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282 THE GOLDEN TREMURT OF |
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While matron and widdy (Lamenting "poor Biddy") Take draughts that would rid ye,
'Tis said, from all ills. There farmers together Discuss on the heather The markets, the weather,
The last crops they sowed; While children are sporting, Young couples resorting Are cozily courting
Along the Bog Road.
Of priests there's a legion From every known region, The hotels besieging
For shakedowns in vain Dean, Bishop, and Canon, From Liffey to Shannon, For reasons no man on
This earth could explain; Some quietly straying, Their Offices saying Some jolly and gay in
The long cars a load; Some solemnly stalking, Some eagerly talking — You'll meet them all walking
Along the Bog Road. • |
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