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 cap with HACKLEPLUME and accoutrements, with EPAULETTES, gilt
CHEVRONS and SABRETACHES, his breast bright with medals, toes the line. 
He gives the pilgrim warrior’s sign of the knights TEMPLARS.)

Major Tweedy:  (Growls gruffly) Rorke’s Drift!  Up, guards, and at them! 
Mahar shalal hashbaz.

Private Carr:  I’ll do him in.

Private Compton:  (Waves the crowd back) Fair play, here.  Make a bleeding butcher’s shop of the bugger.

(Massed bands Blare Garryowen and God save the king.)

Cissy Caffrey:  They’re going to fight.  For me!

CUNTY Kate:  The brave and the fair.

Biddy the clap:  Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best.

CUNTY Kate:  (Blushing deeply) Nay, madam.  The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

Stephen: 

    The harlot’s cry from street to street
    Shall weave Old Ireland’s windingsheet.

Private Carr:  (Loosening his belt, shouts) I’ll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

Bloom:  (Shakes Cissy CAFFREY’S shoulders) Speak, you!  Are you struck dumb?  You are the link between nations and generations.  Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver!

Cissy Caffrey:  (Alarmed, seizes private Carr’s sleeve) Amn’t I with you?  Amn’t I your girl?  Cissy’s your girl. (She cries) Police!

STEPHEN:  (ECSTATICALLY, TO CISSY CAFFREY)

    White thy fambles, red thy gan
    And thy quarrons dainty is.

Voices:  Police!

Distant voices:  Dublin’s burning!  Dublin’s burning!  On fire, on fire!

(Brimstone fires spring up.  Dense clouds roll past. Heavy Gatling guns
Boom.  Pandemonium.  Troops deploy.  Gallop of hoofs.  Artillery.  Hoarse
commands.  Bells clang.  Backers shout.  Drunkards bawl.  Whores