And Sweeny continued, said corn-yellow Finn, at the recital of these staves.
If I were to search alone
the hills of the brown world,
better would I like my sole hut
in Glen Bolcain.
Good its water greenish-green
good its clean strong wind,
good its cress-green cresses,
best its branching brooklime.
Quick march again, said Lamont. It'll be a good man that'll put a stop to that man's tongue. More of your fancy kiss-my-hand, by God.
Let him talk, said Furriskey, it'll do him good. It has to come out somewhere.
I'm a man, said Shanahan in a sententious fashion, that could always listen to what my fellowman has to say. I'm telling you now, it's a wise man that listens and says nothing.
Certainly said Lamont. A wise old owl once lived in a wood, the more he heard the less he said, the less he said the more he heard, lets emulate that wise old bird.
There's a lot in that, said Furriskey. A little less of the talk and we were right.
Finn continued with a patient weariness, speaking slowly to the fire and to the six suppliant shoes that were in devotion around it, the voice of the old man from the dim bed.
[At Swim Two Birds, O'Brien, F.]