Once upon a time and a very good time it was there
was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow
that was coming down along the road met a nicens little
boy named baby tuckoo...
His father told him that story: his father looked
at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.
He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the
road where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon
platt.
O, the wild rose blossoms
On the little green place.
He sang that song. That was his song.
O, the green wothe botheth.
When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets
cold. His mother put on the oilsheet. That
had the queer smell.
His mother had a nicer smell than his father.
She played on the piano the sailor’s hornpipe
for him to dance. He danced:
Tralala lala,
Tralala tralaladdy,
Tralala lala,
Tralala lala.
Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older
than his father and mother but uncle Charles was older
than Dante.
Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush
with the maroon velvet back was for Michael Davitt
and the brush with the green velvet back was for Parnell.
Dante gave him a cachou every time he brought her a
piece of tissue paper.
The Vances lived in number seven. They had a
different father and mother. They were Eileen’s
father and mother. When they were grown up he
was going to marry Eileen. He hid under the table.
His mother said:
—O, Stephen will apologize.
Dante said:
—O, if not, the eagles will come and pull
out his eyes.—
Pull out his eyes,
Apologize,
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes.
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes,
Pull out his eyes,
Apologize.
* * * * *
The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys.
All were shouting and the prefects urged them on with
strong cries. The evening air was pale and chilly
and after every charge and thud of the footballers
the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird through
the grey light. He kept on the fringe of his
line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reach
of the rude feet, feigning to run now and then.
He felt his body small and weak amid the throng of
the players and his eyes were weak and watery.
Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain
of the third line all the fellows said.
Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was
a stink. Rody Kickham had greaves in his number
and a hamper in the refectory. Nasty Roche had
big hands. He called the Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket.
And one day he had asked:
—What is your name?
Stephen had answered: Stephen Dedalus.
Then Nasty Roche had said:
—What kind of a name is that?
