Ulysses
all the goats in Connemara I’m after having the father and
mother of a bating. (With a tear in his eye) All insanity. Pa-
triotism, sorrow for the dead, music, future of the race. To
be or not to be. Life’s dream is o’er. End it peacefully. They
can live on. (He gazes far away mournfully) I am ruined. A
few pastilles of aconite. The blinds drawn. A letter. Then lie
back to rest. (He breathes softly) No more. I have lived. Fare.
Farewell.
ZOE: (Stiffly, her finger in her neckfillet) Honest? Till the
next time. (She sneers) Suppose you got up the wrong side of
the bed or came too quick with your best girl. O, I can read
your thoughts!
BLOOM: (Bitterly) Man and woman, love, what is it? A
cork and bottle. I’m sick of it. Let everything rip.
ZOE: (In sudden sulks) I hate a rotter that’s insincere.
Give a bleeding whore a chance.
BLOOM: (Repentantly) I am very disagreeable. You are a
necessary evil. Where are you from? London?
ZOE: (Glibly) Hog’s Norton where the pigs plays the or-
gans. I’m Yorkshire born. (She holds his hand which is feeling
for her nipple) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Stop that and be-
gin worse. Have you cash for a short time? Ten shillings?
BLOOM: (Smiles, nods slowly) More, houri, more.
ZOE: And more’s mother? (She pats him offhandedly
with velvet paws) Are you coming into the musicroom to see
our new pianola? Come and I’ll peel off.
BLOOM: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the unpar-
alleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the
symmetry of her peeled pears) Somebody would be dread-