(Midnight Chimes from distant Steeples.)

The Chimes:  Turn again, Leopold!  Lord mayor of Dublin!

Bloom:  (In alderman’s gown and chain) Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I say, from the cattlemarket to the river.  That’s the music of the future.  That’s my programme.  Cui Bono?  But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance ...

An elector:  Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

(The Aurora Borealis of the torchlight procession leaps.)

The torchbearers:  Hooray!

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the city shake
hands with bloom and congratulate him.  Timothy Harrington, late thrice
lord mayor of Dublin, imposing in Mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white
silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, Locum TENENS.  They nod
vigorously in agreement.)

Late lord mayor Harrington:  (In scarlet Robe with mace, gold Mayoral chain and large white silk scarf) That alderman sir Leo Bloom’s speech be printed at the expense of the ratepayers.  That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

Councillor Lorcan Sherlock:  Carried unanimously.

Bloom:  (IMPASSIONEDLY) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they?  Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea.  Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.  The poor man starves while they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power.  But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev ...