"Hon-a-maun-dhiaoul! He'll have him dhragged off the horse!" says Dan.
"He will! He will!" says I, "he's dam stubborn!"
Maybe if it wasn't for the way Johnny crooked the owld horse with the spur, sthrivin' to squeeze the leg around him, he'd have held his howlt, but a Turk couldn't stand it with the hoist that owld Monaloo let out of him.
"He's down!" says Dan. "He's dead! 'Tis on his head he's fallen!"
"Ye're a liar!" says William, "it's on the fox he fell! The big mastheen of a tyrant!"
'Twasn't long then till the whole of us was gathered lookin' at Johnny, and he ravin' like a cat in the measles, and every bit that was on him desthroyed with the gutther, and says he to Smartheen, givin' a bitter big curse:
"It's all I wish," says he, "that ye were a football before me! Ye wouldn't last me three kicks!" says he.
'Twould dhrive a chill through your stomach to be leshnin' to the talk he had. And sure the fox was as flat as the palm o' yer hand within in the bag!
"Oh, fie, fie!" says Dan, "our fox is gone from us!"
Indeed, ye wouldn't like to be lookin' at the crayture. Johnny Daly's a very weighty man, and sure it's the last sthraw, as they say, put the hump on the camel. But in any case Smartheen battled it out well, and all that was in it was givin' him applauses.