It's me that's
spakin' to them, so none of your palaver, if you plase, till I'm done,
an' then you may prache till Tib's Eve, an' that's neither before
Christmas nor afther it."
Farmer--"Sure I'm sayin' nothin', Elveen, barrin' houldin' my tongue, a
shuchar" (* my sugar).
Wife--"Your takin' the world on yez, an' God knows 'tis a heavy load to
carry, poor crathurs."
Farmer--"A heavy load, poor crathurs! God he knows it's that."
Wife--"Brian! _Gluntho ma?_--did you hear me? You'll be puttin' in your
gab, an' me spakin'? How-an-iver, as I was sayin', our house was the
first ye came to, an' they say there's a great blessin' to thim that
gives, the first charity to a poor man or woman settin' out to look for
their bit."
Farmer--"Throgs, ay! Whin they set out; to look for their bit."
Wife--"By the crass, Brian, you'd vex a saint. What have you to say in
it, you _pittiogue_?* Hould your whisht now, an' suck your dhudeen, I
say; sure I allow you a quarther o' tobaccy a week, an' what right have
you to be puttin' in your gosther when other people's spakin'?"
* Untranslatable--but means a womanly man a poor,
effeminate creature.
Farmer--"Go an."
Wife--"So, you see, the long an' the short of it is that whenever you
happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us. You know
the ould sayin'--when the poor man comes he brings a blessin', an' when
he goes he carries away a curse.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252