Ulysses page-by-page: Page 26 (2.64-97) "Weep... gaily:"

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Delaney: [60]

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— Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor...

LIHsihdus [etext]

the drowned-man motif has progressed from Mulligan's heroism (preventing) to the corpse in the bay (anticipated) to the lost friend (unrecovered). cf Schroedinger's cat?

Delaney: [61]

It must be a movement then, an actuality of the possible as possible. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and in my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds.

"movement" (the change from possible to actual)

the Siamese man's name was Chown, and he accompanied JAJ on an outing to Tours [Costello]. a potential future Ho Chi Minh?

FW 8.31-33 "This is the jinnies with their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade's book of stralegy while making their war undisides the Willingdone."

"he... my"

"sheltered from the sin of Paris... in my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld" ie, lust? cf boys' snickering

"A dragon's scaly folds" (Wm Morris)
dragonscaly

Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquillity sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms.

"It follows that the soul is analogous to the hand; for as the hand is a tool of tools, so the mind is the form of forms and sense the form of sensible things." [Aristotle]

SD is remembering his own epiphany, reading Aristotle?

Delaney: [62]

Talbot repeated:
— Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
Through the dear might...
— Turn over, Stephen said quietly. I don't see anything.
— What, sir? Talbot asked simply, bending forward.
His hand turned the page over. He leaned back and went on again, having just remembered.

SD perpetrates a sympathetic fraud?

Of him that walked the waves. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the scoffer's heart and lips and on mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the tribute. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. A long look from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven on the church's looms. Ay.

cf milkmaid's uneager hand?

Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro.
My father gave me seeds to sow.

(unspoken)
this riddle may go back to c1000AD
    Riddle me, riddle me, Randy Row,
    My father gave me some seed to sow;
    The seeds were black, the ground was white,
    Riddle me that against Saturday night.

Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel.
— Have I heard all? Stephen asked.
— Yes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir.
— Half day, sir. Thursday.

SD left the Tower between 8:30 and 9, and probably took a halfhour to walk to the school, so these lessons started no earlier than 9am. So does one hour = a half day???

Delaney: [63]

— Who can answer a riddle? Stephen asked.
They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily:

mysteries:

[DD 02:11-05:07]