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ccording to the evidence so help them God and kiss the books。 And they rose in their seats； those twelve of Iar； and they swore by the name of Him who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness。 And straightway the minions of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received。 And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor。
Those are nice things； says the citizen； ing over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs。
So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford。 And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all。
Because you see； says Bloom； for an advertisement you must have repetition。 That's the whole secret。
Rely on me； says Joe。
Swindling the peasants； says the citizen； and the poor of Ireland。 We want no more strangers in our house。
O I'm sure that will be all right； Hynes； says Bloom。 It's just that Keyes you see。
Consider that done； says Joe。
Very kind of you； says Bloom。
The strangers； says the citizen。 Our own fault。 We let them e in。 We brought them。 The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here。
Decree nisi； says J。 J。
And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing； a spider's web in the corner behind the barrel； and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when。
A dishonoured wife； says the citizen； that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes。
And here she is； says Alf； that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter； in all her warpaint。 Give us a squint at her； says I。
And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher。 Secrets for enlarging your private parts。 Misconduct of society belle。 Norman W。 Tupper； wealthy Chicago contractor； finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor。 Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself and her fancy man feeling for her tickles and Norman W。 Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor。
O Jakers； Jenny； says Joe； how short your shirt is！
There's hair； Joe； says I。 Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one； what？
So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast。
Well； says the citizen； what's the latest from the scene of action？ What did those tinkers in the cityhall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language？
O'Nolan； clad in shining armour； low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen； how that the grave elders of the most obedient city； second of the realm； had met them in the tholsel； and there； after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal； had taken solemn counsel whereby they might； if so be it might be； bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael。
It's on the march； says the citizen。 To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois。
So J。 J。 puts in a word doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation。
Their syphilisation； you mean； says the citizen。 To hell with them！ The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets！ No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name。 Any civilisation they have they stole from us。 Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts。
The European family； says J。 J。。。
They're not European； says the citizen。 I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris。 You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance。
And says John Wyse：
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen。
And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo：
Conspuez les Anglais！ Perde Albion！
He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and； uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu； he drank to the undoing of his foes； a race of mighty valorous heroes； rulers of the waves； who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods。
What's up with you； says I to Lenehan。 You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner。
Gold cup； says he。
Who won； Mr Lenehan？ says Terry。
Throwaway； says he； at twenty to one。 A rank outsider。 And the rest nowhere。
And Bass's mare？ says Terry。
Still running； says he。 We're all in a cart。 Boylan plunged two quid on my tip Sceptre for himself and a lady friend。
I had half a crown myself； says Terry； on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me。 Lord Howard de Walden's。
Twenty to one； says Lenehan。 Such is life in an outhouse。 Throwaway； says he。 Takes the biscuit and talking about bunions。 Frailty； thy name is Sceptre。
So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod； the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up。 Old mother Hubbard went to the cupboard。
Not there； my child； says he。
Keep your pecker up； says Joe。 She'd have won the money only for the other dog。
And J。 J。 and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word。 Some people； says Bloom； can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own。
Raimeis； says the citizen。 There's no…one as blind as the fellow that won't see； if you know what that means。 Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four； our lost tribes？ And our potteries and textiles； the finest in the whole world！ And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace； our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross； nothing like it in the whole wide world！ Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules； the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind； with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen？ Read Tacitus and Ptolemy； even Giraldus Cambrensis。 Wine； peltries； Connemara marble； silver from Tipperary； second to none； our far…famed horses even today； the Irish hobbies； with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters。 What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths？ And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consu