He chanced to meet with King O’Toole, and asked him for a shough;[18]
Said the king, “You are a stranger, for your face I’ve never seen,
But if you have a taste o’ weed, I’ll lend you my dhudeen.”[19]
While the saint was kindling up the pipe the monarch fetched a sigh;
“Is there anything the matter,” says the saint, “that makes you cry?”
Said the king, “I had a gander, that was left me by my mother,
And this morning he cocked up his toes with some disease or other.”
“And are you crying for the gander, you unfortunate ould goose?
Dhry up your tears, in frettin’, sure, there’s ne’er a bit o’ use;
As you think so much about the bird, if I make him whole and sound,