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agitated fear of aconite； melancholy of muriatic； priapic pulsatilla。 Virag is going to talk about amputation。 Our old friend caustic。 They must be starved。 Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck。 But； to change the venue to the Bulgar and the Basque； have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments？ （With a dry snigger。） You intended to devote an entire year to the study of the religious problem and the summer months of 1882 to square the circle and win that million。 Pomegranate！ From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step。 Pyjamas； let us say？ Or stockingette gusseted knickers； closed？ Or； put we the case； those plicated binations； camiknickers？ （He crows derisively。） Keekeereekee！
（Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores； then gazes at the veiled mauve light； hearing the everflying moth。）
BLOOM I wanted then to have now concluded。 Nightdress was never。 Hence this。 But tomorrow is a new day will be。 Past was is today。 What now is will then tomorrow as now was be past yester。
VIRAG （Prompts into his ear in a pig's whisper。） Insects of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition； lured by the smell of the inferiorly pulchritudinous female possessing extendified pudendal verve in dorsal region。 Pretty Poll！ （His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally。） They had a proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era。 One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar。 Bear's buzz bothers bees。 But of this apart。 At another time we may resume。 We were very pleased； we others。 （He coughs and； bending his brow； rubs his nose thoughtfully with a scooping hand。） You shall find that these night insects follow the light。 An illusion for remember their plex unadjustable eye。 For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L。 B。 says is the book sensation of the year。 Some； to example； there are again whose movements are automatic。 Perceive。 That is his appropriate sun。 Nightbird nightsun nighttown。 Chase me； Charley！ Buzz！
BLOOM Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I。。。
VIRAG （His face impassive； laughs in a rich feminine key。） Splendid！ Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble。 （He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles。） Bubbly jock！ Bubbly jock！ Where are we？ Open Sesame！ eth forth！ （He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads； his glowworm's nose running backwards over the letters which he claws。） Stay； good friend。 I bring thee thy answer Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us。 I'm the best o'cook。 Those succulent bivalves may help us and the truffles of Perigord； tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker； were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis。 Though they stink yet they sting。 （He wags head with cackling raillery。） Jocular。 With my eyeglass in my ocular。
BLOOM （Absently。） Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse。 Always open sesame。 The cloven sex。 Why they fear vermin； creeping things。 Yet Eve and the serpent contradict。 Not a historical fact。 Obvious analogy to my idea。 Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk。 Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry。 Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis。
VIRAG （His mouth projected in hard wrinkles； eyes stonily forlornly closed； psalms in outlandish monotone。） That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the known。。。
BLOOM I am going to scream。 I beg your pardon。 Ah？ So。 （He repeats。） Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction。 Ant milks aphis。 （Profoundly。） Instinct rules the world。 In life。 In death。
VIRAG （Head askew； arches his back and hunched wing… shoulders； peers at the moth out of blear bulged eyes； points a homing claw and cries。） Who's Ger Ger？ Who's dear Gerald？ O； I much fear he shall be most badly burned。 Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin？ （He mews。） Luss puss puss puss！ （He sighs； draws back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw。） Well； well。 He doth rest anon。
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring。
Long ago I was a king；
Now I do this kind of thing
On the wing； on the wing！
Bing！
（He rushes against the mauve shade flapping noisily。） Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats。
（From left upper entrance with two sliding steps Henry Flower es forward to left front centre。 He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero。 He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmed bamboo Jacobs pipe； its clay bowl fashioned as a female head。 He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps。 He has the romantic Saviour's face with flowing locks； thin beard and moustache。 His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario； prince of Candia。 He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a passage of his amorous tongue。）
HENRY （In a low dulcet voice； touching the strings of his guitar。） There is a flower that bloometh。
（Virag truculent； his jowl set； stares at the lamp。 Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck。 Henry gallant turns with pendent dewlap to the piano。）
STEPHEN （To himself。） Play with your eyes shut。 Imitate pa。 Filling my belly with husks of swine。 Too much of this。 I will arise and go to my。 Expect this is the。 Steve； thou art in a parlous way。 Must visit old Deasy or telegraph。 Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep impression。 Though our ages。 Will write fully tomorrow。 I'm partially drunk； by the way。 （He touches the keys again。） Minor chord es now。 Yes。 Not much however。
（Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework。）
ARTIFONI Ci rifletta。 Lei rovina tutto。
FLORRY Sing us something。 Love's old sweet song。
STEPHEN No voice。 I am a most finished artist。 Lynch； did I show you the letter about the lute？
FLORRY （Smirking。） The bird that can sing and won't sing。
（The Siamese twins； Philip Drunk and Philip Sober two Oxford dons with lawnmowers； appear in the window embrasure。 Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face。）
PHILIP SOBER Take a fool's advice。 All is not well。 Work it out with the buttend of a pencil； like a good young idiot。 Three pounds twelve you got； two notes； one sovereign； two crowns； if youth but knew。 Mooney's en ville； Mooney's sur mer； the Moira； Larchet's； Holles street hospital； Burke's。 Eh？ I am watching you。
PHILIP DRUNK （Impatiently。） Ah； bosh； man。 Go to hell！ I paid my way。 If I could only find out about octaves。 Reduplication of personality。 Who was it told me his name？
（His lawnmower begins to purr。） Aha； yes。 Zoe mou sas agapo。 Have a notion I was here before。 When was it not Atkinson his card I have somewhere？ Mac somebody。 Unmack I have it。 He told me about； hold on； Swinburne； was it； no？
FLORRY And the song？
STEPHEN Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak。
FLORRY Are you out of Maynooth？ You're like