ey'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!

STEPHEN: _(Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey)_

White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.

VOICES: Police!

DISTANT VOICES: Dublin's burning! Dublin's burning! On fire, on fire!

_(Brimstone fires spring up. Dense clouds roll past. Heavy Gatling guns
boom. Pandemonium. Troops deploy. Gallop of hoofs. Artillery. Hoarse
commands. Bells clang. Backers shout. Drunkards bawl. Whores screech.
Foghorns hoot. Cries of valour. Shrieks of dying. Pikes clash on
cuirasses. Thieves rob the slain. Birds of prey, winging from the sea,
rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets,
cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins,
blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. The
midnight sun is darkened. The earth trembles. The dead of Dublin
from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white sheepskin overcoats and black
goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A chasm opens with a noiseless
yawn. Tom Rochford, winner, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives
at the head of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the void.
He is followed by a race of runners and leapers. In wild attitudes they
spring from the brink. Their bodies plunge. Factory lasses with fancy
clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Society ladies lift their
skirts above their heads to protect themselves. Laughing witches in red
cutty sarks ride through the air on broomsticks. Quakerlyster plasters
blisters. It rains dragons' teeth. Armed heroes spring up from furrows.
They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the red cross and fight
duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith
O'Brien against Dan