Bloom:  Thank you, mistress.

Bello:  You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh’s the cook’s, a sandy one.  Ay, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or lap it up like champagne.  Drink me piping hot.  Hop!  You will dance attendance or I’ll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush.  You’ll be taught the error of your ways.  At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips.  For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. (He chuckles) My boys will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels.  First I’ll have a go at you myself.  A man I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I was in bed with him just now and another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office) is on the lookout for a maid of all work at a short knock.  Swell the bust.  Smile.  Droop shoulders.  What offers? (He points) For that lot.  Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. (He Bares his arm and plunges it ELBOWDEEP in Bloom’s vulva) There’s fine depth for you!  What, boys?  That give you a hardon? (He shoves his arm in A bidder’s face) Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

A bidder:  A florin.

(Dillon’s lacquey rings his handbell.)

The lacquey:  Barang!

A voice:  One and eightpence too much.

Charles Alberta marsh:  Must be virgin.  Good breath.  Clean.

Bello:  (Gives A rap with his Gavel) Two bar.  Rockbottom figure and cheap at the price.  Fourteen hands high.  Touch and examine his points.  Handle him.  This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh.  If I had only my gold piercer here!  And quite easy to milk.  Three newlaid gallons a day.  A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour.  His sire’s milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks.  Whoa my jewel!  Beg up!  Whoa! (He brands his initial C on Bloom’s croup) So!  Warranted Cohen!  What advance on two bob, gentlemen?

A DARKVISAGED man:  (In disguised accent) Hoondert punt sterlink.

Voices:  (Subdued) For the Caliph.  Haroun Al Raschid.

Bello:  (Gaily) Right.  Let them all come.  The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the better instincts of the Blase man about town.  Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing.  Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them.  Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.