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'What do you mean? asked Lancelot, with a strong expletive. 'Faix, I told him he might as well Faugh a ballagh make a rid road, and get out of that, with his bowings and his crossings, and his Popery made asy for small minds, for there was a gun a-field that would wipe his eye, maning yourself, ye Prathestant.
I hope you won't forget yourself, and cry 'Faug a Ballagh, when one of the bishops rises to speak. And whatever you do, don't sing 'Gama crem'ah cruiskeen' in the lobby." "My dear fellow," said he, "I am not in the House of Lords at all. Only an Irish peer. I intend to get into the Commons though, and produce a sensation by introducing the Australian 'Co'ee' into the seat of British legislature."
Never find out. Or what they say. Like our small talk. And says she and says he. Nerve they have to fly over the ocean and back. Lots must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Faugh a Ballagh! Out of that, bloody curse to you!
'Mind ye, he says, 'mind ye, he says, ''tis our jooty to be frindly with th' Germans, he says. 'I'm now on me way f'r to organize a camp iv me Dutch frinds down be th' slough, he says. An' off he goes. "'Twas not long afther whin I heerd a man singin' 'Th' Wearin' iv th' Green' down th' sthreet, an' in come Schwartzmeister. 'Faugh a ballagh, says he, meanin' to be polite.
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