How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales,
Or crack such lice as his between your nails?
SHEELAH.
When you with Oonah stood behind a ditch,
I peep'd, and saw you kiss the dirty bitch:
Dermot, how could you touch these nasty sluts?
I almost wish'd this spud were in your guts.
DERMOT.
If Oonah once I kiss'd, forbear to chide;
Her aunt's my gossip by my father's side:
But, if I ever touch her lips again,
May I be doom'd for life to weed in rain!
SHEELAH.
Dermot, I swear, though Tady's locks could hold
Ten thousand lice, and every louse was gold;
Him on my lap you never more shall see;
Or may I lose my weeding-knife — and thee!
DERMOT.
O, could I earn for thee, my lovely lass,
A pair of brogues[1] to bear thee dry to mass!
But see, where Norah with the sowins[2] comes —
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.
