Sorra a word o’ thruth--yet some sez that they’ve never a doubt
But there’s plenty o’ thruth in a dhrame, if ye turn it the right side out:
An’ I mind me mother, wan night she dhreamt of a ship on the say,
An’ next mornin’ her Micky, the souldier, came home that was years away.
Thin a notion I have, as I woke, I’d heard wan o’ thim two inside
Sayin’: ‘Sleep, that’s the chink for a glimpse, but death, that’s the door set wide’;
An’ whin things do be cruel conthráry, wid could an’ the hunger an’ all,
Some whiles I fall thinkin’: ‘Sure, maybe, it’s on’y a bit o’ their wall.’
So p’rhaps it’s a fool that I am, but many’s the time, all the same,
I sez to meself I’d be wishful for just a dhrame o’ that dhrame.