The newsboys:  Stop press edition.  Result of the rockinghorse races.  Sea serpent in the royal canal.  Safe arrival of Antichrist.

(Stephen turns and sees bloom.)

Stephen:  A time, times and half a time.

(Reuben I antichrist, wandering jew, A clutching hand open on his spine,
stumps forward.  Across his loins is slung A pilgrim’s wallet from which
protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills.  Aloft over his shoulder
he bears A long BOATPOLE from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass
of his only son, saved from liffey waters, hangs from the slack of its
breeches.  A hobgoblin in the image of punch Costello, HIPSHOT,
crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally
sloper nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness.)

All:  What?

The hobgoblin:  (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, goggling his
eyes, squeaking, KANGAROOHOPPING with outstretched clutching arms, then
all at once thrusts his lipless face through the fork of his thighs) IL
Vient!  C’EST MOI!  L’HOMME qui rit!  L’HOMME PRIMIGENE! (He whirls round
and round with dervish howls) SIEURS et dames, FAITES Vos JEUX! (He
crouches juggling.  Tiny Roulette planets fly from his hands.) Les JEUX
SONT FAITS! (The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks) rien
Va plus! (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away.  He
springs off into vacuum.)

Florry:  (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly) The end of the world!

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her.  Nebulous obscurity occupies
space.  Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blares over coughs
and FEETSHUFFLING.)