Of Hans Pietro Shanahan (Who was a most ingenious man) The Muse of History records That he’d get drunk as twenty lord… He’d get so truly drunk that men

Judge Armstrong, when the poor ha… To be released from vows that they… In haste, and leisurely repented,… As stern as Rhadamanthus (Minos t… And AEeacus) have drawn your fier…

Dimly apparent, through the gloom Of Market-street’s opaque simoom, A queue of people, parti-sexed, Awaiting the command of ‘Next!’ A sidewalk booth, a dingy sign:

The rimer quenches his unheeded fi… The sound surceases and the sense… Then the domestic dog, to east and… Expounds the passions burning in h… The rising moon o’er that enchante…

Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to G… We gave, O gallant brother; And o’er thy grave the awkward squ… Fired into one another!

Little’s the good to sit and griev… Because the serpent tempted Eve. Better to wipe your eyes and take A club and go out and kill a snake… What do you gain by cursing Nick

Not all in sorrow and in tears, To pay of gratitude’s arrears The yearly sum Not prompted, wholly by the pride Of those for whom their friends ha…

'Why, Goldenson, you’re looking v… Said Death as, strolling through… He entered that serene assassin’s… And hung his hat and coat upon a n… ‘I think that life in this seclude…

Och! Father McGlynn, Ye appear to be in Fer a bit of a bout wid the Pope; An’ there’s divil a doubt But he’s knockin’ ye out

Hangman’s hands laid in this tomb… Imp of Satan’s getting, whom an Ancient legend says that woman Never bore-he owed his birth To Sin herself. From Hell to Ear…

Alas, alas, for the tourist’s guid… He turned from the beaten trail as… Wandered bewildered, lay down and… O grim is the Irony of Fate: It switches the man of low estate

To a hunter from the city, Overtaken by the night, Spake, in tones of tender pity For himself, an aged wight: ‘I have found the world a fountain

I dreamed I was dreaming one morn… In a garden with flowers teeming. On an island I lay in a mystical… In the dream that I dreamed I was… The ghost of a scent-had it follow…

You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor… A painted beard. Quite likely tha… And sure 'tis natural you spend yo… On what has been least merciful to… By Taylor’s chin, if I am not mis…

Of life’s elixir I had writ, when… (Pray Heaven it spared him who th… Settled upon my senses with so dee… A stupefaction that men thought me… The centuries stole by with noisel…