“I’ll take it on meself,” says he, “to docthor the books for this wance, only don’t let the cat out of the bag on me, Pathrick, my son.”
“Never fear,” says Saint Pathrick. “Depind your life on me.”
“Well, it’s done, anyhow,” says Saint Pether, puttin’ the injy-rubber back into his pocket; “an’ if you hands me over the kays, Pat,” says he, “I’ll relaise you for the day, so that you can show your frind over the grounds.”
“’Tis a grand man you are!” says Saint Pathrick. “My blessin’ on you, avic!”
“Come in, Paddy Power,” says Saint Pether, openin’ the gate; “an’ remimber always that you wouldn’t be here for maybe nine hundred an’ ninety-nine year or more only that you’re the only offer we ever had from the Parish of Portlaw.”
Edmund Downey (1856).
“‘COME IN, PADDY POWER,’ SAYS SAINT PETHER, OPENIN’ THE GATE.”
THE DANCE AT MARLEY.
Murtagh Murphy’s barn was full to the door when eve grew dull,