Section 52 of 74 - Table of Contents
ELIJAH: (IN ROLLEDUP SHIRTSLEEVES, BLACK IN THE FACE, SHOUTS AT THE TOP
OF HIS VOICE, HIS ARMS UPLIFTED) Big Brother up there, Mr President, you
hear what I done just been saying to you. Certainly, I sort of believe
strong in you, Mr President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and
Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly seems to me I don't
never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry,
just now as I done seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save
our sisters dear. (HE WINKS AT HIS AUDIENCE) Our Mr President, he twig
the whole lot and he aint saying nothing.
KITTY-KATE: I forgot myself. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did
on Constitution hill. I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the
brown scapular. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. It was a
working plumber was my ruination when I was pure.
ZOE-FANNY: I let him larrup it into me for the fun of it.
FLORRY-TERESA: It was in consequence of a portwine beverage on top of
Hennessy's three star. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the
bed.
STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end the world without end.
Blessed be the eight beatitudes.
(THE BEATITUDES, DIXON, MADDEN, CROTTHERS, COSTELLO, LENEHAN, BANNON,
MULLIGAN AND LYNCH IN WHITE SURGICAL STUDENTS' GOWNS, FOUR ABREAST,
GOOSESTEPPING, TRAMP FIST PAST IN NOISY MARCHING)
THE BEATITUDES: (INCOHERENTLY) Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum
buggerum bishop.
LYSTER: (IN QUAKERGREY KNEEBREECHES AND BROADBRIMMED HAT, SAYS
DISCREETLY) He is our friend. I need not mention names. Seek thou the
light.
(HE CORANTOS BY. BEST ENTERS IN HAIRDRESSER'S ATTIRE, SHINILY LAUNDERED,
HIS LOCKS IN CURLPAPERS. HE LEADS JOHN EGLINTON WHO WEARS A MANDARIN'S
KIMONO OF NANKEEN YELLOW, LIZARDLETTERED, AND A HIGH PAGODA HAT.)
BEST: (SMILING, LIFTS THE HAT AND DISPLAYS A SHAVEN POLL FROM THE CROWN
OF WHICH BRISTLES A PIGTAIL TOUPEE TIED WITH AN ORANGE TOPKNOT) I was
just beautifying him, don't you know. A thing of beauty, don't you know,
Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.
JOHN EGLINTON: (PRODUCES A GREENCAPPED DARK LANTERN AND FLASHES IT
TOWARDS A CORNER: WITH CARPING ACCENT) Esthetics and cosmetics are for
the boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain truth for a plain man. Tanderagee
wants the facts and means to get them.
(IN THE CONE OF THE SEARCHLIGHT BEHIND THE COALSCUTTLE, OLLAVE, HOLYEYED,
THE BEARDED FIGURE OF MANANAUN MACLIR BROODS, CHIN ON KNEES. HE RISES
SLOWLY. A COLD SEAWIND BLOWS FROM HIS DRUID MOUTH. ABOUT HIS HEAD WRITHE
EELS AND ELVERS. HE IS ENCRUSTED WITH WEEDS AND SHELLS. HIS RIGHT HAND
HOLDS A BICYCLE PUMP. HIS LEFT HAND GRASPS A HUGE CRAYFISH BY ITS TWO
TALONS.)
MANANAUN MACLIR: (WITH A VOICE OF WAVES) Aum! Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor! Ma!
White yoghin of the gods. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. (WITH A
VOICE OF WHISTLING SEAWIND) Punarjanam patsypunjaub! I won't have my leg
pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the cult of Shakti.
(WITH A CRY OF STORMBIRDS) Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father! (HE SMITES
WITH HIS BICYCLE PUMP THE CRAYFISH IN HIS LEFT HAND. ON ITS COOPERATIVE
DIAL GLOW THE TWELVE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. HE WAILS WITH THE VEHEMENCE OF
THE OCEAN.) Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of the homestead! I am the
dreamery creamery butter.
(A SKELETON JUDASHAND STRANGLES THE LIGHT. THE GREEN LIGHT WANES TO
MAUVE. THE GASJET WAILS WHISTLING.)
THE GASJET: Pooah! Pfuiiiiiii!
(ZOE RUNS TO THE CHANDELIER AND, CROOKING HER LEG, ADJUSTS THE MANTLE.)
ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here?
LYNCH: (TOSSING A CIGARETTE ON TO THE TABLE) Here.
ZOE: (HER HEAD PERCHED ASIDE IN MOCK PRIDE) Is that the way to hand the
POT to a lady? (SHE STRETCHES UP TO LIGHT THE CIGARETTE OVER THE FLAME,
TWIRLING IT SLOWLY, SHOWING THE BROWN TUFTS OF HER ARMPITS. LYNCH WITH
HIS POKER LIFTS BOLDLY A SIDE OF HER SLIP. BARE FROM HER GARTERS UP HER
FLESH APPEARS UNDER THE SAPPHIRE A NIXIE'S GREEN. SHE PUFFS CALMLY AT HER
CIGARETTE.) Can you see the beautyspot of my behind?
LYNCH: I'm not looking
ZOE: (MAKES SHEEP'S EYES) No? You wouldn't do a less thing. Would you
suck a lemon?
(SQUINTING IN MOCK SHAME SHE GLANCES WITH SIDELONG MEANING AT BLOOM, THEN
TWISTS ROUND TOWARDS HIM, PULLING HER SLIP FREE OF THE POKER. BLUE FLUID
AGAIN FLOWS OVER HER FLESH. BLOOM STANDS, SMILING DESIROUSLY, TWIRLING
HIS THUMBS. KITTY RICKETTS LICKS HER MIDDLE FINGER WITH HER SPITTLE AND,
GAZING IN THE MIRROR, SMOOTHS BOTH EYEBROWS. LIPOTI VIRAG,
BASILICOGRAMMATE, CHUTES RAPIDLY DOWN THROUGH THE CHIMNEYFLUE AND STRUTS
TWO STEPS TO THE LEFT ON GAWKY PINK STILTS. HE IS SAUSAGED INTO SEVERAL
OVERCOATS AND WEARS A BROWN MACINTOSH UNDER WHICH HE HOLDS A ROLL OF
PARCHMENT. IN HIS LEFT EYE FLASHES THE MONOCLE OF CASHEL BOYLE O'CONNOR
FITZMAURICE TISDALL FARRELL. ON HIS HEAD IS PERCHED AN EGYPTIAN PSHENT.
TWO QUILLS PROJECT OVER HIS EARS.)
VIRAG: (HEELS TOGETHER, BOWS) My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.
(HE COUGHS THOUGHTFULLY, DRILY) Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence
hereabouts, eh? Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is
not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular
devotee. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Good.
BLOOM: Granpapachi. But ...
VIRAG: Number two on the other hand, she of the cherry rouge and
coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of
gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I
should opine. Backbone in front, so to say. Correct me but I always
understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of
lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. In a
word. Hippogriff. Am I right?
BLOOM: She is rather lean.
VIRAG: (NOT UNPLEASANTLY) Absolutely! Well observed and those pannier
pockets of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest
bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull
has been mulcted. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Observe the
attention to details of dustspecks. Never put on you tomorrow what you
can wear today. Parallax! (WITH A NERVOUS TWITCH OF HIS HEAD) Did you
hear my brain go snap? Pollysyllabax!
BLOOM: (AN ELBOW RESTING IN A HAND, A FOREFINGER AGAINST HIS CHEEK) She
seems sad.
VIRAG: (CYNICALLY, HIS WEASEL TEETH BARED YELLOW, DRAWS DOWN HIS LEFT EYE
WITH A FINGER AND BARKS HOARSELY) Hoax! Beware of the flapper and bogus
mournful. Lily of the alley. All possess bachelor's button discovered by
Rualdus Columbus. Tumble her. Columble her. Chameleon. (MORE GENIALLY)
Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. There
is plenty of her visible to the naked eye. Observe the mass of oxygenated
vegetable matter on her skull. What ho, she bumps! The ugly duckling of
the party, longcasted and deep in keel.
BLOOM: (REGRETFULLY) When you come out without your gun.
VIRAG: We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. Pay your money,
take your choice. How happy could you be with either ...
BLOOM: With ...?
VIRAG: (HIS TONGUE UPCURLING) Lyum! Look. Her beam is broad. She is
coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Obviously mammal in weight
of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the fore two
protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the
noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional
protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation,
which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Such fleshy parts are
the product of careful nurture. When coopfattened their livers reach an
elephantine size. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin
swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief
existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. That suits
your book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow in it.
Lycopodium. (HIS THROAT TWITCHES) Slapbang! There he goes again.
BLOOM: The stye I dislike.
VIRAG: (ARCHES HIS EYEBROWS) Contact with a goldring, they say.
ARGUMENTUM AD FEMINAM, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the
consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. For the rest Eve's sovereign
remedy. Not for sale. Hire only. Huguenot. (HE TWITCHES) It is a funny
sound. (HE COUGHS ENCOURAGINGLY) But possibly it is only a wart. I
presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that
head? Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.
BLOOM: (REFLECTING) Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. This
searching ordeal. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a chapter of
accidents. Wait. I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ...
VIRAG: (SEVERELY, HIS NOSE HARDHUMPED, HIS SIDE EYE WINKING) Stop
twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. See, you have forgotten.
Exercise your mnemotechnic. LA CAUSA E SANTA. Tara. Tara. (ASIDE) He will
surely remember.
BLOOM: Rosemary also did I understand you to say or willpower over
parasitic tissues. Then nay no I have an inkling. The touch of a deadhand
cures. Mnemo?
VIRAG: (EXCITEDLY) I say so. I say so. E'en so. Technic. (HE TAPS HIS
PARCHMENTROLL ENERGETICALLY) This book tells you how to act with all
descriptive particulars. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite,
melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Virag is going to talk about
amputation. Our old friend caustic. They must be starved. Snip off with
horsehair under the denned neck. But, to change the venue to the Bulgar
and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike
women in male habiliments? (WITH A DRY SNIGGER) You intended to devote an
entire year to the study of the religious problem and the summer months
of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. Pomegranate! From the
sublime to the ridiculous is but a step. Pyjamas, let us say? Or
stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Or, put we the case, those
complicated combinations, camiknickers? (HE CROWS DERISIVELY)
Keekeereekee!
(BLOOM SURVEYS UNCERTAINLY THE THREE WHORES THEN GAZES AT THE VEILED
MAUVE LIGHT, HEARING THE EVERFLYING MOTH.)
BLOOM: I wanted then to have now concluded. Nightdress was never. Hence
this. But tomorrow is a new day will be. Past was is today. What now is
will then morrow as now was be past yester.
VIRAG: (PROMPTS IN A PIG'S WHISPER) Insects of the day spend their brief
existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the inferiorly
pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal
region. Pretty Poll! (HIS YELLOW PARROTBEAK GABBLES NASALLY) They had a
proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five
hundred and fifty of our era. One tablespoonful of honey will attract
friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar.
Bear's buzz bothers bees. But of this apart. At another time we may
resume. We were very pleased, we others. (HE COUGHS AND, BENDING HIS
BROW, RUBS HIS NOSE THOUGHTFULLY WITH A SCOOPING HAND) You shall find
that these night insects follow the light. An illusion for remember their
complex unadjustable eye. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth
book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B.
says is the book sensation of the year. Some, to example, there are again
whose movements are automatic. Perceive. That is his appropriate sun.
Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Chase me, Charley! (he blows into Bloom's
ear) Buzz!
BLOOM: Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self
then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I ...
VIRAG: (HIS FACE IMPASSIVE, LAUGHS IN A RICH FEMININE KEY) Splendid!
Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. (HE GOBBLES
GLUTTONOUSLY WITH TURKEY WATTLES) Bubbly jock! Bubbly jock! Where are we?
Open Sesame! Cometh forth! (HE UNROLLS HIS PARCHMENT RAPIDLY AND READS,
HIS GLOWWORM'S NOSE RUNNING BACKWARDS OVER THE LETTERS WHICH HE CLAWS)
Stay, good friend. I bring thee thy answer. Redbank oysters will shortly
be upon us. I'm the best o'cook. Those succulent bivalves may help us and
the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous
porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis.
Though they stink yet they sting. (HE WAGS HIS HEAD WITH CACKLING
RAILLERY) Jocular. With my eyeglass in my ocular. (HE SNEEZES) Amen!
BLOOM: (ABSENTLY) Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Always open
sesame. The cloven sex. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Yet Eve
and the serpent contradicts. Not a historical fact. Obvious analogy to my
idea. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Wind their way through
miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. Like those
bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.
VIRAG: (HIS MOUTH PROJECTED IN HARD WRINKLES, EYES STONILY FORLORNLY
CLOSED, PSALMS IN OUTLANDISH MONOTONE) That the cows with their those
distended udders that they have been the the known ...
BLOOM: I am going to scream. I beg your pardon. Ah? So. (HE REPEATS)
Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their
teats to his avid suction. Ant milks aphis. (PROFOUNDLY) Instinct rules
the world. In life. In death.
VIRAG: (HEAD ASKEW, ARCHES HIS BACK AND HUNCHED WINGSHOULDERS, PEERS AT
THE MOTH OUT OF BLEAR BULGED EYES, POINTS A HORNING CLAW AND CRIES) Who's
moth moth? Who's dear Gerald? Dear Ger, that you? O dear, he is Gerald.
O, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Will some pleashe pershon
not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass
tablenumpkin? (HE MEWS) Puss puss puss puss! (HE SIGHS, DRAWS BACK AND
STARES SIDEWAYS DOWN WITH DROPPING UNDERJAW) Well, well. He doth rest
anon. (he snaps his jaws suddenly on the air)
THE MOTH:
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring.
Long ago I was a king
Now I do this kind of thing
On the wing, on the wing!
Bing!
(HE RUSHES AGAINST THE MAUVE SHADE, FLAPPING NOISILY) Pretty pretty
pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
(FROM LEFT UPPER ENTRANCE WITH TWO GLIDING STEPS HENRY FLOWER COMES
FORWARD TO LEFT FRONT CENTRE. HE WEARS A DARK MANTLE AND DROOPING PLUMED
SOMBRERO. HE CARRIES A SILVERSTRINGED INLAID DULCIMER AND A LONGSTEMMED
BAMBOO JACOB'S PIPE, ITS CLAY BOWL FASHIONED AS A FEMALE HEAD. HE WEARS
DARK VELVET HOSE AND SILVERBUCKLED PUMPS. HE HAS THE ROMANTIC SAVIOUR'S
FACE WITH FLOWING LOCKS, THIN BEARD AND MOUSTACHE. HIS SPINDLELEGS AND
SPARROW FEET ARE THOSE OF THE TENOR MARIO, PRINCE OF CANDIA. HE SETTLES
DOWN HIS GOFFERED RUFFS AND MOISTENS HIS LIPS WITH A PASSAGE OF HIS
AMOROUS TONGUE.)
HENRY: (IN A LOW DULCET VOICE, TOUCHING THE STRINGS OF HIS GUITAR) There
is a flower that bloometh.
(VIRAG TRUCULENT, HIS JOWL SET, STARES AT THE LAMP. GRAVE BLOOM REGARDS
ZOE'S NECK. HENRY GALLANT TURNS WITH PENDANT DEWLAP TO THE PIANO.)
STEPHEN: (TO HIMSELF) Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling my
belly with husks of swine. Too much of this. I will arise and go to my.
Expect this is the. Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old
Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep
impression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partially
drunk, by the way. (HE TOUCHES THE KEYS AGAIN) Minor chord comes now.
Yes. Not much however.
(ALMIDANO ARTIFONI HOLDS OUT A BATONROLL OF MUSIC WITH VIGOROUS
MOUSTACHEWORK.)
ARTIFONI: CI RIFLETTA. LEI ROVINA TUTTO.
FLORRY: Sing us something. Love's old sweet song.
STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show you the
letter about the lute?
FLORRY: (SMIRKING) The bird that can sing and won't sing.
(THE SIAMESE TWINS, PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER, TWO OXFORD DONS WITH
LAWNMOWERS, APPEAR IN THE WINDOW EMBRASURE. BOTH ARE MASKED WITH MATTHEW
ARNOLD'S FACE.)
PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with the
buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three pounds twelve you
got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Mooney's en
ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital,
Burke's. Eh? I am watching you.
PHILIP DRUNK: (IMPATIENTLY) Ah, bosh, man. Go to hell! I paid my way. If
I could only find out about octaves. Reduplication of personality. Who
was it told me his name? (HIS LAWNMOWER BEGINS TO PURR) Aha, yes. ZOE MOU
SAS AGAPO. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not Atkinson his
card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. He told me about,
hold on, Swinburne, was it, no?
FLORRY: And the song?
STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? You're like someone I knew once.
STEPHEN: Out of it now. (TO HIMSELF) Clever.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (THEIR LAWNMOWERS PURRING WITH A RIGADOON
OF GRASSHALMS) Clever ever. Out of it out of it. By the bye have you the
book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes. Cleverever outofitnow.
Keep in condition. Do like us.
ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of
business with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to
him. I know you've a Roman collar.
VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. (HARSHLY, HIS
PUPILS WAXING) To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I am the
Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why I left the
church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the Confessional. Penrose.
Flipperty Jippert. (HE WRIGGLES) Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt
of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Short time after
man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Woman shows joy and covers
herself with featherskins. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam,
the stiff one. (HE CRIES) COACTUS VOLUI. Then giddy woman will run about.
Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now
fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. (HE CHASES HIS TAIL) Piffpaff!
Popo! (HE STOPS, SNEEZES) Pchp! (HE WORRIES HIS BUTT) Prrrrrht!
LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for
shooting a bishop.
ZOE: (SPOUTS WALRUS SMOKE THROUGH HER NOSTRILS) He couldn't get a
connection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.
BLOOM: Poor man!
ZOE: (LIGHTLY) Only for what happened him.
BLOOM: How?
VIRAG: (A DIABOLIC RICTUS OF BLACK LUMINOSITY CONTRACTING HIS VISAGE,
CRANES HIS SCRAGGY NECK FORWARD. HE LIFTS A MOONCALF NOZZLE AND HOWLS.)
VERFLUCHTE GOIM! He had a father, forty fathers. He never existed. Pig
God! He had two left feet. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the
pope's bastard. (HE LEANS OUT ON TORTURED FOREPAWS, ELBOWS BENT RIGID,
HIS EYE AGONISING IN HIS FLAT SKULLNECK AND YELPS OVER THE MUTE WORLD) A
son of a whore. Apocalypse.
KITTY: And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from
Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow
and was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we all
subscribed for the funeral.
PHILIP DRUNK: (GRAVELY) QUI VOUS A MIS DANS CETTE FICHUE POSITION,
PHILIPPE?
PHILIP SOBER: (GAILY) C'ETAIT LE SACRE PIGEON, PHILIPPE.
(KITTY UNPINS HER HAT AND SETS IT DOWN CALMLY, PATTING HER HENNA HAIR.
AND A PRETTIER, A DAINTIER HEAD OF WINSOME CURLS WAS NEVER SEEN ON A
WHORE'S SHOULDERS. LYNCH PUTS ON HER HAT. SHE WHIPS IT OFF.)
LYNCH: (LAUGHS) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated
anthropoid apes.
FLORRY: (NODS) Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: (GAILY) O, my dictionary.
LYNCH: Three wise virgins.
VIRAG: (AGUESHAKEN, PROFUSE YELLOW SPAWN FOAMING OVER HIS BONY EPILEPTIC
LIPS) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. Panther, the Roman
centurion, polluted her with his genitories. (HE STICKS OUT A FLICKERING
PHOSPHORESCENT SCORPION TONGUE, HIS HAND ON HIS FORK) Messiah! He burst
her tympanum. (WITH GIBBERING BABOON'S CRIES HE JERKS HIS HIPS IN THE
CYNICAL SPASM) Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!
(BEN JUMBO DOLLARD, RUBICUND, MUSCLEBOUND, HAIRYNOSTRILLED, HUGEBEARDED,
CABBAGEEARED, SHAGGYCHESTED, SHOCKMANED, FAT- PAPPED, STANDS FORTH, HIS
LOINS AND GENITALS TIGHTENED INTO A PAIR OF BLACK BATHING BAGSLOPS.)
BEN DOLLARD: (NAKKERING CASTANET BONES IN HIS HUGE PADDED PAWS, YODELS
JOVIALLY IN BASE BARRELTONE) When love absorbs my ardent soul.
(THE VIRGINS NURSE CALLAN AND NURSE QUIGLEY BURST THROUGH THE RINGKEEPERS
AND THE ROPES AND MOB HIM WITH OPEN ARMS.)
THE VIRGINS: (GUSHINGLY) Big Ben! Ben my Chree!
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