Page 553 (15.4587-4612) "woe.) Ochone!... terrible, in bearskin"

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woe.) Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! (She wails.) You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?




STEPHEN
How do I stand you? The hat trick! Where's the third person of the Blessed Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.




CISSY CAFFREY
(Shrill.) Stop them from fighting!




A ROUGH
Our men retreated.




PRIVATE CARR
(Tugging at his belt.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.




BLOOM
(Terrified.) He said nothing. Not a word. A pure misunderstanding.




PRIVATE COMPTON
Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He's a proBoer.




STEPHEN
Did I? When?




BLOOM
(To the redcoats.) We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Isn't that history? Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured by our monarch.




THE NAVVY
(Staggering past.) O, yes! O God, yes! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! O! Bo!

(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in bearskin

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