gin-***/gin-***/gin-***/gin-***/gin-***

It would tie your brain up in a knot,
the clink of glasses on the barman's grate,
and the tones of creaky Dublin croaking,
In darkness, mourning the death, of the daytime light.  

It would I say, to grasp the slender neck,
and to lift it, smiling, glancing beyond the glass,
at winking eyes and clinking pints of plain,
My brain is in a knot, when I think of you.  

I held you on the banks, of the  royal canal,
knew then what all the bards and lovers mean,
say it was the light reflected in their eye,
I never did hear tell, of eyes to rival glass

Yet confound revealing daytime light,
you are liquid of the night, stout and dark,
rebuke me not, till your own brain too,
Has been left in knots, by the dark slender boy.

1: der Sauerkraut.  Ja!  Sauerkraut mit Wacholderbeere ist naturlich sehr lecker...........................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­................................................................O­h yes, that's the other one.  2: gin.  GIN.  gingingingingin.  g-i-n.  gin.

Ah sure it wasn't long
last Saturday night,
before I was dancing out on the green.  

I stepped the dance
to general delight;
And I danced the skellemesago.

But not before long
I drew there a crowd
who thought me rather odd.

And sure says I
to two poli-ce-men,
It's only me dancing the wherligig jig.  
  
But with menacing look,
says one to me then,
You'll come right along with us.  

Yet being inclined,
to dance tru the night,
I skipped my heals and fled.

It was such a fleeing,
as think you might,
That I danced the Irish trot.

With fine trotting trot
as ever was got,
I danced away from those men.  

Yet intent they seemed,
On following me,
And dancing the rufty tufty

So up tailes all,
we three did go,
and the maid peept out the window.

A glass of wine is a fine thing,  
Unless the wine is bad.  

A pint of plain porter is a fair thing,
Unless it isn't very nice.  

A smidgeon of whisky is a grand thing,
Unless the whisky is sub-standard.  

A glass of ale is a proper thing,
Unless the ale is too warm.  

A little gin is an excellent thing,
I have never observed an exception to this rule.

a hen
a doe
a tree
a catharsis
...
a Shay Healy
...
...
a knee
Ah Chew!

....And that auld triacontrahedron went jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal....

That's Ouzo,
Not Oozo,
Not Oozu,
I've had a few.

Ah I get scared sometimes.  
Sometimes it is terrible being,
and to be and to be,
it is terrible.  

Oh I do repent me here my shred,
my little of lonely happiness,
which with syntax allowing,
here vanquish shed.  

Nay morn not, but read in accent,
and accent like Sligo people,
W.B. Yeast and the others,
whoever they may honey bee,

for this is Sligo Lament,
me in the lamenting of it,
for two more lines,
Sligo Lament.

When Hamlet was young,
All was good,
Elsinore was proud,
Hamlet was young,
Ophelia too.  

Now he is older,
Not everything is good,
Some things still are,
His uncle is his father in law,
This is not so good.  

Now he is dead,
Ophelia is dead,
Laertes is dead,
Gertrude is dead,
Cladius is dead,
Yorick... is dead,
but he was at the start,
so he doesn't count.  
Rosen... Guilden... dead
Old hamlet is dead,
Plonius is dead.
Horatio is alive;
can't imagine he's very happy,
because everyone else is dead.

Laurence Olivier is handsome,
he's dead too.

There was a man,
about whom it was said,
that he was near enough,
but could get no nearer.

There was a man,
He went to market;
the market was shut;
he went home.

If I were a trilobite...
well wouldn't that be great?

Said the Actress to the Bishop, something very rude.

There was a man,
Who had a horse;
the horse died,
so did the man