At Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O’Brien Page B

of their bellies before the calf of gold with a sheepskin around their man. It's the stuff that put our country where she stands to-day, Mr. Furriskey, and I'd have my tongue out of my head by the bloody roots before I'd be heard saying a word against it. But the man in the street, where does he come in? By God he doesn't come in at all as far as I can see.
    What do my brave men in the black hats care whether he's in or out, asked Furriskey. What do they care? It's a short jump for the man in the street, I'm thinking, if he's waiting for that crowd to do anything for him. They're a nice crowd, now, I'm telling you.
    Oh that's the truth, said Lamont.
    Another thing, said Shanahan, you can get too much of that stuff. Feed yourself up with that tack once and you won't want more for a long time.
    There's no doubt about it, said Furriskey.
    Try it once, said Shanahan, and you won't want it a second time.
    Do you know what it is, said Lamont, there are people who read that... and keep reading it... and read damn the bloody thing else. Now that's a mistake.
    A big mistake, said Furriskey.

But there's one man, said Shanahan, there's one man that can write pomes that you can read all day and all night and keep reading them to your heart's content, stuff you'd never tire of. Pomes written by a man that is one of ourselves and written down for ourselves to read. The name of that man...
    Now that's what you want, said Furriskey.
    The name of that man, said Shanahan, is a name that could be christianed on you or me, a name that won't shame us. And that name, said Shanahan, is Jem Casey.
    And a very good man, said Lamont.
    Jem Casey, said Furriskey.
    Do you understand what I mean, said Shanahan.
    You haven't any of his pomes on you, have you, said Lamont. If there's one thing I'd like...
    I haven't one on me if that's what you mean, Mr. Lamont, said Shanahan, but I could give one out as quick as I'd say my prayers. By God it's not for nothing that I call myself a pal of Jem Casey.
    I'm glad to hear it, said Lamont.
    Stand up there and recite it man, said Furriskey, don't keep us waiting. What's the name of it now?
    The name or title of the pome I am about to recite, gentlemen, said Shanahan with leisure priest-like in character, is a pome by the name of the "Workman's Friend". By God you can't beat it. I've heard it praised by the highest. It's a pome about a thing that's known to all of us. It's about a drink of porter.
    Porter!
    Porter.
    Up on your legs man, said Furriskey. Mr. Lamont and myself are waiting and listening. Up you get now.
    Come on, off you go, said Lamont.
    Now listen, said Shanahan clearing the way with small coughs. Listen now.
    He arose holding out his hand and bending his knee beneath him on the chair.
        When things go wrong and will not come right,
    Though you do the best you can,
    When life looks black as the hour of night -
    A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
    By God there's a lilt in that, said Lamont.
    Very good indeed, said Furriskey. Very nice.
    I'm telling you it's the business, said Shanahan. Listen now.
        When money's tight and is hard to get
    And your horse has also ran,
    When all you have is a heap of debt -
    A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
        When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
    And your face is pale and wan,
    When doctors say that you need a change,
    A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
    There are things in that pome that make for what you call permanence . Do you know what I mean, Mr. Furriskey?
    There's no doubt about it, it's a grand thing, said Furriskey. Come on, Mr. Shanahan, give us another verse. Don't tell me that is the end of it.
    Can't you listen? said Shanahan.
        When food is scarce and your larder bare
    And no rashers grease your pan,
    When hunger grows as your meals are rare -
    A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
    What do you think of that now?
    It's a pome that'll live,