his left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket
on which is printed_ Defense d'uriner. _A roar of welcome greets him.)_

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly)_ Peace, perfect
peace. For identification, bucket in my hand. Cheerio, boys. _(He turns
to his subjects)_ We have come here to witness a clean straight fight
and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Mahak makar a bak.

_(He shakes hands with Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, Bloom and
Lynch. General applause. Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket graciously
in acknowledgment.)_

PRIVATE CARR: _(To Stephen)_ Say it again.

STEPHEN: _(Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up)_ I understand your point
of view though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age of
patent medicines. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is the
point. You die for your country. Suppose. _(He places his arm on Private
Carr's sleeve)_ Not that I wish it for you. But I say: Let my country
die for me. Up to the present it has done so. I didn't want it to die.
Damn death. Long live life!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Levitates over heaps of slain, in the garb and
with the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosphorescent
face)_

My methods are new and are causing surprise. To make the blind see I
throw dust in their eyes.

STEPHEN: Kings and unicorns! _(He fills back a pace)_ Come somewhere and
we'll... What was that girl saying?...

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Stick one
into Jerry.

BLOOM: _(To the privates, softly)_ He doesn't know what he's saying.
Taken a little more than is good for him. Absinthe. Greeneyed monster. I
know him. He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right.

STEPHEN: _(Nods, smiling and laughing)_ Gentleman, patriot, scholar and
judge of impostors.

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a bugger who he is.

PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a bugger who he is.

STEPHEN: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.

_(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day
boy's hat signs to Stephen.)_

KEVIN EGAN: H'lo! _Bonjour!_ The _vieille ogresse_ with the _dents
jaunes_.

_(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his rabbitface nibbling a quince
leaf.)_

PATRICE: _Socialiste!_

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: _(In medieval hauberk,
two wild geese volant on his helm, with noble indignation points a
mailed hand against the privates)_ Werf those eykes to footboden, big