Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/406

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and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. How saith Zarathusthra?
Deine Kuh Truebsal melkest Du. Nun trinkst Du die suesse Milch des Euters. See!
It displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an udderful! Mother’s milk,
Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of those burgeoning stars overhead,
rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk, such as those rioters will quaff in
their guzzlingden, milk of madness, the honeymilk of Canaan’s land. Thy
cow’s dug was tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening.
No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! Per deam
Partulam et Pertundam nunc est bibendum!
       All off for a buster, armstrong, hollering down the street. Bonafides.
Where you slep las nigh? Timothy of the battered naggin. Like ole Billyo.
Any brollies or gumboots in the fambly? Where the Henry Nevil’s sawbones
and ole clo? Sorra one o me knows. Hurrah there, Dix! Forward the ribbon
counter. Where’s Punch? All serene. Jay, look at the drunken minister coming
out of the maternity hospal? Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius.
A make, mister. The Denzille lane boys. Hell, blast ye! Scoot. Righto,
Isaacs, shove em out of the bleeding limelight. Yous join uz, dear sir? No
hentrusion in life. Lou heap good man. Allee samee this bunch. En avant, mes
enfants! Fire away number one on the gun. Burke’s! Thence they advanced
five parasangs. Slattery’s mounted foot where’s that bleeding awfur? Parson
Steve, apostates’ creed! No, no. Mulligan! Abaft there! Shove ahead. Keep a
watch on the clock. Chuckingout time. Mullee! What’s on you? Ma mère m’a
mariée. British Beatitudes! Retamplan Digidi Boum Boum. Ayes have it. To be
printed and bound at the Druiddrum press by two designing females. Calf
covers of pissedon green. Last word in art shades. Most beautiful book come
out of Ireland my time. Silentium! Get a spurt on. Tention. Proceed to nearest
canteen and there annex liquor stores. March! Tramp, tramp the boys
are (atitudes!) parching. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships,
buggery and bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beerbeef trample the
bibles. When for Irelandear. Trample the trampellers. Thunderation! Keep
the durned millingtary step. We fall. Bishops boosebox. Halt! Heave to. Rugger.
Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my tootsies! You hurt? Most amazingly
       Query. Who’s astanding this here do? Proud possessor of damnall.
Declare misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this week
gone. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the Uebermensch. Dittoh. Five number
ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby’s candle. Stimulate the