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Ulysses 

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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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It’s a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff ever was. It’s 

the whole pie with jam in. It’s just the cutest snappiest line 

out. It is immense, supersumptuous. It restores. It vibrates. 

I know and I am some vibrator. Joking apart and, getting 

down to bedrock, A. J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial 

philosophy, have you got that? O. K. Seventyseven west 

sixtyninth street. Got me? That’s it. You call me up by 

sunphone any old time. Bumboosers, save your stamps. 

(He shouts) Now then our glory song. All join heartily in 

the singing. Encore! (He sings) Jeru ... 

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Drowning his voice) 

Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ... (The disc rasps gratingly 

against the needle) 

THE THREE WHORES: (Covering their ears, squawk) 

Ahhkkk! 

ELIJAH: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the face, shouts at 

the top of his voice, his arms uplifted) Big Brother up there, 

Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to 

you. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr 

President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and 

Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly 

seems to me I don’t never see no wusser scared female 

than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done 

seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save 

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our sisters dear. (He winks at his audience) Our Mr 

President, he twig the whole lot and he aint saying 

nothing. 

KITTY-KATE: I forgot myself. In a weak moment I 

erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. I was 

confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the brown 

scapular. My mother’s sister married a Montmorency. It 

was a working plumber was my ruination when I was 

pure. 

ZOE-FANNY: I let him larrup it into me for the fun 

of it. 

FLORRY-TERESA: It was in consequence of a 

portwine beverage on top of Hennessy’s three star. I was 

guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed. 

STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end 

the world without end. Blessed be the eight beatitudes. 

(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, 

Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white surgical 

students’ gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in 

noisy marching) 

THE BEATITUDES: (Incoherently) Beer beef battledog 

buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. 

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LYSTER:  (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed 

hat, says discreetly) He is our friend. I need not mention 

names. Seek thou the light. 

(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresser’s attire, shinily 

laundered, his locks in curlpapers. He leads John Eglinton who 

wears a mandarin’s kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, 

and a high pagoda hat.) 

BEST: (Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from 

the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an orange 

topknot) I was just beautifying him, don’t you know. A 

thing of beauty, don’t you know, Yeats says, or I mean, 

Keats says. 

JOHN EGLINTON: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern 

and flashes it towards a corner: with carping accent) Esthetics 

and cosmetics are for the boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain 

truth for a plain man. Tanderagee wants the facts and 

means to get them. 

(In the cone of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, 

holyeyed, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on 

knees. He rises slowly. A cold seawind blows from his druid 

mouth. About his head writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted 

with weeds and shells. His right hand holds a bicycle pump. His 

left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its two talons.) 

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