"'Dan,' said the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion
'twas so far.' 'And my lord, sir,' said I, 'who in the world _axed_ you
to fly so far--was it I? did not I beg and pray and beseech you to stop
half an hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' said he; 'I'm tired
bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest
myself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I; 'is it upon that little
round thing, then? why, then, sure I'd fall off in a minute, and be
_kilt_ and spilt, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver--so
you are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' said he; 'you can catch fast hold of the
reaping-hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill
keep you up.' 'I won't then,' said I. 'May be not,' said he, quite
quiet. 'If you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one
slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in
your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in
the morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever to
have come along with the likes of you;' and so giving him a hearty curse
in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with a
heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon the moon,
and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.
"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said,
'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked
you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year' ('twas true enough for
him, but how he found it out is hard to say), 'and in return you are
freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a
cockthrow.'
"'Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you,' says
I. 'You ugly unnatural _baste_, and is this the way you serve me at
last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hook'd nose, and to all your
breed, you blackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out
his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like
lightning. I bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and
bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw
him from that day to this--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure
I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare
grief, when all at once a door opened right in the middle of the moon,
creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month
before, I suppose they never thought of greasing 'em, and out there
walks--who do you think, but the man in the moon himself? I knew him
by his bush.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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