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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 527/821
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So
Thursday
sixteenth
June
Patk
.
Dignam
laid
in
clay
of
an
apoplexy
and
after
hard
drought
,
please
God
,
rained
,
a
bargeman
coming
in
by
water
a
fifty
mile
or
thereabout
with
turf
saying
the
seed
won
’
t
sprout
,
fields
athirst
,
very
sadcoloured
and
stunk
mightily
,
the
quags
and
tofts
too
.
Hard
to
breathe
and
all
the
young
quicks
clean
consumed
without
sprinkle
this
long
while
back
as
no
man
remembered
to
be
without
.
The
rosy
buds
all
gone
brown
and
spread
out
blobs
and
on
the
hills
nought
but
dry
flag
and
faggots
that
would
catch
at
first
fire
.
All
the
world
saying
,
for
aught
they
knew
,
the
big
wind
of
last
February
a
year
that
did
havoc
the
land
so
pitifully
a
small
thing
beside
this
barrenness
.
But
by
and
by
,
as
said
,
this
evening
after
sundown
,
the
wind
sitting
in
the
west
,
biggish
swollen
clouds
to
be
seen
as
the
night
increased
and
the
weatherwise
poring
up
at
them
and
some
sheet
lightnings
at
first
and
after
,
past
ten
of
the
clock
,
one
great
stroke
with
a
long
thunder
and
in
a
brace
of
shakes
all
scamper
pellmell
within
door
for
the
smoking
shower
,
the
men
making
shelter
for
their
straws
with
a
clout
or
kerchief
,
womenfolk
skipping
off
with
kirtles
catched
up
soon
as
the
pour
came
.
In
Ely
place
,
Baggot
street
,
Duke
’
s
lawn
,
thence
through
Merrion
green
up
to
Holles
street
a
swash
of
water
flowing
that
was
before
bonedry
and
not
one
chair
or
coach
or
fiacre
seen
about
but
no
more
crack
after
that
first
.
Over
against
the
Rt
.
Hon
.
Mr
Justice
Fitzgibbon
’
s
door
(
that
is
to
sit
with
Mr
Healy
the
lawyer
upon
the
college
lands
)
Mal
.
Mulligan
a
gentleman
’
s
gentleman
that
had
but
come
from
Mr
Moore
’
s
the
writer
’
s
(
that
was
a
papish
but
is
now
,
folk
say
,
a
good
Williamite
)
chanced
against
Alec
.
Bannon
in
a
cut
bob
(
which
are
now
in
with
dance
cloaks
of
Kendal
green
)
that
was
new
got
to
town
from
Mullingar
with
the
stage
where
his
coz
and
Mal
M
’
s
brother
will
stay
a
month
yet
till
Saint
Swithin
and
asks
what
in
the
earth
he
does
there
,
he
bound
home
and
he
to
Andrew
Horne
’
s
being
stayed
for
to
crush
a
cup
of
wine
,
so
he
said
,
but
would
tell
him
of
a
skittish
heifer
,
big
of
her
age
and
beef
to
the
heel
,
and
all
this
while
poured
with
rain
and
so
both
together
on
to
Horne
’
s
.
There
Leop
.
Bloom
of
Crawford
’
s
journal
sitting
snug
with
a
covey
of
wags
,
likely
brangling
fellows
,
Dixon
jun
.
,
scholar
of
my
lady
of
Mercy
’
s
,
Vin
.
Lynch
,
a
Scots
fellow
,
Will
.
Madden
,
T
.
Lenehan
,
very
sad
about
a
racer
he
fancied
and
Stephen
D
.
Leop
.
Bloom
there
for
a
languor
he
had
but
was
now
better
,
he
having
dreamed
tonight
a
strange
fancy
of
his
dame
Mrs
Moll
with
red
slippers
on
in
a
pair
of
Turkey
trunks
which
is
thought
by
those
in
ken
to
be
for
a
change
and
Mistress
Purefoy
there
,
that
got
in
through
pleading
her
belly
,
and
now
on
the
stools
,
poor
body
,
two
days
past
her
term
,
the
midwives
sore
put
to
it
and
can
’
t
deliver
,
she
queasy
for
a
bowl
of
riceslop
that
is
a
shrewd
drier
up
of
the
insides
and
her
breath
very
heavy
more
than
good
and
should
be
a
bullyboy
from
the
knocks
,
they
say
,
but
God
give
her
soon
issue
.
’
Tis
her
ninth
chick
to
live
,
I
hear
,
and
Lady
day
bit
off
her
last
chick
’
s
nails
that
was
then
a
twelvemonth
and
with
other
three
all
breastfed
that
died
written
out
in
a
fair
hand
in
the
king
’
s
bible
.
Her
hub
fifty
odd
and
a
methodist
but
takes
the
sacrament
and
is
to
be
seen
any
fair
sabbath
with
a
pair
of
his
boys
off
Bullock
harbour
dapping
on
the
sound
with
a
heavybraked
reel
or
in
a
punt
he
has
trailing
for
flounder
and
pollock
and
catches
a
fine
bag
,
I
hear
.
In
sum
an
infinite
great
fall
of
rain
and
all
refreshed
and
will
much
increase
the
harvest
yet
those
in
ken
say
after
wind
and
water
fire
shall
come
for
a
prognostication
of
Malachi
’
s
almanac
(
and
I
hear
that
Mr
Russell
has
done
a
prophetical
charm
of
the
same
gist
out
of
the
Hindustanish
for
his
farmer
’
s
gazette
)
to
have
three
things
in
all
but
this
a
mere
fetch
without
bottom
of
reason
for
old
crones
and
bairns
yet
sometimes
they
are
found
in
the
right
guess
with
their
queerities
no
telling
how
.
With
this
came
up
Lenehan
to
the
feet
of
the
table
to
say
how
the
letter
was
in
that
night
’
s
gazette
and
he
made
a
show
to
find
it
about
him
(
for
he
swore
with
an
oath
that
he
had
been
at
pains
about
it
)
but
on
Stephen
’
s
persuasion
he
gave
over
the
search
and
was
bidden
to
sit
near
by
which
he
did
mighty
brisk
.
He
was
a
kind
of
sport
gentleman
that
went
for
a
merryandrew
or
honest
pickle
and
what
belonged
of
women
,
horseflesh
or
hot
scandal
he
had
it
pat
.
To
tell
the
truth
he
was
mean
in
fortunes
and
for
the
most
part
hankered
about
the
coffeehouses
and
low
taverns
with
crimps
,
ostlers
,
bookies
,
Paul
’
s
men
,
runners
,
flatcaps
,
waistcoateers
,
ladies
of
the
bagnio
and
other
rogues
of
the
game
or
with
a
chanceable
catchpole
or
a
tipstaff
often
at
nights
till
broad
day
of
whom
he
picked
up
between
his
sackpossets
much
loose
gossip
.
He
took
his
ordinary
at
a
boilingcook
’
s
and
if
he
had
but
gotten
into
him
a
mess
of
broken
victuals
or
a
platter
of
tripes
with
a
bare
tester
in
his
purse
he
could
always
bring
himself
off
with
his
tongue
,
some
randy
quip
he
had
from
a
punk
or
whatnot
that
every
mother
’
s
son
of
them
would
burst
their
sides
.
The
other
,
Costello
that
is
,
hearing
this
talk
asked
was
it
poetry
or
a
tale
.
Faith
,
no
,
he
says
,
Frank
(
that
was
his
name
)
,
’
tis
all
about
Kerry
cows
that
are
to
be
butchered
along
of
the
plague
.
But
they
can
go
hang
,
says
he
with
a
wink
,
for
me
with
their
bully
beef
,
a
pox
on
it
.
There
’
s
as
good
fish
in
this
tin
as
ever
came
out
of
it
and
very
friendly
he
offered
to
take
of
some
salty
sprats
that
stood
by
which
he
had
eyed
wishly
in
the
meantime
and
found
the
place
which
was
indeed
the
chief
design
of
his
embassy
as
he
was
sharpset
.
Mort
aux
vaches
,
says
Frank
then
in
the
French
language
that
had
been
indentured
to
a
brandyshipper
that
has
a
winelodge
in
Bordeaux
and
he
spoke
French
like
a
gentleman
too
.
From
a
child
this
Frank
had
been
a
donought
that
his
father
,
a
headborough
,
who
could
ill
keep
him
to
school
to
learn
his
letters
and
the
use
of
the
globes
,
matriculated
at
the
university
to
study
the
mechanics
but
he
took
the
bit
between
his
teeth
like
a
raw
colt
and
was
more
familiar
with
the
justiciary
and
the
parish
beadle
than
with
his
volumes
.
One
time
he
would
be
a
playactor
,
then
a
sutler
or
a
welsher
,
then
nought
would
keep
him
from
the
bearpit
and
the
cocking
main
,
then
he
was
for
the
ocean
sea
or
to
hoof
it
on
the
roads
with
the
romany
folk
,
kidnapping
a
squire
’
s
heir
by
favour
of
moonlight
or
fecking
maids
’
linen
or
choking
chicken
behind
a
hedge
.
He
had
been
off
as
many
times
as
a
cat
has
lives
and
back
again
with
naked
pockets
as
many
more
to
his
father
the
headborough
who
shed
a
pint
of
tears
as
often
as
he
saw
him
.
What
,
says
Mr
Leopold
with
his
hands
across
,
that
was
earnest
to
know
the
drift
of
it
,
will
they
slaughter
all
?
I
protest
I
saw
them
but
this
day
morning
going
to
the
Liverpool
boats
,
says
he
.
I
can
scarce
believe
’
tis
so
bad
,
says
he
.
And
he
had
experience
of
the
like
brood
beasts
and
of
springers
,
greasy
hoggets
and
wether
wool
,
having
been
some
years
before
actuary
for
Mr
Joseph
Cuffe
,
a
worthy
salesmaster
that
drove
his
trade
for
live
stock
and
meadow
auctions
hard
by
Mr
Gavin
Low
’
s
yard
in
Prussia
street
.
I
question
with
you
there
,
says
he
.
More
like
’
tis
the
hoose
or
the
timber
tongue
.
Mr
Stephen
,
a
little
moved
but
very
handsomely
told
him
no
such
matter
and
that
he
had
dispatches
from
the
emperor
’
s
chief
tailtickler
thanking
him
for
the
hospitality
,
that
was
sending
over
Doctor
Rinderpest
,
the
bestquoted
cowcatcher
in
all
Muscovy
,
with
a
bolus
or
two
of
physic
to
take
the
bull
by
the
horns
.
Come
,
come
,
says
Mr
Vincent
,
plain
dealing
.
He
’
ll
find
himself
on
the
horns
of
a
dilemma
if
he
meddles
with
a
bull
that
’
s
Irish
,
says
he
.
Irish
by
name
and
irish
by
nature
,
says
Mr
Stephen
,
and
he
sent
the
ale
purling
about
,
an
Irish
bull
in
an
English
chinashop
.
I
conceive
you
,
says
Mr
Dixon
.
It
is
that
same
bull
that
was
sent
to
our
island
by
farmer
Nicholas
,
the
bravest
cattlebreeder
of
them
all
,
with
an
emerald
ring
in
his
nose
.
True
for
you
,
says
Mr
Vincent
cross
the
table
,
and
a
bullseye
into
the
bargain
,
says
he
,
and
a
plumper
and
a
portlier
bull
,
says
he
,
never
shit
on
shamrock
.
He
had
horns
galore
,
a
coat
of
cloth
of
gold
and
a
sweet
smoky
breath
coming
out
of
his
nostrils
so
that
the
women
of
our
island
,
leaving
doughballs
and
rollingpins
,
followed
after
him
hanging
his
bulliness
in
daisychains
.
What
for
that
,
says
Mr
Dixon
,
but
before
he
came
over
farmer
Nicholas
that
was
a
eunuch
had
him
properly
gelded
by
a
college
of
doctors
who
were
no
better
off
than
himself
.
So
be
off
now
,
says
he
,
and
do
all
my
cousin
german
the
lord
Harry
tells
you
and
take
a
farmer
’
s
blessing
,
and
with
that
he
slapped
his
posteriors
very
soundly
.
But
the
slap
and
the
blessing
stood
him
friend
,
says
Mr
Vincent
,
for
to
make
up
he
taught
him
a
trick
worth
two
of
the
other
so
that
maid
,
wife
,
abbess
and
widow
to
this
day
affirm
that
they
would
rather
any
time
of
the
month
whisper
in
his
ear
in
the
dark
of
a
cowhouse
or
get
a
lick
on
the
nape
from
his
long
holy
tongue
than
lie
with
the
finest
strapping
young
ravisher
in
the
four
fields
of
all
Ireland
.
Another
then
put
in
his
word
:
And
they
dressed
him
,
says
he
,
in
a
point
shift
and
petticoat
with
a
tippet
and
girdle
and
ruffles
on
his
wrists
and
clipped
his
forelock
and
rubbed
him
all
over
with
spermacetic
oil
and
built
stables
for
him
at
every
turn
of
the
road
with
a
gold
manger
in
each
full
of
the
best
hay
in
the
market
so
that
he
could
doss
and
dung
to
his
heart
’
s
content
.
By
this
time
the
father
of
the
faithful
(
for
so
they
called
him
)
was
grown
so
heavy
that
he
could
scarce
walk
to
pasture
.
To
remedy
which
our
cozening
dames
and
damsels
brought
him
his
fodder
in
their
apronlaps
and
as
soon
as
his
belly
was
full
he
would
rear
up
on
his
hind
quarters
to
show
their
ladyships
a
mystery
and
roar
and
bellow
out
of
him
in
bulls
’
language
and
they
all
after
him
.
Ay
,
says
another
,
and
so
pampered
was
he
that
he
would
suffer
nought
to
grow
in
all
the
land
but
green
grass
for
himself
(
for
that
was
the
only
colour
to
his
mind
)
and
there
was
a
board
put
up
on
a
hillock
in
the
middle
of
the
island
with
a
printed
notice
,
saying
:
By
the
Lord
Harry
,
Green
is
the
grass
that
grows
on
the
ground
.
And
,
says
Mr
Dixon
,
if
ever
he
got
scent
of
a
cattleraider
in
Roscommon
or
the
wilds
of
Connemara
or
a
husbandman
in
Sligo
that
was
sowing
as
much
as
a
handful
of
mustard
or
a
bag
of
rapeseed
out
he
’
d
run
amok
over
half
the
countryside
rooting
up
with
his
horns
whatever
was
planted
and
all
by
lord
Harry
’
s
orders
.
There
was
bad
blood
between
them
at
first
,
says
Mr
Vincent
,
and
the
lord
Harry
called
farmer
Nicholas
all
the
old
Nicks
in
the
world
and
an
old
whoremaster
that
kept
seven
trulls
in
his
house
and
I
’
ll
meddle
in
his
matters
,
says
he
.
I
’
ll
make
that
animal
smell
hell
,
says
he
,
with
the
help
of
that
good
pizzle
my
father
left
me
.
But
one
evening
,
says
Mr
Dixon
,
when
the
lord
Harry
was
cleaning
his
royal
pelt
to
go
to
dinner
after
winning
a
boatrace
(
he
had
spade
oars
for
himself
but
the
first
rule
of
the
course
was
that
the
others
were
to
row
with
pitchforks
)
he
discovered
in
himself
a
wonderful
likeness
to
a
bull
and
on
picking
up
a
blackthumbed
chapbook
that
he
kept
in
the
pantry
he
found
sure
enough
that
he
was
a
lefthanded
descendant
of
the
famous
champion
bull
of
the
Romans
,
Bos
Bovum
,
which
is
good
bog
Latin
for
boss
of
the
show
.
After
that
,
says
Mr
Vincent
,
the
lord
Harry
put
his
head
into
a
cow
’
s
drinkingtrough
in
the
presence
of
all
his
courtiers
and
pulling
it
out
again
told
them
all
his
new
name
.
