Monday, April 16, 2007

Righteous Anger

The 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 ever see
On virtue's path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,
Came roaring and raging the minute she looked at 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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