Page 976 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

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

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