Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/556

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553

woe.) Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! (She wails.) You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?

stephen

How do I stand you? The hat trick! Where’s the third person of the Blessed Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.

cissy caffrey

(Shrill.) Stop them from fighting!

a rough

Our men retreated.

private carr

(Tugging at his belt.) I’ll wring the neck of any bugger says a word against my fucking king.

bloom

(Terrified.) He said nothing. Not a word. A pure misunderstanding.

the citizen

Erin go hragh!

(Major Tweedy and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

private compton

Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He’s a proboer.

stephen

Did I? When?

bloom

(To the redcoats.) We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Isn’t that history? Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured by our monarch.

the navvy

(Staggering past.) O, yes. O, God, yes! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! O! Bo!

(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spear points. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in bearskin