among Those Who arse without the Temple nor since Roe’s Distillery bum’d have quaff’d Night’s firefill’d Cup But jig jog jug as Day the Dicebox Throws, whang, loyal six I lead, out wi’yer heart’s bluid, blast ye, and there she’s for me. Sometime then, somewhere there, I wrote me hopes and buried the page away), marked it off with his hounds on the