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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 294/821
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—
Which
will
?
gagged
sweetly
Buck
Mulligan
.
We
are
getting
mixed
.
—
The
will
to
live
,
John
Eglinton
philosophised
,
for
poor
Ann
,
Will
’
s
widow
,
is
the
will
to
die
.
—
Requiescat
!
Stephen
prayed
.
What
of
all
the
will
to
do
?
It
has
vanished
long
ago
.
.
.
—
She
lies
laid
out
in
stark
stiffness
in
that
secondbest
bed
,
the
mobled
queen
,
even
though
you
prove
that
a
bed
in
those
days
was
as
rare
as
a
motorcar
is
now
and
that
its
carvings
were
the
wonder
of
seven
parishes
.
In
old
age
she
takes
up
with
gospellers
(
one
stayed
with
her
at
New
Place
and
drank
a
quart
of
sack
the
town
council
paid
for
but
in
which
bed
he
slept
it
skills
not
to
ask
)
and
heard
she
had
a
soul
.
She
read
or
had
read
to
her
his
chapbooks
preferring
them
to
the
Merry
Wives
and
,
loosing
her
nightly
waters
on
the
jordan
,
she
thought
over
Hooks
and
Eyes
for
Believers
’
Breeches
and
The
most
Spiritual
Snuffbox
to
Make
the
Most
Devout
Souls
Sneeze
.
Venus
has
twisted
her
lips
in
prayer
.
Agenbite
of
inwit
:
remorse
of
conscience
.
It
is
an
age
of
exhausted
whoredom
groping
for
its
god
.
—
History
shows
that
to
be
true
,
inquit
Eglintonus
Chronolologos
.
The
ages
succeed
one
another
.
But
we
have
it
on
high
authority
that
a
man
’
s
worst
enemies
shall
be
those
of
his
own
house
and
family
.
I
feel
that
Russell
is
right
.
What
do
we
care
for
his
wife
or
father
?
I
should
say
that
only
family
poets
have
family
lives
.
Falstaff
was
not
a
family
man
.
I
feel
that
the
fat
knight
is
his
supreme
creation
.
Lean
,
he
lay
back
.
Shy
,
deny
thy
kindred
,
the
unco
guid
.
Shy
,
supping
with
the
godless
,
he
sneaks
the
cup
.
A
sire
in
Ultonian
Antrim
bade
it
him
.
Visits
him
here
on
quarter
days
.
Mr
Magee
,
sir
,
there
’
s
a
gentleman
to
see
you
.
Me
?
Says
he
’
s
your
father
,
sir
.
Give
me
my
Wordsworth
.
Enter
Magee
Mor
Matthew
,
a
rugged
rough
rugheaded
kern
,
in
strossers
with
a
buttoned
codpiece
,
his
nether
stocks
bemired
with
clauber
of
ten
forests
,
a
wand
of
wilding
in
his
hand
.
Your
own
?
He
knows
your
old
fellow
.
The
widower
.
