And a dhrop of Innishowen.”
“No rasher will I cook for you
While betther is to spare, sir;
But here’s a jug of mountain dew,
And there’s a rattlin’ hare, sir.”
St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet,
And says he, “Good luck attind you,
And whin you’re in your windin’ sheet
It’s up to heaven I’ll sind you.”
O’Ryan gave his pipe a whiff—