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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?
"There's hair" = bawdy Robert Burns song maybe alluding to puberty? [more]
So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.
expression previously used for JJO'M and JHParnell
— Well, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? What did those tinkers in the city hall 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.
fdv: "John Wyse O'Power, clad in shining armour, hastened in and low bending, he made obeisance to the high chief of Erin and bore him tidings of what had befallen, how that the grave elders of the city had met them in the tholsel and there, after meet prayer to the gods who dwell in realms supernal, had taken counsel whereby they might if so be bring once more to honour among mortals the winged speech of the Gael. And ----- gave ear, a chieftan excellent in counsel. And they had bethought them of how it might come to pass for great is their wisdom, and thereat were all right glad and joyous.
-- It's on the match, ----- cried, dark Rosaleen's hour of triumph. What about the scoffers now? A nation once again. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their language!
-- But still English, ----- said, we must keep it also, for culture, I mean.
-- To hell with them, ----- bawled, they have no culture, no music, no literature, no nothing. All they're good for is making waterclosets. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Yes, from us. The curse of a lopsided God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whore's gets. The closetmakers of Europe.
He smote his cudgel upon the resounding winekeg, awful in ire as he spoke of the race of foemen, a race of mighty, valorous heroes begotten of Bullybull the Bull, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster, silent as the deathless gods."
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.
5:55 "?Eng. no music"
— 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.
"aisance" = ease (cf "he allowed his bowels to ease themselves")
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! Perfide Albion!
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