Hear, O hear, Isolde la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!

—

Anno Domini sancti nostri sancti Jesu Christi

Nine hundred and ninetynine ^|2million^2| pound sterling ^|2as per contract^2| in the ^|2black blueblack^2| bowels of the bank of Ulster.

Braw pennies and good gold pounds, by God, ^|2a Sunday^2| my girleen 'll prank thee finely

And no damn lout 'll come courting thee or, by the ^|2mother of the^2| Holy Ghost, there'll be murder.

—

O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride ^|2queen^2| 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 need^2| be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank ^|2is gets^2| the worse ^|2for of^2| his steel and ^|2his hot^2| soldiering

Nor wake in winter, widow machree, ^|2for you'll have but lie snug but sleep snug in^2| 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 highsteppers^2| died game right enough. But who^|2, acushla,^{2| |2}lives 'll beg^2| for you?

—

I ^|2had tossed^2| that one long before anyone in this place.

It was of a ^|2wet^2| good Friday too ^|2she was ironing^2| and, as I'm given now to understand, she was ^|2clean always^2| mad gone on me.

Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an eiderdown ^|2bed^2| picnic to follow.

‘By the cross of ^|2Christ Cong^2|, ^|2MacDougall,’ says she after says she after MacDougall,^2| ‘but you're the most likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore.’