0 Ulysses
lands) Mal. Mulligan a gentleman’s gentleman that had but
come from Mr Moore’s the writer’s (that was a papish but
is now, folk say, a good Williamite) chanced against Alec.
Bannon in a cut bob (which are now in with dance cloaks
of Kendal green) that was new got to town from Mullingar
with the stage where his coz and Mal M’s brother will stay
a month yet till Saint Swithin and asks what in the earth he
does there, he bound home and he to Andrew Horne’s being
stayed for to crush a cup of wine, so he said, but would tell
him of a skittish heifer, big of her age and beef to the heel,
and all this while poured with rain and so both together on
to Horne’s. There Leop. Bloom of Crawford’s journal sitting
snug with a covey of wags, likely brangling fellows, Dixon
jun., scholar of my lady of Mercy’s, Vin. Lynch, a Scots fel-
low, Will. Madden, T. Lenehan, very sad about a racer he
fancied and Stephen D. Leop. Bloom there for a languor
he had but was now better, be having dreamed tonight a
strange fancy of his dame Mrs Moll with red slippers on in a
pair of Turkey trunks which is thought by those in ken to be
for a change and Mistress Purefoy there, that got in through
pleading her belly, and now on the stools, poor body, two
days past her term, the midwives sore put to it and can’t
deliver, she queasy for a bowl of riceslop that is a shrewd
drier up of the insides and her breath very heavy more than
good and should be a bullyboy from the knocks, they say,
but God give her soon issue. ‘Tis her ninth chick to live, I
hear, and Lady day bit off her last chick’s nails that was then
a twelvemonth and with other three all breastfed that died
written out in a fair hand in the king’s bible. Her hub fifty