By some prison officer. On his back
You noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?
Well, that’s what[1227] he lives for; when reason went,
Still memory lived, for his days are spent
In searching for dukites; year by year
That bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clear
That the Lord out of evil some good still takes;
For he’s clearing[1228] this bush of the dukite snakes.
—J. Boyle O’Reilly.