Page 878 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

THE END OF THE WORLD: (with a Scotch accent)
Wha’ll dance the keel row, the keel row, the keel row?
(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah’s

voice, harsh as a corncrake’s, jars on high. Perspiring in a loose
lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a
rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. He thumps
the parapet.)
ELIJAH: No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake
Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do
your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I am
operating all this trunk line. Boys, do it now. God’s time is
12.25. Tell mother you’ll be there. Rush your order and
you play a slick ace. Join on right here. Book through to
eternity junction, the nonstop run. Just one word more.
Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second advent
came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ,
Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ,
Lynch Christ, it’s up to you to sense that cosmic force.
Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No. Be on the side
of the angels. Be a prism. You have that something
within, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus,
a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? I say
you are. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck
joyride to heaven becomes a back number. You got me?

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