Ulysses
I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him. Come out
here, Geraghty, you notorious bloody hill and dale robber!
And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bell-
wethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs
and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares
and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe’s
prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and
the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine
and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedi-
gree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves:
and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, low-
ing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing,
chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pas-
turelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the
streamy vales of Thomond, from the M’Gillicuddy’s reeks
the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and
from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar,
their udders distended with superabundance of milk and
butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer’s firkins
and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs
in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun.
So we turned into Barney Kiernan’s and there, sure
enough, was the citizen up in the corner having a great
confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Gar-
ryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the
way of drink.
—There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen
lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.
The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give