Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/556

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

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

(Shrill.) Stop them from fighting!

Our men retreated.

(Tugging at his belt.) I’ll wring the neck of any bugger says a word against my fucking king.

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

Erin go hragh!

Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He’s a proboer.

Did I? When?

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

(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 spear points. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in bearskin