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Ulysses

James Joyce

• BookGlutton.com presents Ulysses
• Ulysses by James Joyce
• — I —
• — II —
• — III —

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O, Milly Bloom, you are my darling.
You are my lookingglass from night to morning.
I'd rather have you without a farthing
Than Katey Keogh with her ass and garden.

All dimpled cheeks and curls,
Your head it simply swirls.

Those girls, those girls,
Those lovely seaside girls.

Heigho! Heigho!
Heigho! Heigho!
Heigho! Heigho!

By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And past the sailors' home. He turned from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street. By Brady's cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow. O let him! His life isn't such a bed of roses. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack hour: won't be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passed the frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past Nichols' the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny. Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.

IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS

THE WEARER OF THE CROWN

GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, OF OAKLANDS, SANDYMOUNT

THE CROZIER AND THE PEN

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE ANNOUNCE THE DISSOLUTION
OF A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN BURGESS

HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT

WE SEE THE CANVASSER AT WORK

HOUSE OF KEY(E)S

ORTHOGRAPHICAL

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR

A DAYFATHER

AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

ERIN, GREEN GEM OF THE SILVER SEA

SHORT BUT TO THE POINT

SAD

HIS NATIVE DORIC

WHAT WETHERUP SAID

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED

O, HARP EOLIAN!

SPOT THE WINNER

A COLLISION ENSUES

EXIT BLOOM

A STREET CORTEGE

THE CALUMET OF PEACE

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME

? ? ?

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT

LOST CAUSES

NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED

KYRIE ELEISON!

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK

OMNIUM GATHERUM

YOU CAN DO IT

!

THE GREAT GALLAHER

A DISTANT VOICE

CLEVER, VERY

RHYMES AND REASONS

SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY

...

LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE

And in the porches of mine ear did pour.

ITALIA, MAGISTRA ARTIUM

A POLISHED PERIOD

A MAN OF HIGH MORALE

IMPROMPTU

FROM THE FATHERS

LET US HOPE

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

LIFE ON THE RAW

RETURN OF BLOOM

INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR

K.M.A.

K.M.R.I.A.

RAISING THE WIND

SOME COLUMN!--THAT'S WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP.

HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!

WHAT?—AND LIKEWISE—WHERE?

VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES.

t

HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLES—YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

---

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their tummies. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. God. Save. Our. Sitting on his throne sucking red jujubes white.

Paying game. Torry and Alexander last year. Polygamy. His wife will put the stopper on that. Where was that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Our Saviour. Wake up in the dead of night and see him on the wall, hanging. Pepper's ghost idea. Iron nails ran in.

That is how poets write, the similar sounds. But then Shakespeare has no rhymes: blank verse. The flow of the language it is. The thoughts. Solemn.

—Two apples a penny! Two for a penny!

He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses. Or will I drop into old Harris's and have a chat with young Sinclair? Wellmannered fellow. Probably at his lunch. Must get those old glasses of mine set right. Goerz lenses six guineas. Germans making their way everywhere. Sell on easy terms to capture trade. Undercutting. Might chance on a pair in the railway lost property office. Astonishing the things people leave behind them in trains and cloakrooms. What do they be thinking about? Women too. Incredible. Last year travelling to Ennis had to pick up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to her at Limerick junction. Unclaimed money too. There's a little watch up there on the roof of the bank to test those glasses by.

Urbane, to comfort them, the quaker librarian purred:

You mean the will.

But that has been explained, I believe, by jurists.
She was entitled to her widow's dower
At common law. His legal knowledge was great
Our judges tell us.

Him Satan fleers,

Mocker:
And therefore he left out her name
From the first draft but he did not leave out
The presents for his granddaughter, for his daughters,
For his sister, for his old cronies in Stratford
And in London. And therefore when he was urged,
As I believe, to name her
He left her his
Secondbest
Bed.

Punkt.

Leftherhis
Secondbest
Leftherhis
Bestabed
Secabest
Leftabed.

(Laughter)

I hardly hear the purlieu cry
Or a tommy talk as I pass one by
Before my thoughts begin to run
On F. M'Curdy Atkinson,
The same that had the wooden leg
And that filibustering filibeg
That never dared to slake his drouth,
Magee that had the chinless mouth.
Being afraid to marry on earth
They masturbated for all they were worth.

---

Cuckoo
Cuckoo
Cuckoo.

Cuckoo
Cuckoo
Cuckoo.

Cuckoo
Cuckoo
Cuckoo.

—Pope Peter's but a pissabed.
A man's a man for a' that.

We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.
He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.

Are you going far, queer fellow?
How's your middle leg?
Got a match on you?
Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you.

The wren, the wren,
The king of all birds,
Saint Stephen's his day
Was caught in the furze.

Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home,
Cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Good old Bloom! There's nobody like him after all.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS:

(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)

(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches himself with crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)

(The trick doorhandle turns.)

THE YEWS: (Mingling their boughs) Listen. Whisper. She is right, our sister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We gave shade on languorous summer days.

Hangende Hunger,
Fragende Frau,
Macht uns alle kaputt.

And thy quarrons dainty is.