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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 429/821
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He
bore
no
hate
.
Hate
.
Love
.
Those
are
names
.
Rudy
.
Soon
I
am
old
.
Big
Ben
his
voice
unfolded
.
Great
voice
Richie
Goulding
said
,
a
flush
struggling
in
his
pale
,
to
Bloom
soon
old
.
But
when
was
young
?
Ireland
comes
now
.
My
country
above
the
king
.
She
listens
.
Who
fears
to
speak
of
nineteen
four
?
Time
to
be
shoving
.
Looked
enough
.
—
Bless
me
,
father
,
Dollard
the
croppy
cried
.
Bless
me
and
let
me
go
.
Tap
.
Bloom
looked
,
unblessed
to
go
.
Got
up
to
kill
:
on
eighteen
bob
a
week
.
Fellows
shell
out
the
dibs
.
Want
to
keep
your
weathereye
open
.
Those
girls
,
those
lovely
.
By
the
sad
sea
waves
.
Chorusgirl
’
s
romance
.
Letters
read
out
for
breach
of
promise
.
From
Chickabiddy
’
s
owny
Mumpsypum
.
Laughter
in
court
.
Henry
.
I
never
signed
it
.
The
lovely
name
you
.
Low
sank
the
music
,
air
and
words
.
Then
hastened
.
The
false
priest
rustling
soldier
from
his
cassock
.
A
yeoman
captain
.
They
know
it
all
by
heart
.
The
thrill
they
itch
for
.
Yeoman
cap
.
Tap
.
Tap
.
