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There’s them that would ridicule me for telling stories out a’ school, but if ye don’t get them from me, where wud ye hear them nowadays? Me grandfather and namesake toul’ this one to all he’s, an’ he wasn’t the author he’s-self! There cud be words missin’ and others outa place but I can on’y do me best.
It called the Pennyworth of Lies and it was Jack’s party-piece, a century ago. This is the wonderful account of a poor oul’ woman That was burned alive here, last night About six weeks ago, in a hape o’ snow. And hearing upon this melancholic accident I set out in sarch of her An’ I put me two shin bones in me pocket An’ me head under me oxter, in an awful hurry Stopping every two minutes to rest meself. An’ I went on ahead and I met The Londonderry Supreme Coach An’ this man wit’ a slither, slid into Patsy Kelly’s shop An’ he was safely delivered of a blacksmith’s anvil an’ bellis An’ two Grandadiers,an’ one of them had the Customs House Dublin on his back An’ the other had Nelson’s Memorial Monument in he’s hand, for a walking stick, an’ I asked if they cud give me any account Of this oul’ woman and he toul’ me that he cud not but he said that John the Know-All knew all about her An’ I axed him then where John lived, and he toul me He lived in the parish of Up and Down where a mad dog bit a hatchet An’ he said that it was up in a high hill down in a low hollow Where the wind never blew nor the cock ever crew A wee house, he said, standing alone With about forty or fifty houses standing beside it. So I went on ahead anyhow an’ so, be Jaysus It wasn’t long until I seed John himself Stepping out of a vinegar bottle - So well he might, for he was a bottle-maker be trade - And I asked him cud he give me an account Of this oul’ woman an’ he said ‘I doubt I can’t’ Well, he says anyhow, I’ll show ye some of me curiosities An’ he tuk me out to the field an’ he showed me A hay-rick an’ it was built o’ stones, an’ he tuk me into a wee room An’ he showed me a wee boy an’ he was eighteen feet high An’ he was thrashin’ tibaccy into pays An’ one of the pays jumped up An’ it went through an iron, metal, stone, wooden wall An’ it killed a dead dog on the other side The dead dog jumped up an’ he barked at a pock-marked cat On the other side of the wall, an’ I run over to them An’ I jumped over the wall and it wasn’t much higher than a cabbage stalk An’ it wouldn’t be any longer than St Patrick’s Day to America An’ I run me hand down the dog’s throat An’ I turned him inside out When out jumps a hare The hare was follyed then be sixteen bog-trotters That lost their heads at the Battle of Kilcannon. I went on ahead anyway and they were firing stones, Sticks, skeletons and paving stones at one another An’ one of them hut the hare in the left-right-middle eye When out jumps the oul’ woman B’ Jaysus, I thought, I put me two shin bones in me pocket I put me head under me oxter An’ I jumped from the Curragh of Kildare (That’s away, away over in the middle of Ireland) To Caroline Bridge in Dublin An’ I let go of the woman, an’ just in two seconds She fell into the River Liffey An’ she’s dead there until this day Making lovely straw hats Outa dale boords An’ more of that to Her Lordship. |
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