Presentin' arms, "Dhrive on," they cried, "God speed you Wicklow Jim!"
I dhrove as if the Phooka was the horse beneath me whip,
We flew, as if the jauntin' car was on a racin' thrip,
We scatthered dust, an' whizz of wheels, an' sparks upon the air,
When all at once, I pulled her up, at shout of "Who comes there?"
It was a throop of sojers, an' me heart began to croon,
Wid jigs, aginst me overcoat! siz he, "I'm John McKune,"—
He sprang from off the cushion, an' a little while was gone,
Then comin' back, a captain gev the password, to dhrive on!
He leaped upon the car again, an' says to me, once more,