(Poem #185) A 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 ape, with the toughest jaw you will 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.
Irish, 17th century. Translated by James Stephens. Some of the best invective I've ever seen... the last couplet is simply inspired :-) thomas. PS. You didn't _really_ expect me to add a commentary to this poem, did you?