Hear, O hear, Isolde la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!
Anno Domini sancti nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine |2million2| pound sterling |2as per contract2| in the |2black blueblack2| bowels of the bank of Ulster.
Braw pennies and good gold pounds, by God, |2a Sunday2| my girleen 'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout 'll come courting thee or, by the |2mother of the2| Holy Ghost, there'll be murder.
O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride |2queen2| from Sybil a-riding
In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her!
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she ride with Sir Sloomysides or the gogram grey barnacle gander?
|2You'll not You won't need2| be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank |2is gets2| the worse |2for of2| his steel and |2his hot2| soldiering
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, |2for you'll have but lie snug but sleep snug in2| my old Balbriggan surtout.
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me |2from the middle, say, of this week on, for the balance of my days,2| for nothing |2at all, what,2| as your own nursetender?
A power of |2fine fellows highsteppers2| died game right enough. But who|2, acushla,2| |2lives 'll beg2| for you?
I |2had tossed2| that one long before anyone in this place.
It was of a |2wet2| good Friday too |2she was ironing2| and, as I'm given now to understand, she was |2clean always2| mad gone on me.
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an eiderdown |2bed2| picnic to follow.