"’Plaze yer Honor,’ says Dennis, ’I can’t. Sure I’ve not been afther drinkin’ at all, but shmokin’ too much an’ atin’, an’ it’s sick I am, and not ontoxicated.’ "’Och, ye dhrunken buzzard,’ says the Pooka, ’Don’t offer fur to desave me,’ liftin’ up his hoof agin, an’ givin’ his tail a swish that sounded like the noise av a catheract, ’Didn’t I thrack ye for two miles be yer breath,’ says he, ’An’ you shmellin’ like a potheen fact’ry,’ says he, ’An’ the nose on yer face as red as a turkey-cock’s. Get up, or I’ll lift ye,’ says he, jumpin’ up an’ cracking his hind fut like he was doin’ a jig. "Dennis did his best, an’ the Pooka helped him wid a grip o’ the teeth on his collar. "’Pick up yer caubeen,’ says the Pooka, ’an’ climb up. I’ll give ye such a ride as ye niver dhramed av.’ "’Ef it’s plazin’ to yer Honor,’ says Dennis, ’I’d laver walk. Ridin’ makes me dizzy,’ says he. "’’Tis not plazin’,’ says the Pooka, ’will ye get up or will I kick the shtuffin’ out av yer cowardly carkidge,’ says he, turnin’ round an’ flourishin’ his heels in Dennis’ face. "Poor Dennis thried, but he cudn’t, so the Pooka tuk him to the wall an’ give him a lift an it, an’ whin Dennis was mounted, an’ had a tight howld on the mane, the first lep he give was down the rock there, a thousand feet into the field ye see, thin up agin, an’ over the mountain, an’ into the say, an’ out agin, from the top av the waves to the top av the mountain, an’ afther the poor soggarth av a ditcher was nigh onto dead, the Pooka come back here wid him an’ dhropped him in the ditch where he found him, an’ blowed in his face to put him to slape, so lavin’ him. An’ they found Dennis in the mornin’ an’ carried him home, no more cud he walk for a fortnight be razon av the wakeness av his bones fur the ride he’d had. "But sure, the Pooka’s a different baste entirely to phat he was afore King Bryan-Boru tamed him. Niver heard av him? Well, he was the king av Munster an’ all Ireland an’ tamed the Pooka wanst fur all on the Corkschrew Hill ferninst ye.