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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 479/821
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—
I
had
half
a
crown
myself
,
says
Terry
,
on
Zinfandel
that
Mr
Flynn
gave
me
.
Lord
Howard
de
Walden
’
s
.
—
Twenty
to
one
,
says
Lenehan
.
Such
is
life
in
an
outhouse
.
Throwaway
,
says
he
.
Takes
the
biscuit
,
and
talking
about
bunions
.
Frailty
,
thy
name
is
Sceptre
.
So
he
went
over
to
the
biscuit
tin
Bob
Doran
left
to
see
if
there
was
anything
he
could
lift
on
the
nod
,
the
old
cur
after
him
backing
his
luck
with
his
mangy
snout
up
.
Old
Mother
Hubbard
went
to
the
cupboard
.
—
Not
there
,
my
child
,
says
he
.
—
Keep
your
pecker
up
,
says
Joe
.
She
’
d
have
won
the
money
only
for
the
other
dog
.
And
J
.
J
.
and
the
citizen
arguing
about
law
and
history
with
Bloom
sticking
in
an
odd
word
.
—
Some
people
,
says
Bloom
,
can
see
the
mote
in
others
’
eyes
but
they
can
’
t
see
the
beam
in
their
own
.
—
Raimeis
,
says
the
citizen
.
There
’
s
no
-
one
as
blind
as
the
fellow
that
won
’
t
see
,
if
you
know
what
that
means
.
Where
are
our
missing
twenty
millions
of
Irish
should
be
here
today
instead
of
four
,
our
lost
tribes
?
And
our
potteries
and
textiles
,
the
finest
in
the
whole
world
!
And
our
wool
that
was
sold
in
Rome
in
the
time
of
Juvenal
and
our
flax
and
our
damask
from
the
looms
of
Antrim
and
our
Limerick
lace
,
our
tanneries
and
our
white
flint
glass
down
there
by
Ballybough
and
our
Huguenot
poplin
that
we
have
since
Jacquard
de
Lyon
and
our
woven
silk
and
our
Foxford
tweeds
and
ivory
raised
point
from
the
Carmelite
convent
in
New
Ross
,
nothing
like
it
in
the
whole
wide
world
.
Where
are
the
Greek
merchants
that
came
through
the
pillars
of
Hercules
,
the
Gibraltar
now
grabbed
by
the
foe
of
mankind
,
with
gold
and
Tyrian
purple
to
sell
in
Wexford
at
the
fair
of
Carmen
?
Read
Tacitus
and
Ptolemy
,
even
Giraldus
Cambrensis
.
Wine
,
peltries
,
Connemara
marble
,
silver
from
Tipperary
,
second
to
none
,
our
farfamed
horses
even
today
,
the
Irish
hobbies
,
with
king
Philip
of
Spain
offering
to
pay
customs
duties
for
the
right
to
fish
in
our
waters
.
What
do
the
yellowjohns
of
Anglia
owe
us
for
our
ruined
trade
and
our
ruined
hearths
?
And
the
beds
of
the
Barrow
and
Shannon
they
won
’
t
deepen
with
millions
of
acres
of
marsh
and
bog
to
make
us
all
die
of
consumption
?
—
As
treeless
as
Portugal
we
’
ll
be
soon
,
says
John
Wyse
,
or
Heligoland
with
its
one
tree
if
something
is
not
done
to
reafforest
the
land
.
Larches
,
firs
,
all
the
trees
of
the
conifer
family
are
going
fast
.
I
was
reading
a
report
of
lord
Castletown
’
s
.
.
.
