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Ulysses 

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gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea 

endow them during their brief existence with natural 

pincushions of quite colossal blubber. That suits your 

book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow 

in it. Lycopodium. (His throat twitches) Slapbang! There he 

goes again. 

BLOOM: The stye I dislike. 

VIRAG:  (Arches his eyebrows) Contact with a goldring, 

they say. Argumentum ad feminam, as we said in old Rome 

and ancient Greece in the consulship of Diplodocus and 

Ichthyosauros. For the rest Eve’s sovereign remedy. Not 

for sale. Hire only. Huguenot. (He twitches) It is a funny 

sound.  (He coughs encouragingly) But possibly it is only a 

wart. I presume you shall have remembered what I will 

have taught you on that head? Wheatenmeal with honey 

and nutmeg. 

BLOOM:  (Reflecting) Wheatenmeal with lycopodium 

and syllabax. This searching ordeal. It has been an 

unusually fatiguing day, a chapter of accidents. Wait. I 

mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ... 

VIRAG:  (Severely, his nose hardhumped, his side eye 

winking) Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old 

thunk. See, you have forgotten. Exercise your 

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mnemotechnic.  La causa è santa. Tara. Tara. (Aside) He 

will surely remember. 

BLOOM: Rosemary also did I understand you to say 

or willpower over parasitic tissues. Then nay no I have an 

inkling. The touch of a deadhand cures. Mnemo? 

VIRAG: (Excitedly) I say so. I say so. E’en so. Technic. 

(He taps his parchmentroll energetically) This book tells you 

how to act with all descriptive particulars. Consult index 

for 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 1886 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 

gussetted knickers, closed? Or, put we the case, those 

complicated combinations, camiknickers? (He crows 

derisively) Keekeereekee! 

(Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the 

veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) 

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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 

morrow as now was be past yester. 

VIRAG:  (Prompts in a pig’s whisper) Insects of the day 

spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by 

the smell of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale 

possessing extendified pudendal nerve 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 complex 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 

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nightsun nighttown. Chase me, Charley! (He blows into 

bloom’s ear) 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! Cometh 

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 his head with 

cackling raillery) Jocular. With my eyeglass in my ocular. 

(He sneezes) Amen! 

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 

contradicts. Not a historical fact. Obvious analogy to my 

idea. Serpents too are gluttons for woman’s milk. Wind 

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