He Drew Forth A Phrase From His

Ireland Is The Old Sow That Eats Her Farrow.

Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan Came From The Stairhead, Bearing A Bowl Of Lather On Which A Mirror And A Razor Lay Crossed. A Yellow Dressinggown, Ungirdled, Was Sustained Gently Behind Him By The Mild Morning Air. He Held The Bowl Aloft And Intoned: ----introibo Ad Altare Dei.

Ineluctable Modality Of The Visible; At Least That If No More, Thought Through My Eyes. Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.

Phall If You But Will, Rise You Must: And None So Soon Either Shall The Pharce For The Nunce Come To A Setdown Secular Phoenish.

Gentle Lady, Do Not Sing Sad Songs About The End Of Love; Lay Aside Sadness And Sing How Love That Passes Is Enough. Sing About The Long Deep Sleep Of Lovers That Are Dead, And How In The Grave All Love Shall Sleep: Love Is Aweary Now.