkling chatteringa|2| china.

— There's your teas, he said.

Miss Kennedy with |2grace manners2| transposed the teatray down to rest on |2an a low2| upturned lithia crate, |2low,2| safe from eyes.

— What is it? the |2loud2| boots asked |2loud2| unmannerly

— Find out, Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

— Your beau is it?

— I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you, haughty bronze Miss Douce replied, if I hear any more of your impertinent insolence

— Imperthnththnththn, the boots's snout sniffed rudely, as he retreated as he had come.

And Miss Douce said |2frowning on her flower2|

|2That fellow is most aggravating most aggravating That fellow is2|. |2Little Young2|
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brat.º If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear a yard long |2for him if he puts2|.

— Take no notice, Miss Kennedy rejoined

She poured tea in a teacup then |2tea2| back in the teapot. They cowered under the reef of the counter, |2sitting2| on footstools, waiting for |2the their2| tea to draw. They pawed their blouses, two and nine a yard, waiting for their tea to draw, and two and seven.

— Am I |2much awfully2| sunburned? Miss Douce unbloused her neck.

— No, said miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the cherry laurel water with the borax?

|2|xShe touched a dimpling nook of her lips

— I have a little, she said. Listerinex|2| |2|xShe said noughtx|2|

Miss Douce half stood to see her skin askance in the mirror where |2shimmered2| hock and claret glasses |2shimmered2| and in their midst a shell.

— And leave it to my hands, she said.

— Why don't you try that with the glycerine? |2Miss Kennedy asked asked Miss Kennedy2|.

— Those things only bring out a rash, miss Douce said, bidding |2her neck and hands2| adieu |2to her images2| and sitting. I asked that old bagpipes in Boyd's for something for my skin.

Miss Kennedy, pouring fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:

— O, don't remind me of him for mercy' sake.

Miss Douce entreated:

— But wait till I tell you.

Sweettea Miss Kennedy, having poured |2her2| fulldrawn tea and milk, plugged both two ears with little fingers.

— No, don't, she cried.

— I won't listen, she cried.

Miss Douce grunted in a snuffy voice:

— For your what? says he

Miss Kennedy uncorked her ear to speak, to hear but said but prayed again:

— Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The awful old wretch. That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.

She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip she sipped, sweet tea.

— Here he was, Miss Douce said, cocking her
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bronzeº head three quarters, ruffling her |2nostrils nosewings2|: Huf! Huf!

A |2high shrill2| shriek of laughter flew from Miss Kennedy's throat, shrieking still while Miss Douce blew snorted ever through her nostrils quivering like a snout in quest.

— O, Miss Kennedy cried, shrieking. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?

Miss Douce |2stifled with laugh |aburst into chimed in witha| deep bronze2| and laughter, shouting:

— And your other eye!

Mr Bloom's dark eyes read Aaron Figatner's name (Why do I think always Figather? Gathering figs because |2I think2|) and Prosper Loré's huguenot |2name2|. |2His dark eyes went by2| by Bassi's blessed virgins, |2His dark eyes went by2| comely |2and,2| whiterobed, come to me. |2God they believe she is that calls them |agoddessa|. Goddess |awould bea| naked. Those I saw. That fellow spoke to me, student he was. |aThat brings the fellows in, the rakes, her whitea|2| By went his dark eyes. Sweets of sin. Sweet are the sweets. Sweets to the sweet.

In a giggling peal their young unbridled voices blended. They threw their heads back, bronze and gold, to let free fly their laughter, screaming signals to each other, high piercing notes.

Panting, sighing, sighing fordone, their mirth died down.

Miss Kennedy |2took fingered2| her cup again, raised, drank a mouthful when miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Miss Kennedy, stooping her pinnacles of fair hair until her tortoiseshell napecomb showed, spluttered with her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying:

— O greasy nose eyes! Imagine being married to a man like that! |2she cried2| The bit of beard!

Miss Douce gave vent to a splendid yell, a full woman's
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yell,º delight, joy, indignation.

— Married to the greasy nose! she yelled

Hi Shrill with deep laughter, gold with after bronze, they urged each other to peal after peal, bronzegold, goldbronze, |2|xch rang the changesx|2| shrill, deep, to laughter after laughter. Then laughed more, exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads, braided and pinnacled, glossycombed against the counter ledge. All flushed, (O! panting, sweating |2(O!)2|, |2all2| breathless.

— O Lord, Miss Douce said, sighed to her jumping rose. I wish I hadn't laughed so much. O Lord! I feel all wet.

— O, Miss Douce! Miss Kennedy protested. O you horrid thing!

And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly.

By Cantwell's offices walked Mr Bloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright with oils. Nannetti's father sold those things, wheedling ways. Religion pays. |2|xStillorgan Dundrumx|2| Must see him for that par. Eat first. I want. Not yet. At four she said. |2Time ever passing. Clockhands turning. On.2| Where eat? The Clarence, Dolphin. O Walk on. For Raoul. Eat. If I make five pounds. Those ads. Not yet. The sweets of sin.

More goldenly.

Mr Dedalus came strolled into the bar |2chips. Chips2|, picking chips off one of his rocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled.

— O, how do you do, Miss Douce?

He held her hand genteelly over the counter.

— Back again. And how did you enjoy your holidays?

— Tiptop. |2The greasy nose. For Raoul.2|

— I hope you had nice weather in Rostrevor.

— Gorgeous, Miss Douce said. Look at the holy show I am. Lying out on the strand |2every all2| day.

Comely, come. That brings the fellows in. The rakes. Her white.
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— Thatº was very naughty of you Mr Dedalus said, shaking his head indulgently. Tempting us poor simple |2men males2|.

Miss Douce pulled back her satin arm

— O, go away, she said. I'm sure you're very simple.

— Well now I am, Mr Dedalus mused. I looked so simple in the cradle that they christened me simple Simon. So I was told |2|x(tolled)x|2| at all events.

— Yes, I don't think, Miss Douce made answer. And what did the doctor order today?

— Whatever you say yourself, Mr Dedalus said. I'll take. Well, let me see now. |2I'll take an.2| No, I think I'll trouble you for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky.

— With the greatest alacrity, Miss Douce agreed.

With grace of alacrity she |2turned herself2| toward the mirror |2turned herself2| and tapped a bright measure of gold whisky from the crystal keg. Mr Dedalus took forth |2from the skirt of his coat2| pouch and pipe and blew through the flue two husky fifenotes.

— By Jove, he said. I often wanted to see Rostrevor. |2Must be a great tonic the air down there the ozone2| But a long threatening comes at last, they say. Yes, Yes.

He fingered navy cut into the bowl nodding as she set his drink before him. Miss Douce polishing a glass, trilled:

O, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas

— Was Mr Lidwell in today?

In came Lenehan. Round him looked Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge. Mr Bloom crossed |2Essex bridge bridge of Essex2|. |2To Martha I must. Paper buy. Daly's. The girl there. Civil.2| Bloom. Old Bloom. |2The Blue2| bloom is on the rye.

— He was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said

Lenehan came forward
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|2Has Was2| Mrº Boylan |2been2| looking for me?

He asked. She answered:

— No, Mr Lenehan. Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan here while I was upstairs?

She asked. |2She Miss Kennedy2| answered, her poised teacup in her hands, her gaze on what she read upon her page:

— No, he was not.

Miss Douce flick composed her white tulle front. Miss Kennedy, heard, not seen, read on. Lenehan wound his short body round the sandwich bell, saying to her voice:

— Peep! Who's in the p corner?

No glance rewarding him, |2he made still more overtures to her2| |2he bade her To2| mind her stops. Mocking he bade her read only the black ones, round o and crooked ess |2he bade her read2|.

She read, unglancing |2gold2|. He read to her by rote a solfa fable, plappering flatly.

— Ah fox met ah stork. Said thee fox to thee f stork:

Adown the shank a note flew clear |2and free, free flew2|.

— Will you put down your bill into my troth and pull up ah bone?

He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned aside. He sighed |2aside2|:

— Ah me! O my!

He greeted Mr Dedalus who nodded.

— Greetings |2to from2| the famous son of a famous father.

— Who may he be? Mr Dedalus asked

Lenehan opened his arms most genially.

— Can you ask? he asked. Stephen the bard.

— I see, Mr Dedalus said, laying down his filled pipe. I didn't recognise
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himº for the moment. I hear he is keeping very select company. Are you a friend of his?

— I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, Lenehan said, in Mooney's en ville and in Mooney's sur mer. He had received the rhino for the labour of his muse |2and he did the thing on a large scale2|.

He laughed smiled to Miss Douce's listening eyes, and lips:

— The élite of Erin hung upon his lips. The pundit profound, Hugh mac MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant editor and that minstrel boy of the wild wet west known to the muses |2by the euphonious name (appellative)2| as O'Madden Burke.

|2After an interval |aof cool silencea| Mr Dedalus lifted his glass & drank2|

— That must have been highly diverting, Mr Dedalus said. I see.

|2He lifted his glass and drank.2| He looked towards the saloon door:

— You have moved the piano, he said.

— The tuner was in today, Miss Douce replied, tuning it for the smoking concert. And I never heard such an exquisite player.

— Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said

— Didn't he, miss Kennedy? The real classical. And blind too, the poor fellow. Not twenty years old I'm sure he was

— Is that a fact, Mr Dedalus said.

He strayed away

— So sad to look at his face, Miss Douce condoled.

Tink to her pity cried a diner's bell. She went to To the door of the diningroom came |2old2| bald Pat, the waiter. The diner wanted lager. Lager for diner. Lager without alacrity she served.

|2|xdamping thickness of feltx| |xactionx| Mr Dedalus, holding the piano open, gazed in the coffin at the oblique triple strings, and pressed a triple of keys, to see the muffled hammers fall.2|

In Tobin's Mr Bloom bought
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Twoº sheets of notepaper and two envelopes Mr Bloom bought in |2Tobin's Daly's2| and beyond the poster of a |2swaying waveswayed2| smoking mermaid he saw a hat on Essex bridge riding a jaunting car. |2Again. Funeral. Museum. Third. |aCoincidencea|2| Jingling, it jaunted from the bridge to Ormond quay. Again. Follow. Risk it. Follow. |2Go quick.2| Four, she said. |2|xBB's flowerx|2|

— A penny, |2sir,2| the shopgirl said dared to say.

— Of course … I was forgetting … Excuse.

— And five.

|2She winsome smiled. Bloo smi qui go. |aThink she's polite only to you. You're the only pebble on the beach. Does that to all.a| |xSwing her streaming hair, lovebraid, for men, a manx|2|

In drowsy silence gold bent on her page.

From the saloon a call came, long in dying: a call again, longer in dying from the tuningfork struck again by Mr Dedalus. Poised lightly on the pianocase it purely throbbed, |2softer softly,2| and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call.

Pat paid for diner's lager. Over the tray and |2glass2| bottle with Miss Douce he whispered in the diningroom door.

The bright stars fade, ….

A voiceless song sang from within, singing:

 … the morn is breaking

A duodene of |2treble2| birdnotes chirruped bright |2treble2| answer |2under sensitive hands2|. Brightly, the keys all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strains of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leavetaking, |2the strains2| of |2dewy life's, love's,2| morning

The dewdrops pearl ….

Lenehan's lips over the counter blew a low whistle of decoy

— But look this way, he said. Rose of Castile.

|2Jinglejaunted by the curb and halted.2|

|2Fretted, forlorn,2| She rose and closed her reading. Rose of Castile: she |2looked dreamily dreamily looked2| on her bosom's rose.

— Did she fall or was she pushed? |2she was2| asked |2by2| Lenehan.

She answered, slighting him:

— Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies
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Blazesº Boylan's |2smart2| tan shoes creaked on the barfloor as he strode. |2Lenehan heard and2| knew and hailed |2him them2|:

— See the conquering hero comes

Between the car and the barwindow went Mr Bloom, catwalking. See me |2he. He2| might. The seat he sat on. Warm. Towards Richie Goulding's legal bag lifted aloft saluting.

And if from thee …

— I heard you were round, Blazes Boylan said. What is it?

He touched to Miss Kennedy the slanted rim of his strawhat, she smiled up on him, her reading closed and far, preening her hair, her bosom |2and her and its2| rose.

Blazes Boylan smartly bespake their potions.

— What's your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter, please, and a sloe gin for me. Wire in yet?

— Not yet, said Lenehan.

Father Cowley in the sheriff's doorway. Avoid. Goulding a chance. Hello. Where are you off to? |2Something to eat2| Where? Ormond. Diningroom. Can't see me there. Sit tight. Still be near and hear. |2Hear.2| At four. I'll join you. Come along.

Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her arm, her bust

— O! O! |2cried jerked2| Lenehan |2gasping2| at every reach. O. O

Bust But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph.

— Why don't you grow? said |2Lenehan Blazes Boylan2|.

Miss Douce, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor, archly for his lips, looked as it flowed and syrupped with her |2winsome2| voice:

— Fine goods in small parcels.
— Here's fortune, Blazes blank

— Here's fortune, Blazes Boylan said.

He pitched a broad crown on
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— Hold on, said Lenehan, till I ….

— Fortune, he said, lifting his |2fresh drawn bubbled2| ale.

— Sceptre will win hands down, he said.

— I plunged a bit, Blazes Boylan said. Not for my own fancy. Friend of mine.

Lenehan still drank and smiled at the tilted ale. Miss Douce's |2shut2| lips all but hummed, the |2eastern2| oceansong her lips had trilled. Idolores. Eastern seas.

Clockface clacked.

She took the coin, struck the cash register. It clanged. Fair one of Egypt. She teased and sorted in the still. Look to the west, she hummed. And handed |2Blazes Boylan2| ringing coins in change. For me.

— What time is it? asked Blazes Boylan, drinking. Four?

Lenehan, his eyes hungering on Miss Douce's humming bust |2hungering2| tugged Blazes Boylan's cocca of his coat.

— Let's hear the time, he said

The legal bag of Richie Goulding |2Colles Ward2| led Mr Bloom by |2rye2| blooms flowered tables. Aimless he chose with agitated aim a table near the bardoor. He sat with Richie Goulding. Near. At four. Is he not? Forgotten. |2Perhaps a trick they have. Not come. Whet desire. I couldn't do that2| Wait. |2Pat, waiter, came to wait.2|

Miss Douce's sparkling eyes eyed Blazes' slanting hat

— Go on, pressed Lenehan. He never heard it.

…. to Flora's lips did hie

High, the high note pealed in the treble clear

Miss Douce, communing with
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herº rose that fell and rose, sought Blazes Boylan's bold blue |2tie bow2| and eyes.

— Please, please.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

I could not leave thee ….

— Afterwits, Miss Douce said coyly.

— No, now, urged Lenehan. Sonnez la cloche! |2Please O2| do. |2There's no-one. Miss Kennedy out of earshot2|

Sudden she bent. Two kindled kindling faces watched her bend.

Quavering the chords of the piano strayed from the air, found it again |2lost chord2| and lost, and found it

She nipped a peak of skirt above her knee |2(O do! please do. Sonnez!)2|, taunted them still with wilful eyes|2, delaying2|.

Smack. She set free |2smartly smartly2| a warm her elastic garter smack in rebound against |2her a woman's2| |2warm smart warmhosed2| thigh.

La cloche! cried Lenehan, kindled, |2content gleeful2|. I taught her. Trained by owner. No sawdust there.

— You're the essence of vulgarity, she said, turning her supercilious gaze.

Boylan tossed to fat lips |2a his2| tiny chalice, sucking the last thick |2violet2| syrupy drops. |2|xTossed off his chalice tinyx|2| His spellbound eyes went after her, her gliding head where it went down the bar by mirrors and hock and claret glasses, where it concerted, bronze with gold, with sad Miss Kennedy, whispering.

 ….. sweetheart, goodbye!

— I'm off, said Blazes Boylan. |2Bye bye2|

He slid his glass away and gathered change.

— Where? said Lenehan, drinking quickly. Got the horn? |2Wait. Wait a shake.2| I'm coming.

He gulped his all.

— Come on to blazes! Blazes Boylan said.

He went.

Lenehan followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by neatly as a bulky and a slender form
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crossedº the dark threshold to salute:

— How do you do, Mr Dollard?

— Eh? |2How do? How do?2| Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, turning an instant from Father Cowley's ear trouble. He won't give you any trouble |2Bob2|. I know long John. We'll put a barleystraw in that Judas' ear |2this time2|.

Sighing, Mr Dedalus came through the saloon, a finger soothing an eyelid.

— Hoho, we will, Ben Dollard yodled |2jollily2|. Come on, Simon. Give us a |2stave ditty2|. We heard the piano.

— What's that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only vamping.

|2Bald Pat in the diners' doorway |aasked calleda| for a cider and a glass of Power, to bronze by whispering gold. Still musing, to bronze by the window watching2|

— Come on, come on, Ben Dollard |2said called2|. Begone, dull care. |2carking coil and unread, unread2| Come, Bob!

He ambled in advance to the saloon. He plumped himself upon the stool. His gouty paws plumped |2all2| heavy chords. |2abrupt2| He stopped |2abrupt2|.

A jingle tinkle jaunted. Bloom heard: and sobbed the little sound: he heard: a sob of soft breath on the hyacin narcissus. He's gone. Jingling it jaunted. Hear.

— Love and War, Mr Dedalus said. God be with the past, Ben.

Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned, smitten by sunlight. Gone. Smiling (who knows?), smitten (the light is strong) she lowered the blind. She drew |2down2|, smiling, |2upon about2| their bronze and gold, |2a slow2| cool seagreen depth of shadow, eau de Nil.

— Poor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father Cowley remembered. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the piano.

— A symposium all his own, Mr Dedalus said. |2The devil wouldn't stop. He was a crotchety old fellow in the primary stage of drink.2|

— God, do you remember? Ben Dollard said, turning from the keyboard. And, by |2God Japers2|, I had no wedding garment

They laughed all three. He had
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noº |2wedding garment wedd2|. |2They laughed. No wedding garment.2|

— Bloom turned in handy |2that night2|, Mr Dedalus said. Where's my pipe, by the way?

He wandered back to the bar. Father Cowley laughed again

— Well, I saved the situation, Ben, what? he said.

— You did, Ben Dollard |2said averred2|. By God, I remember that. And those tight trousers too. By God, that was a brilliant idea of yours, Bob.

Father Cowley's ears and face blushed |2purple und his purply lobes2|.

— I knew he was hard up, he explained. She used to play the piano in the coffee palace. The waiter in the Grosvenor gave us the tip. |2Do you You2| remember? We had to search all Holles Street. Old clo', what?

— By God she had some splendid things there, I remember, Ben Dollard said, his broad face wondering.

Mr Dedalus, pipe in hand, wandered back.

— Merrion square. Opera cloaks and balldresses. I remember he wouldn't take any money. And court dresses.

Mr Dedalus nodded.

— Ay, ay, he said. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions.

Jingle jaunted up the quays Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres.

Liver and bacon, steak and kidney pie bald Pat the waiter served them.

Mrs Marion. A smell of burn Met him pike hoses. Smell of burn. Of Paul de Kock. Nice name he.

— What's this her name was? |2a buxom piece.2| Marion …

— Tweedy.

— Is she alive?

— And kicking.

— She's a daughter of … who's this?

— Daughter of the regiment.

— Yes, begad. I remember |2old major Tweedy the old drum major2|.

Mr Dedalus lit and puffed savoury puff after.

— Irish? I don't know, faith. Is she Simon?

Puff after stiff puff, a
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strong,º savoury |2crackling2|.

|2The buccinator Buccinator2| muscle is. |2What?2| Bit rusty. |2What?2| O, she is. |2My Irish Molly, O.2|

He puffed a pungent plumy blast.

|2Irish Molly O.2| From the rock of Gibraltar |2all. All2| the way.

They pined in depth of ocean shadow, bronze by the beerpull, gold near maraschino, |2silent thoughtful2| all two, Lidia Kennedy |2of,2| 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra |2and with2| Idolores, a queen, |2now2| silent.

|2Bloom Leopold2| cut |2nutty liver liver slices2|, streaky bacon. As said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding, Colles, Ward ate steak and kidney, |2kake and stidney steak then kidney2|, bite by bite |2of pie2| he ate Bloom ate they ate.

Bloom with Goulding, |2silent married in silence,2| ate.

|2Jaunty By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty2| jingled Blazes Boylan, bachelor: in sun, in heat, mare's glossy rump |2atrot2|, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres, sprawled, warmseated, |2ardent ardentsouled2|, |2bold boldsouled2|. Horn. Have you the? Horn. |2Have you the? Haw haw horn.2| |2B. Boylan's horn2|

Over their voices Ben |2boomed Dollard's bassooned bass louder attack2| with |2|aboom bombardinga|2| crashing chords:

When love absorbs my ardent soul.

— War! war! |2cried declared2| Father Cowley. You're the warrior.

— So I am, Ben Dollard cried.

He stopped. He wagged his huge beard |2and,2| huge face over his blunder huge.

— Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said with amid smoke aroma, with an organ like yours.

In abundant laughter Dollard shook upon |2the keys keyboard2|. He would.

— Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley added. Half time, Ben, |2Amoroso ma non troppo.2|
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Letº me there.

|2Miss Kennedy served two |acolda| tankards to two gentlemen. She passed the remark about the weather: that it was beautiful. |aIt was Beautifula| indeed, one gentleman said. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? Was there a? No, she didn't know. It must be in the paper. O, she need not trouble. He drank from her tankard. No trouble. She |afetched the waved about the outspreada| Independent searching, her pinnacles of fair hair slowmoving. Too much trouble. O, not at all. Way he looked that time. Beautiful indeed. Bronze by gold, Miss Douce's head by Miss Kennedy's heard hoofs go by, the ringing steel.2|

|2my ardent soul

I care not for the morrow2|

Love and War someone is playing. |2in liver gravy2| Mr Bloom mashed mashed potatoes |2in liver gravy2|. Ben Dollard's famous. Night he |2came ran2| round to us to borrow the suit for that concert. Trousers tight as a drum on him. All Molly laughed when he went out. Threw herself |2back2| across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O saints above, I'm drenched! O, I never laughed so much! Well, of course, that's what gives |2men him2| the base barreltone. For instance eunuchs. Wonder who's playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. |2Musical. Knows what note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. |aAlways liked the way he sits at the piano. Like one instrument. Mutual understanding. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, sawing the cello. Remind you of toothache. Night we were in the box, the orchestra under, puffing, blowing, |bscrewing unscrewingb|, emptying out spittle. But the harp was lovely, glowering gold light. Girl touching it. Poop of a lovely golden ship. Erin. The harp that once. Cool hands. We are harps.a| |xConductor's legs, bags trousers jigging. The rill the rill the rillledy rill. Do right to hide them.x|2| Stopped.

Miss Douce, engaging, bowed to suave George Lidwell, entering |2gentleman2|. Good afternoon. She gave her moist (a lady's) hand to to his firm handclasp. Afternoon.

— Your friends are inside, Mr Lidwell.

George Lidwell held her |2genteel soliciting2| hand

— Ah, I couldn't, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy and listless.

— Go on, blast you! Ben Dollard |2said growled2|. Get it out in bits.

M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley said.

|2down stage2| He strode |2for some paces2| gravely |2down stage2|, tall in affliction, his arms outheld. Hoarsely, {bent} the apple of his throat, sang softly. Softly he sang to the dusty landscape seascape there: a headland A Last Farewell. A headland, a ship |2a sail2| upon the billows, farewell, a lovely girl waving her veil upon the headland height, wild wind around her. Cowley sang:

M'appari tutt' amor
Il mio sguardo …

She waved, unhearing, him, her veil, to one departing,
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dearº one, love, return.

— Go on, Simon.

— Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, |2Ben …2|  … Well.

Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest upon the piano ledge and, sitting, |2touched vamped on2| the |2obedient2| keys.

— No, Simon, Father Cowley said, turning. Play it in the original. One flat.

The keys, obedient, rose higher, told, faltered, confessed, confused.
— Here, Simon,

Up stage |2came strode2| Father Cowley

— Here, Simon, I'll |2do that accompany you2|, he said. Get up.

By Graham Lemon's jingle jogged, by Elvery's elephant house.

Steak and kidney. Power. |2Sonambula.2| Most beautiful tenor air ever written. |2Sonambula.2| All is lost now. He heard Joe Maas one night sing. |2Lyrical tenor.2| Never would unread he forget |2M'Guckin? Couldn't hold a candle to him. O yes. Yes. But that choirboy style. No. Joe Maas was the boy. McGuck. Joe Maas. Massboy, choirboy.2|

Mr Bloom tenderly over liverless bacon saw the suffering face before him. Backache. |2Not making much hand of that pie. Best value in Dublin. Characteristic of him.2| Bright's disease. Next item on the programme. |2Voice too. Down among the Dead men. Appropriate. Powdered bread pills. Worth a guinea a box. Stave it off awhile.2| Power. So particular about his drink. Fecking matches from counters to save then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. |2Never a cent brass farthing not as much as would dust a fiddle2| when he's wanted! Queer types.

Never would Richie Goulding forget that night as. As long as he lived|2, never2|. He was in the gallery |2of the old Royal2| with little Peake. And when the first note. |2Speech paused on his lips.2|

Coming out with a whopper now. |2Rhapsodies about damn all2| Greatest liar unhung. Believes them himself. |2He does Does really.2|

— Which air is that? Mr Bloom asked.

Richie Goulding's lips Goulding |2set cocked2| his lips |2awhistle apout2|. A low incipient note sweet murmured: all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, sweet, good teeth he has for all that, fluted with plaintive woe. Is lost now. All is lost. Mournful |2he pleaded,2| surrender,
{ms, 017}
fall,º is lost.

Mr Bloom bent ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the breadtray. Order. All now lost. In sleep she went to him. Innocent sleep. Still hold her back. |2Wake her.2| |2no giddiness They do not know how near.2| Too late now. |2Jingle jaunting. Jauntyjingle.2| She longed to go. That's why she went. A woman. Stop the sea. Yes. All is lost.

— A beautiful air, Mr Bloom said |2and drank cider2|. I know it.

Never in all his life had Richie Goulding.

He knows it too or feels. |2The wise Wise2| child that knows her own father. Sharp man |2that2| Dedalus is. And me?

Bloom askance over liverless bacon saw the suffering face before him. |2Rollicking Richie once. His old stale jokes. Wagging his ear. Napkin ring in eye2|

Piano again. Sounds better than last time. |2Tuned probably.2| |2Stopped.2|

Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer |2to out with it2|.

|2Out Out2| with it, Simon.

|2with2| it, Simon |2|aNay, urge me not I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations.a| I have money but |aif you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing to youa| I will sing you of a heart bowed down.2|

By the sandwich bell in screening shadow Mina Douce, her bronze and rose, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: and in cool |2seashadow seaglaucous2| |2by the tankards2| Lydia Kennedy {sunned} her pinnacles of gold.

The |2harping chords of2| prelude ended closed: a chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew the voice its way.

When first I saw that form endearing

Richie Goulding turned:

|2That's Simon Si2| Dedalus' voice, he said

Mr Bloom signed to bald Pat to set the door |2of the bar2| ajar. So. Right: so.

Sorrow from me seemed to depart

Through the hush of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leaves in murmur, like no voice of strings or reeds |2or what do you call them dulcimers2| touching their still ears, |2their still2| hearts, remembered lives. It was good to hear: sorrow from them seemed to depart when first they heard: when first they
{ms, 018}
sawº mercy |2and of2| beauty, and heard her |2first2| merciful |2and lovely a2| lovesoft |2eyes word2|.

Love that is singing. |2Love's old sweet song2| Mr Bloom unwound slowly the elastic band of his packet |2Love's old sweet song2| and wound it in a skein round four — fingers and stretched it and relaxed and wound it round his troubled (?) double |2and treble and in fourfold, in octave2| and gyved them fast.

Full of hope and all delighted

Tenors get women |2by the score2|. |2But2| He can't sing for nuts. Your head it simply swurls. Perfumed for him. What perfume does your wife. I want to know. Jingle, jingle, jingle. Stop. Knock. |2Looks Last Look2| at mirror: always before she answers, the door. The hall. There? Kiss? a how do you do? |2I do well.2| Phial of |2violet couchous kissing comfits2| she has: sweetens the breath. Hand felt for the opulent.

Alas! The voice rose sighing |2in modulation2| |2shining2| loud, full, |2shining,2| proud.

Alas 'twas idle dreaming …

Glorious voice he has still. |2Wears Wore out his wife: now sings2| Silly man! He could have made his |2fortune oceans of money2|. All like that. |2If he doesn't break down overstrung nerves: drink. |aMust be abstemious singer.a|2|

It welled its tenderness, slow swelling, full and throbbed. Give all! Take! Throb, a throb, a throb, pulsing, proud, erect.

It's not the words. It's the thing behind. |2Bloom looped unlooped, noded disnoded.2|

A flood of warm sweet secretness flowed out in music, in desire, the dark invisible sinful invading. Tup. From pores dilated. Tup. From sluices pouring gushes. Pour, flood, gush, flow, throb again. Language of love. |2A ray of hope is beaming. Lydia for Lidwell unsqueaked a cork.2|

L Martha it is. Coincidence. Must write. Can't write. Accept my little |2present pres2|. |2Lionel's song. |aThea| Lovely name you have.2| She's a silly. I called you naughty boy. Still the name. Martha. How strange.
{ms, 019}

Theº voice returned. Weaker but unwearied it sang again how first it saw that form endearing, how sorrow then departed, how look and form and word charmed him and won his heart

First night at Mat Dillon's I saw her. Yellow and black |2lace2|, she wore. Her voice. |2|xThen musical chairs. We two the last. After her. Round and round. Slow. Quick. And round. Halt. She sat. Her eyes.x|2| Waiting she sang. I turned her music. Full voice of win sun |2vines2| and flowers, something like |2flowers oleander2|. |2Full bust I saw singing. bosom I saw, both full, throat warbling.2| When first I saw. She thanked me. Spanish eyes. |2Luring. Ah, alluring.2|

Martha! |2Ah,2| Martha!

|2Quitting all languor2| He cried in grief, in passion to love to return, with deepening and rising chords of harmony|2, in. In2| loneliness that she should know, should feel,. For her he waited. Where? Somewhere.

|2Wish I could see his face. Explain better. Why |athe thata| barber last time always looked in the glass when I spoke. His face, my face2|

— Co-ome, thou lost one! co-come Co-ome, thou dear one!

Alone one love, one hope, one comfort. |2Come! Martha!2| |2Chestnote2| |2|xDon't spin it out too long. Long breath he has. Breath of long life.x|2|

It soared |2a silver orb2|, |2a bird, it held its flight, |aSustained speedinga|2| a swift pure cry, |2a silver orb2| highsoaring, |2|xleaped serenex|2| high resplendent, crowned and |2consumed in aflame high in2| the effulgence |2symbolistic, high,2| of the etherial bosom, high, of the vast irradiation everywhere all |2all soaring,2| round about |2of the |aall, hera| the endlessnessnessness.2|

— To me.


Come. Well sung. All clapped. She ought to. Come |2to. To2| me, |2to2| him, |2to2| her, |2you too,2| me, us.

— Bravo. Clapclap. Good man, Simon. Clappyclapclap. Encore. |2Clapclapclapclap. Clapclipclapclap.2| Sound as a bell, Simon. |2Bravo, Simon.2| Clopclopclap. Encore. Enclap, said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard, Lydia Kennedy, |2Father Cowley,2| Mina Douce, |2Father Cowley, Lydia Kennedy,2| two gentlemen with two tankards, Ben Dollard, George Lidwell, first |2gentleman gent2| with |2first tankard tank2| and bronze Miss Douce and gold miss Kennedy.

Blazes Boylan's smart tan
{ms, 020}
shoesº creaked on the barfloor as he strode, as said before. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, of admiral Horatio Nelson, of Father Theobald Matthew, jaunted, as said before. Atrot, in heat, warmseated. Cloche. Sonnez la. Cloche. Sonnez la. Slower the mare went up the hill by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Too slow for Boylan, Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan jogged the mare.

|2The An2| afterclang of chords closed, |2and2| died on the air made richer.

And Richie Goulding drank his Power and Bloom his cider drank and Lidwell drank his Jameson and the second gentleman |2ordered |aunder miss Douce's eyesa| said they would partake of two2| two |2fresh of miss Kennedy's2| tankards from if she would not mind. She |2smiled smirked |awith coral lipsa|2|, disserving, at first and second gentleman. She did not mind.

— A week in gaol, Ben Dollard said, on bread and water. Then you'd sing, Simon |2like a garden thrush Simon2|.

The singer |2Simon2| laughed |2pleased2|. Father Cowley played. Mina Kennedy served. The second gentleman paid. Tom Kernan strutted in. Miss Douce, admired, admired.

Richie |2Goulding2|, admiring, |2said descanted on th2| that |2man had a man's2| glorious voice. He remembered one night. He would never forget that night. Si sang 'Twas rank and fame |2In Lambert 'twas2| Good God, he never heard in all his life a note like that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard since love lives not a clinking voice lives not ask Lambert he will tell you too.

Richie Goulding, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom face of the night Si in Ned Lambert's house Dedalus
{ms, 021}
sangº 'Twas Rank and Fame.

Mr Bloom listened while Richie Goulding told him about|2, Mr Bloom,2| of the night, he, Richie Goulding, heard him, Si Dedalus, sing 'Twas Rank and Fame in his, Ned Lambert's, house.

Brothers-in-law. |2Relations2| Rift in the lute at present. Treats him with contempt. See. He admires him all the more. |2The night Si sang. |aWonderful it is |bhuman voiceb|, more than all others. Two tiny chords.a|2|

That voice was a lamentation. Her name too. And I am waiting. |2Calmer now. It's in the silence after that you feel. Vibrations. Now silent air.2|

Mr Bloom ungyved his |2|awristcrossed crisscrosseda|2| hands and, with slack fingers, plucked the slender catgut |2band thong2|. |2It buzzed. He |adrew spanneda| and plucked. It twanged.2| While Richie Goulding talked of |2Barraclough's of2| voice production. While Tom Kernan |2harking back in a kind of retrospective arrangement2| talked to Father Cowley, who played a voluntary, who nodded as he played. While big Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus who nodded as he smoked, who smoked.

Thou lost one. All songs are about that. |2Yet more he stretched. Twang. It snapped.2| Cruel it seems. |2Yet |atoo mucha| happy bores.2| Let people get fond of each other |2lure them on2|. Then tear them asunder. Death. Explosion. Knock on the head. Outohelloutofthat. Human life that is. Dignam. |2Five bob I gave.2| And I. And one day she with. Suffer then. Snivel. Big eyes. |2Look Looking2| at nothing. Hair uncombed.

Jingle into Dorset street jinglejingled.

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.

— Don't make half so free, she said, till we're better acquainted.

A tankard gentleman told gold Miss Kennedy: she asked him was that so. He told her it was so. His friend told her also it was so. She asked him was it so.

|2Better write it here. Quills in the postoffice all chewed and crooked.2|

Bald Pat, at a sign, drew nigh. A pen and ink. He went. A |2blotting2| pad |2to blot2|. |2Lot of ground he must cover in the day2|

— Yes, Mr Bloom said, teasing the curling catgut band. It certainly is. Few lines will do. My present. All that Italian music is. |2Who is this wrote? Know the name you know better.2| Take out sheet notepaper envelope. Unconcerned. So It's so characteristic.

— The |2finest grandest2| number in the whole
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opera,º Richie Goulding said.

— It is, said Mr Bloom.

Numbers it is. All the sounds when you come to think. Two multiplied by two divided by half. Two is twice one. The vibrations. Chords. Those are one plus two plus six is seven. |2Can do anything with figures, juggle them about|a, always find out this equal to thata|2| |2Then it's all2| the symmetry of the cemetery. And you think you're listening to the etherial. But suppose you said it like seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. |2Have no effect Fall quite flat2|. It's on account of the sound.

Instance he's playing now. Might be what you like |2till you hear the words2|. |2Want to listen sharp every note. Then Hard. Begin: then hear chords somewhere else: get kind of lost. |xThe time makes the tune.x|2| Question of mood. Still nice to hear. Except of course scales up and down girls learning. Milly no taste. Queer because we both. Ought to have |2dummy dinky2| pianos for that.

Bald deaf Pat brought |2quite2| flat pad ink pen|2. and set, them down ink pen flat pad. Pat set, down with pad flat quite pen ink2|. Pat took plate dish knife fork. |2up.2| Pat went.

It was the only language Mr Dedalus said. As a boy in Queenstown he heard them out by Ringabella |2singing their barcaroles2|. Harbour full of Italian ships then. Walking in the moonlight with their earthquake hats they blent their voices. As a boy he heard it.

A sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand over his lips that sang a moonlight nightcall a far far |2note call2| replying.

Down the edge of his Freeman baton |2travelled ranged2| Mr Bloom's glance scanning. Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett. Aha. Just the ad I was looking.

Holding the paper unfurled he can't see must write Greek ees. Dear Mady. Just got your letter and flower. Where did I put? Some pocket. Can't look now. It is utterly impossible. Better underline that. So. Me to write today. |2Bore this is. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflecting finger on the flat pad Pat brought.2| You know why. Change that ee. So. Please accept my poor little present |2enclosed2|. Wait. Five Dignam. About two
{ms, 023}
Pennyº the birds. Seven Davy Byrne's. Is eight. Half a crown say. Seven and eight and two and six half sovereign. Write me a long letter. Tell me do you despise me. Am so excited. Why do you call me naughty? Are you naughty too? Goodbye for today. Yes. I will tell you all. I want to. But call me that other word. Other world she wrote. Call me it. You must. It is true.

Folly am I writing. Husbands don't. Their wives. It's because I. Away from her. Suppose I. But how? She must have. If she found out. Never tell all. Useless pain. Woman. Sauce for the gander.

Past Dlugacz' porkshop, bright with tubes of forcemeat, trotted a jingling gallant |2buttocked2| mare.

It will excite me. You know how. In haste. Henry. Greek ee. Better add postscript. What is he playing now? |2Improvising?2| Intermezzo. |2P.S.2| Tum tum tum tum. How will you pun? You punish me? Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Tell me I want |2to know to. Know2| O. Course if I didn't I wouldn't ask. La la la ree. Trails off sad there |2in minor2|. Sign: H. They like sad bit at end. P.P.S. I feel La la la |2ree. Dee reeDeeº2|. I feel so sad today |2so lonely2|. He folded

— Answering an ad, Richie Goulding's keen eyes asked.

— Yes, Mr Bloom said. Town traveller. Nothing in it, I expect.

Address. Just copy out of paper. He murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. He wrote:

Miss Martha Clifford
c/o P.O.
Dolphin's Barn

Better not blot where he might read. There. Right. Idea for story. Something detective
{ms, 024}
readº off blottingpaper. Prize Titbit. Payment at the rate of one guinea per column.

Too poetical that about the sad. Music did that. Music hath charms. Done anyhow. Postal order and stamp. Postoffice lower down. Walk, walk. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. Dislike that job. Walk. Pat. How much is that?

About there now. Talk. Talk. Walk. Wish they'd |2play sing2| more. Keep my mind off.

Miss Douce, requested, served the same again, she had a gorgeous time. Simply gorgeous it was. That lovely shell she brought. To the end of the bar she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he, George Lidwell, solicitor might hear.

— Listen! she bade.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words |2(an authentic fact it was. Yes. How Walter Bapty lost his voice. The husband, Sir Tom, took him by the throat. You scoundrel, said he, you'll sing no more lovesongs.) Sir Tom did)2| |2the accompanist2| wove music slow, ceasing could not. She held it to his ear. He |2heard hears2|. He heard. Wonderful. She held it to her own. And gold Miss approached to hear.

Mr Bloom, through the open door, saw a shell held at their ears and heard more faintly that they heard, each for herself alone, then each for other, hearing, the plash of waves, loudly, a silent roar.

Bronze by a weary gold they listened |2paled(?) in the sifted light2|.

Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe there. Hair braided over. Shell with seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with hairs hair. |2|xTurksx|2| Find the way in. A cave. No admittance except on business.

The sea they think they hear. Singing and a roar. The blood it is. Singing in the ears sometimes. Blood is a sea, sea with purple islands.
{ms, 025}

Wonderfulº really. So clear. Again George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing, and laid it most gently by.

— What are the wild waves saying? he asked. her., smiling.

Charming and smiling and unanswering |2she Lydia on Lidwell2| smiled.

By Larry, my bold Larry, by Larry O'Rourke's went Boylan.

From the abandoned shell Miss Kennedy glided to tankards waiting. Miss Douce was not so lonely, archly her arching head let Lidwell know. It was exquisite walking in the moonlight by the sea. With whom? he asked her. Not alone? No, |2she said nobly nobly she |asaid denieda|2|. With a gentleman friend.

Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the treble played again. The landlord has the prior claim. a little time. Long John. Big Ben. He played lightly a light bright tinkling measure, for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, |2for graces2| and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. One|2,:2| one, one, one, one, one|2,:2| two, one, three, four.

Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, |2water,2| cows |2lowing, the cattle market, bleating, cocks, hens,2| birds, |2hens no2| snakes |2hiss2|. There's music everywhere. Ruttledge's door: ee, cree. That's only noise. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing. Nice that is. |2Dee: dee, dee, dee, dee, dee: Ree: ree, ree, ree, ree, ree:2| tareedarum.

|2Joy: I can feel. it is. Never have written though. Other joy, my joy. Still |2all joy both both joy all2|. Mere fact of music shows. Often thought she was in the dumps. Then she began to lilt. Only when you are. Minuet in a musicroom: misery outside. Green starving peasants2|

Jigjog stopped. A dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan descended lightly dandily.

Chamber music. Course you could make a joke. 'Tis a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustics, that is. |2Tinkling2| Because the acoustic the resonance changes according as the. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's: Hungarian. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddleddle Diddleddladdle Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Lum lum. |2Lum. Hiss.2| Maybe now.
{ms, 026}

|2He One2| rapped on a door |2and,2| one tapped with a knock did he knock with a loud proud knocker with a cock |2Paul de Kock2| carracarracarra cock. Cockcock.

Qui sdegno, Ben, Father Cowley said

— No, Ben, |2interfered2| Tom Kernan |2said2|. The Croppy Boy. |2In our native Dorics2|

— Ay, do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true.

|2— Do, do, they begged in unison2|

— What key, Ben? Six sharps?

— F. sharp major, Ben Dollard said.

The outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords.

|2Miss Douce did not believe George Lidwell. Miss Kennedy did not believe the first and not the second gentleman of the tankards. Miss Douce, miss Lydia did not believe: Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not believe: George Lidwell: and, did not believe: |amissa| Douce miss Mina not believe: the first, the first: gent with the tank: believe: no, no: not Lidwell, no: did not: believe, believe: |aMiss Ken:a| the tank: George Lid: Lid Lydiawell: the tank.2|

Bald |2bothered Pat Pat who is bothered2| folded |2the2| napkins. Pat is a waiter, hard |2in of2| his hearing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. Hee hee. A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. While you wait. He will wait. Hee hee hee hee. Wait while you wait.

But wait. But hear. Dark |2chords2| lugulugubrious. |2Low. In caverns of dark middle earth. Embedded ore.2|

The voice of age, of unlove, of fatigue |2made grave approach2|, called on good men and true. The priest he sought. With him would he speak. a word.

Ben Dollard's voice that is, base barreltone. |2Doing his best to sing.2| Another come down. Big ship's ship chandler's business he had. |2Rosiny ropes. Ships' lanterns. |aDid things on a large scale.a|2| Now in the Iveagh home. Cubicle so and so. Number one bass did that.

The priest's at home. A false servant bade him welcome. Step inside. The holy father. A
{ms, 027}
traitorº servant |2with bows2|. Curleques of chords.

Ruin them. Then build cubicles to lay them in to die in. After all the pints. Put me in my little bed. |2hushaby lullaby2| Die, dog. Little dog.

The voice of warning|2, of solemnity,2| told me them the youth had entered that lonely hall, how solemn sounded his footfall there, told them the gloomy chamber, told them the priest vested in an oaken chair.

Decent soul |2but fat bit addled2| in the head. Bass. Thinks he'll win a prize in Answers competition, great writers' puzzle. Bird sitting |2on hatching2| a nestegg. Lay of the Last Minstrel, he thought it was. Fine voice, though. |2He's no eunuch.2|

Listen. Bloom listened, Richie Goulding listened to Ben Dollard. Deaf Pat listened by the door again.

The chords harped slower.

The voice of penance and grief came slow |2embellished, tremulous2|. He knelt, confessed his sins. The voice intoned a sound of penance. In nomine Dei, in God's name he confessed. He beat his hand upon his breast. Mea culpa.

Latin. That holds them fast. The priest this morning with the communion things. The priest in the mortuary. |2Belly like a posioned pup. With his singsong.2| Namine |2Domini Damini2|. Croak of a raven.

They listened. The false priest. The tankards and miss Kennedy. George |2Lidwell Eyelidwell2| and fullbusted satin. Kernan. Si.

The sighing voice of sorrow sang. |2Ben's |acontritea| beard confessed2| His sins. Since Easter he had cursed three times. And once at masstime he had gone to play. And once by the churchyard he had gone and for his mother he had not prayed. A boy confessed |2grief for his mother2|. A croppy boy.
{ms, 027v}

|2|xHeeº hee hee hee. Wait while you wait. Hee hee a preacher is he. Hee hee. I wonder did he. Hee hee. Practise what he? Hee hee hee hee Preach while you wait. He walks |aShakespeare that isa| a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerald herbalist he walks. Afar hands on whiteness laid. He has quotations for |aeverything all subjectsa|, |a|bwisdom textb| fora| every day in the year. Wonder did he practise what he preached. Wisdom while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. A preacher is he. I wonder did he. Practise what hex|2|
{ms, 028}

Deafº Pat held wider |2open ajar2| the door.

Bronze, listening by the beerpull, gazed far away. Soulful eyes. |2Doesn't half know I'm looking. Molly |adaba| devil of an eye to see anyone looking. All women.

Bronze gazed far sideways. Mirror there. |aMolly Molly likes left(?) side of her face besta| before she answers the door. To titivate, a touch, a dab.


|22| What do they think about when they hear music. |2Music hath charms. Owls and birds.2| Way to catch rattlesnakes. Night we got the box for Trilby, Michael Gunn. |2Brasses under us braying asses. Fiddles sawing. Like toothaches. |a|bwoodwinds Woodwindsb| like Goodwin's name mooing like cows.a| Conductor's legs jiggers. Good job to hide them. |xdoublebasses lying there helpless things, two gashes in their sidesx| |xharps lovely golden poops of ships woman plucks we are the harps not gold.x| |aTuning up. |bTootling, psa, psa, prr: psipsa.b| Shah of Persia liked that business |abetter besta| of all. Also wiped his nose in curtain. Custom of his country.a|2| Footlights glowering on the gilty work. |2Nibbling2| Clove in her mouth account of the heat. Keep breath sweet. Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, full to be seen. Hypnotism. |2The soul.2| Told her what Spinoza says in that book of poor papa's. She listened, soulful eyes. Chap in dress circle staring down into her with his operaglass. Philosophy.

All gone, all fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey his loving brothers all. To Wexford, the boys of. Wexford, he would go. |2The voice unfolded.2| Last of his name and race.

I too. Last of my name. Milly young student. Rudy. My fault perhaps. No son. Too late now. Or if not?

He bore no hate.

I too. No hate. Why hate? Or love? |2Love one another.2| Rudy, if he had lived.

Great voice Richie Goulding said, flush struggling in his pale. Ireland comes now. My country above the King. They |2are all all are2| hypnotised.

— Bless me, father, Ben Dollard the croppy cried, bless me and let me go.

Got up to kill. |2do the swell,2| On eighteen bob. Mystery. Fellows. |2Land out Shell out2| the cash. Been to the seaside. Hotel. Moonlit walk. |2|xchorusgirl's romancex| The sad sea waves2| |2Write her letters: |afroma| Chickabiddy's Mumpseypum. Her broken heart. |aWant to keep your eyes opena| I never signed. |aHenry.a| Lionel too. I could have. Leo is lion. Lionel. Leopold. |xRead out in courtx|2| Breach of promise. Jack Power and, that barmaid |2too2|. Those girls! Those girls, those lovely seaside.

Low sank the music, air and words. |2Then hastened.2| The false priest rustling from his |2cloak cassock2|. A yeoman captain. They know it all before. A yeoman cap. The thrill they like.
{ms, 029}

Thrilled,º she listened, bending |2in sympathy2| to hear.

Blank face. Virgin perhaps |2or fingered only |aBut fever near her moutha|2|. Write something. If you don't what becomes of them. Despair. Decline. Sad thing. They want it. |2|aKeeps them young. Admired, admire themselvesa| Play on her. Lip and blow. |aBody of white woman.a| A flute alive. Blow gentle. Loud. Three holes. All women same.2| Not too much polite. And that's why he. |2Gold in your pocket, brass in your face.2| Say something, make her hear. |2With look to look. Songs without words. |aMolly, the German bandman organgrinder hurdygurdyman hurdygurdyboy. She knew |bShe knew he meant the corn was bad. She knew he meant the monkey was sick. Understand animals too that way.b| A gift that is.a|2| Ventriloquism. My lips closed. Think in the stomach or what?

Will? You? I. Want. You. To.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed. |2Swelling in apoplect.2| |2A2| Good |2night thought2|, boy, to come. One short hour's your time to live|2, your last2|.

The thrill. Pity they feel: For all things dying, for all things born. Because |2they feel it their wombs2|. That's their |2job blank2|, part of life. |2of woman2|

The liquid woman's eyeball gazed under a fence of |2barbs lashes2|, calmly, hearing. |2See real beauty of the eye when |adoesn't speak not speaksa|.2| On yonder river. At each slow heaving |2satiny2| wave of her bosom (|2the her2| heaving embonpoint) her red rose rose and sank with the waves |2heartbeats, her breath, breath that is life2| and all the tiny tiny |2trembles of fernfoils of tremulous2| maidenhair

But look. The bright stars fade. Orose. Castile. The morn is breaking.

Lidwell that is. His fascinated eyes. See her from here. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties.

On the smooth jutting beerpull lay her hand, lightly, plumply, white on the enamel. Molly knows that too. Hand up so that the blood runs back. White hand. She's lost in pity. To, fro, to, fro over the polished knob (she knows my eyes, his eyes) her |2thumb and2| fingers passed in pity and reposed and, gently touching, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, a cool firm baton white protruding out of their sliding ring.

I hold this house. Amen. |2He gnashed in fury2| All traitors swing.

The chords consented. Sadly. It had to be.

Get out before the end. Pass by her. Letter I have. Walk, walk, walk somewhere. Time. Goulding.
{ms, 030}
Mustº shove along. Sorry. Can't reach.

By deaf |2Pat straining ear2| in the doorway Mr Bloom passed out.

At Geneva barrack he died, that young man. At Passage was his body laid. The voice of |2the2| mournful |2herald chanter2| called to prayer.

By rose, by satin bosom, by the |2caressing fondling2| hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold, went Bloom, soft Bloom, |2so sad, I feel2| so lonely Bloom.

Pray for him, |2still2| prayed the voice of Dollard. You who hear in peace. Breathe a prayer for him, drop a tear. Good men, good people. |2For |aPray for He wasa|2| the croppy boy.

Bloom |2in the hallway2| heard the growls and roars of bravo |2and fat backclapping2|, heard the treading of their feet. Going in all for a |2drink swill2| to wash it down. Just avoided that

— Come on, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. By Christ, you're as good as ever you were.

— Better, Tomgin Kernan said. A most masterly rendition |2of that ballad2| upon my |2oath soul2| and honour it is.

— Lablache, Bob Cowley said

Ben Dollard bulkily kecuchad towards the bar, mightily rewarded, and all roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering castaquettes in the air

Big Benaben Dollard. Big Benaben. Bigbenben.

|2And, |aAnd, |ball compassionate deepmoved allb|, Simon trumping compassion from his nose, theya| laughing all, they brought him forth in right good cheer2|

— You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell said.

Miss |2Douce Kennedy2| polished a |2fluted2| tumbler. Miss Douce composed her rose.

— He is, Mr Dedalus said, clapping the fat back's shoulderblade. He has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his
{ms, 031}


— Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard |2said scowled2|.

Bob Cowley. Father Cowley with stout Tom Kernan followed. Most masterly rendition with purply lugs and scraggy Adam's apple.

Richie Goulding of unread firm sat alone, uncertain, waiting. While he waited deaf Pat waited.

Miss Kennedy approached her lips near to the nearer ear of tankard one.

— Mr Dollard, |2she her |aLydiaa| lips2| whispered|2, so prudently low2|.

— Dollard, the tankard murmured.

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. He sang that song lovely, Lydia said. Dollard. And The Last Rose of Summer was a lovely one. Lydia loved that. |2Tankard loved it.2|

Tis the last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound |2round2| inside.

Gassy thing that cider|2, binding too2|. Wait. Post office up |2there where near2| Reuben J's |2office2|. Get shut of it. Dodge round by Greek street. Wish I hadn't promised to meet them. Freer in the air, walking. Gets on your nerves. Music. |2Hand. Her hand. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. |aBen Howth we lay. Her cool soft hand that touched. Far far far far. |bThat rules the world.b|a|2| Beerpull.

|2Mr Bloom walked up the quay2|

Cowley, he stuns himself with it. |2Kind of drunkenness. |aInstance enthusiasts. All ears. Not lose a quaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty Always talking shop. Fiddle faddle about concertsa|2| Rea Unpleasant when it stops. Old Glynn too in Gardiner street. Made it talk. Instruments always trying to say. Queer up there in the organ loft, back to the whole performance, with keys and stops. Blow the bellows. Growl, angry, then shriek, cursing (want to have wadding or something in his ears) then
{ms, 032}
allº soft all of a sudden wee little wee little pipey wind

Pwee. A wee little wind piped. Eeee. In Bloom's little wee.

— Was he? Mr Dedalus said. I was with him this morning at Glasnevin.

— The wife is |2in the musical line musical2|, isn't she? Fine voice, hasn't she?

— Shout! Ben Dollard |2said shouted2|, pouring water.

|2I do Lldo2|, cried Father Cowley.

I feel I want.

— Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring |2very hard2| at a label of headless sardine.

Under the sandwich bell on a bier of bread lay |2a one lost2| lonely. Bloom alone.

— Very, he stared. In The lower register for choice.

Bloom went by Barry's. Wish I could. Wait. Twentyfour solicitors in that house. Counted them. Overcrowded. |2Litigation. Love one another.2| Parchment.

But for example the fe chap that |2plays wallop2| the big drum. His vocation in life. |2Mickey Rooney's band2| Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home with it in an armchair after dinner. Pom. Pompedy. Pom. |2Jolly for the wife.2| Asses' skins. Welt them black and blue through life, then after death. Pom. |2Wallop.2| Seems to be bocksheesh or I mean kismet. |2|xCow Instruments. Even a comb and tissue paper you can. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Girl still she was then. Time.x|2|

|2Must have been originally instruments for each trade as for example a hunter and a his horn. Haw have you the. Shepherd pipe. Sailor policeman whistle. Drum? I know. Wait. Towncrier or a bailiff. You can hear the music all the same only it's all one pom pom pompedy note.2|

I must really. Fff. |2Now if I did that in company. Lovely |avoice tonea| Dedalus has still.2| Wait. O. The whore. |2Off her beat here2|

A frowsy whore |2in a sideways hat2| with black straw hat askew came glazily in the day towards Mr Bloom. Yes, that's the one that wet night in the lane. Psst! Any chance of your washing. Knew Molly. |2Had me decked. |aHer black sailor hat awrya|2| Stout lady does be with you |2in the brown costume2|. Devils women are. Look in here.

|2In Lionel Marks's |aantiquea| window Mr Bloom looked at battered candlesticks, a melodeon oozing maggoty |ablowbags bellowsbagsa|, bargain, six shillings. Cheap. Let her pass. Course everything is dear if you don't want it. |aThat's what good salesman is. Makes you buy what you don't want.a|2|

|2Looking,2| Mr Bloom earnestly viewed a gallant hero in Lionel Marks's window. Stout lady does be with. Put me off my stroke. Robert Emmet. Last words. Seven last words of Mercadante. |2Meyerbeer: or I mean2|

When my country takes her place. Softly.

{ms, 033}

Mustº be the cider or perhaps the burgund.

They stossed their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant |2group2|, before bronze Lydia's tempting rose. Lid. Ker. Cow. De and Doll: Lidwell, Tom Kernan, Father Cowley, Si Dedalus and Big Ben Dollard. |2|xFirst |aLid Dolla|, De, |aKer, Cow, Cow, Ker,a| Lid, a fifth: Lidwell, |aBob Cowley, Tom Kernan, Tom Kernan, |bBob Fatherb| Cowleya|, Si Dedalus and Big Ben Dollardx|2|

— True men like you men

— Ay, ay, Ben.

— Will lift your glass with us.
Tschink. Tschuk.

Tschink. Tschuk.

Ffff. Oo. Rrrpr.

Among the nations of the. No-one behind. Then and not till. She's passed. Tram. Krankrankran. Good oppor. Just coming. Yes. Krandlkrandl. Must be the burgund. One, two. Let my epitaph be written. |2Kranaa. Kraaaa.2| I have.


{ms, 32v}

Musicº expresses the joy
Infinitive; to do, to feel
Discord. Me was
Lift up a dying rhythm
Thinking strictly forbidden
Transpose: in & out of sacks
Tries to say smthg
infatuated (Lidwell)º