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James Stephens - Righteous Anger
Work rating: Medium

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 see          
On virtue’s path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,  
Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on 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.
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