A few years ago a couple of Irishmen were in England. When they went to bed they would hear people building the fire and frying meat. The ghosts used to be eating all night. When the Irishmen used to get up in the morning there used not be any turf or meat gone at all
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Once upon a time some boys were going for a drink. A cock came out of the barn though the door was closed. The cock stood before them crowing and aring.[?] Some of the boys kicked him out of their way and the rest of them turned back. Those that went never came back and when the people got up in the morning they found them dead.
Friday night is my delight.
And so is Saturday morning.
But Sunday night I get a fright.
When I think of Monday morning.