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James Stephens (Джеймс Стивенс) The Glass of Beer The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer: May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year. That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will ever see On virtue's path, and a voice that would rasp the dead, Came roaring and raging the minute she looked at me, And threw me out of the house on the back of my head. If I asked her master he'd give me a cask a day; But she with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange! May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten and may The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange. James Stephens's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1203 |
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