HE lanky hank of a she in the inn over there Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer: May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair, And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year. That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will see On virtue’s path, and a voice that would rasp the dead, Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on me, And threw me out of the house on the back of my head! If I asked her master he’d give me a cask a day; But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange! May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange.
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James Stephens
James Stephens (9 February 1880[1] – 26 December 1950) was an Irish novelist and poet.
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