e crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players,
thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high
wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)_

THE CROWD:

Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the clay!
Ten to one bar one! Ten to one bar one!
Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!
Ten to one bar one!
Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
I'll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!

_(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost,
his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a bunch of
bucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel,
the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of Beaufort's
Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping
in their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain on a brokenwinded
isabelle nag, Cock of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket,
orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick at
the ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky
road.)_

THE ORANGE LODGES: _(Jeering)_ Get down and push, mister. Last lap!
You'll be home the night!

GARRETT DEASY: _(Bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered with
postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in the
prism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop)_

_Per vias rectas!_

_(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrent
of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips,
potatoes.)_

THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!

_(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the
windows, singing in discord.)_

STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.

ZOE: _(Holds up her hand)_ Stop!

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY:

Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for...

ZOE: That's me. _(She claps her hands)_ Dance! Dance! _(She runs to the
pianola)_ Who has twopence?

BLOOM: Who'll...?

LYNCH: _(Handing her coins)_ Here.

STEPHEN: _(Cracking his fingers impatiently)_ Quick! Quick! Where's my
augur's rod? _(He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating his
foot in tripudium)_

ZOE: _(Turns the drumhandle)_ There.

_(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet lights
start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation wa