Well, says the citizen, what’s the latest from the scene of action?

What did those tinkers in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language?

O’Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most obedient city, second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael.

It’s on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.