Hed a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin,
They fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Every day I cant wait for the doctors and nurses to leave me alone
so I can learn a new verse from Patricia and find out whats happen-
ing to the highwayman and the landlords red-lipped daughter. I love
the poem because its exciting and almost as good as my two lines of
Shakespeare.The redcoats are after the highwayman because they know
he told her, Ill come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar
the way.
Id love to do that myself, come by moonlight for Patricia in the
next room not giving a fiddlers fart though hell should bar the way.
Shes ready to read the last few verses when in comes the nurse from
Kerry shouting at her, shouting at me, I told ye there was to be no talk-
ing between rooms. Dipthteria is never allowed to talk to typhoid and
visa versa. I warned ye.And she calls out, Seamus, take this one.Take the
by. Sister Rita said one more word out of him and upstairs with him.
We gave ye a warning to stop the blathering but ye wouldnt.Take the
by, Seamus, take him.
Ah, now, nurse, sure isnt he harmless. Tis only a bit o poetry.
Take that by, Seamus, take him at once.
He bends over me and whispers,Ah, God, Im sorry, Frankie. Heres
your English history book. He slips the book under my shirt and lifts
me from the bed. He whispers that Im a feather. I try to see Patricia
when we pass through her room but all I can make out is a blur of dark
head on a pillow.
Sister Rita stops us in the hall to tell me Im a great disappointment
to her, that she expected me to be a good boy after what God had done
for me, after all the prayers said by hundreds of boys at the Confrater-
nity, after all the care from the nuns and nurses of the Fever Hospital,
after the way they let my mother and father in to see me, a thing rarely
allowed, and this is how I repaid them lying in the bed reciting silly
poetry back and forth with Patricia Madigan knowing very well there
was a ban on all talk between typhoid and diphtheria. She says Ill have
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