1 Ulysses
His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the tenor Ma-
rio, prince of Candia. He settles down his goffered ruffs and
moistens his lips with a passage of his amorous tongue.)
HENRY: (In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his
guitar) There is a flower that bloometh.
(Virag truculent, his jowl set, stares at the lamp. Grave
Bloom regards Zoe’s neck. Henry gallant turns with pendant
dewlap to the piano.)
STEPHEN: (To himself) Play with your eyes shut. Imitate
pa. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Too much of this.
I will arise and go to my. Expect this is the. Steve, thou art
in a parlous way. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Our in-
terview of this morning has left on me a deep impression.
Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I’m partially
drunk, by the way. (He touches the keys again) Minor chord
comes now. Yes. Not much however.
(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with
vigorous moustachework.)
ARTIFONI: Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto.
FLORRY: Sing us something. Love’s old sweet song.
STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch,
did I show you the letter about the lute?
FLORRY: (Smirking) The bird that can sing and won’t
sing.
(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two
Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the window em-
brasure. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold’s face.)
PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool’s advice. All is not well. Work
it out with the buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot.