Ulysses

    May the God above
    Send down a dove
    With teeth as sharp as razors
    To slit the throats
    Of the English dogs
    That hanged our Irish leaders.

THE CROPPY BOY:  (THE ROPENOOSE ROUND HIS NECK, GRIPES IN HIS ISSUING BOWELS WITH BOTH HANDS)

    I bear no hate to a living thing,
    But I love my country beyond the king.

Rumbold, demon barber:  (ACCOMPANIED by two BLACKMASKED ASSISTANTS, ADVANCES with Gladstone bag which he OPENS) Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.  Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a sheet in the cellar, the unfortunate female’s throat being cut from ear to ear.  Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows.

(He jerks the rope.  The ASSISTANTS leap at the VICTIM’S legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy’s tongue PROTRUDES violently.)

The croppy boy: 

    Horhot ho hray hor hother’s hest.

(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends GOUTS of SPERM spouting through his DEATHCLOTHES on to the cobblestones.  Mrs Bellingham, Mrs YELVERTON BARRY and the honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to SOP it up.)

Rumbold:  I’m near it myself. (He UNDOES the NOOSE) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.  Ten shillings a time.  As applied to Her Royal Highness. (He plunges his head into the gaping belly of the hanged and draws out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails) My painful duty has now been done.  God save the king!

Edward the seventh:  (DANCES slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and sings with soft CONTENTMENT)

    On coronation day, on coronation day,
    O, won’t we have a merry time,
    Drinking whisky, beer and wine!

PRIVATE Carr:  Here.  What are you saying about my king?

Stephen:  (THROWS up his hands) O, this is too monotonous!  Nothing.  He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his.  Money I haven’t. (He searches his pockets VAGUELY) gave it to someone.

PRIVATE Carr:  Who wants your bleeding money?

Stephen:  (TRIES to move off) Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet these necessary evils?  Ca SE VOIT AUSSI A paris.  Not that I …  But, by Saint Patrick …!

(The women’s heads COALESCE.  Old gummy GRANNY in sugarloaf hat appears seated on A toadstool, the DEATHFLOWER of the potato blight on her breast.)

Stephen:  Aha!  I know you, gammer!  Hamlet, revenge!  The old sow that eats her farrow!

Old gummy GRANNY:  (ROCKING to and fro) Ireland’s sweetheart, the king of Spain’s daughter, alanna.  Strangers in my house, bad manners to them!  (She KEENS with banshee woe) Ochone!  Ochone!  Silk of the kine! (She WAILS) You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?

Stephen:  How do I stand you?  The hat trick!  Where’s the third person of the Blessed Trinity?  Soggarth Aroon?  The reverend Carrion Crow.

Cissy Caffrey:  (Shrill) Stop them from fighting!

A rough:  Our men retreated.

PRIVATE Carr:  (TUGGING at his belt) I’ll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

Bloom:  (TERRIFIED) He said nothing.  Not a word.  A pure misunderstanding.

The citizen:  Erin go BRAGH!

(Major Tweedy and the citizen exhibit to each other medals, DECORATIONS,
TROPHIES of war, wounds.  Both salute with fierce HOSTILITY.)

PRIVATE COMPTON:  Go it, Harry.  Do him one in the eye.  He’s a proboer.

Stephen:  Did I?  When?

Bloom:  (To the Redcoats) We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.  Isn’t that history?  Royal Dublin Fusiliers.  Honoured by our monarch.

The NAVVY:  (Staggering past) O, yes!  O God, yes!  O, make the kwawr a krowawr!  O!  Bo!

(CASQUED HALBERDIERS in armour thrust forward A PENTICE of GUTTED
SPEARPOINTS.  Major Tweedy, MOUSTACHED like Turko the terrible, in
bearskin cap with HACKLEPLUME and ACCOUTREMENTS, with EPAULETTES, gilt
CHEVRONS and SABRETACHES, his breast bright with medals, toes the line. 
He gives the pilgrim WARRIOR’S sign of the knights TEMPLARS.)

Major Tweedy:  (GROWLS gruffly) Rorke’s Drift!  Up, guards, and at them! 
Mahar shalal hashbaz.

PRIVATE Carr:  I’ll do him in.

PRIVATE COMPTON:  (WAVES the crowd back) Fair play, here.  Make a bleeding butcher’s shop of the bugger.

(MASSED bands BLARE Garryowen and God save the king.)

Cissy Caffrey:  They’re going to fight.  For me!

CUNTY Kate:  The brave and the fair.

BIDDY the clap:  Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best.

CUNTY Kate:  (Blushing deeply) Nay, madam.  The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

Stephen: 

    The harlot’s cry from street to street
    Shall weave Old Ireland’s windingsheet.

PRIVATE Carr:  (LOOSENING his belt, shouts) I’ll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

Bloom:  (Shakes Cissy CAFFREY’S shoulders) Speak, you!  Are you struck dumb?  You are the link between nations and generations.  Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver!

Cissy Caffrey:  (Alarmed, seizes private CARR’S sleeve) Amn’t I with you?  Amn’t I your girl?  Cissy’s your girl. (She cries) Police!