The Tinkers

"One ciarog knows another ciarog, And why shouldn't I know you, you rogue?" "They say a stroller will never pair Except with one of his kind and care . . ." So talked two tinkers prone in the shough-- And then, as the fun got a trifle rough, They flitted: he with his corn-straw bass, She with her load of tin and brass: As mad a match as you would see In a twelvemonth's ride thro' Christendie. He roared--they both were drunk as hell: She danced, and danced it mighty well! I could have eyed them longer, but They staggered for the Quarry Cut: That half-perch seemed to trouble them more Than all the leagues they'd tramped before. Some'll drink at the fair the morrow, And some'll sup with the spoon of sorrow; But whether they'll get as far as Droichid The night--well, who knows that but God?