The Bawd
(Spits in their trail her jet of venom.) Trinity medicals. Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence.
Edy Boardman
(Bickering.) And says the one: I seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Did you, says I. That’s not for you to say, says I. You never seen me in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. The likes of her! Stag that one is. Stubborn as a mule! And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kildbride the enginedriver, and lancecorporal Oliphant.
Stephen
(Triumphaliter.) Salvi facti i sunt.
Lynch
So that?
Stephen
(Looks behind.) So that gesture, not music not odours, would be a universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first entelechy, the structural rhythm.
Lynch
Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in Mecklenburg street!
Stephen
We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. Even the allwisest stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love.
