―Ah, I couldn’t, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless.

Strongly.

―Go on, blast you, Ben Dollard growled. Get it out in bits.

― M’appari , Simon, Father Cowley said.

Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld. Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell . A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland wind around her.

Cowley sang: