" So
he let down the rope and hook, and the hook became fastened to a stone,
whereupon he exerted all his strength, and the rope broke, and he fell
upon his back. Looking into the sky, he saw the moon, and cried out
joyfully, "Praise be to Allah! I am sorely bruised, but the moon has got
into its place again."
There is a well-worn jest of an Irishman who, being observed by a friend
to look exceedingly blank and perplexed, was asked what ailed him. He
replied that he had had a dream. "Was it a good or a bad dream?"
"Faith," said he, "it was a little of both; but I'll tell ye. I dreamt
that I was with the Pope, who was the finest gentleman in the whole
district; and after we had conversed a while, his Holiness axed me,
Would I drink? Thinks I to myself, 'Would a duck swim?' So, seeing the
whisky and the lemons and the sugar on the side-board, I said, I didn't
mind if I took a drop of punch. 'Cold or hot?' says his Holiness. 'Hot,
your Holiness,' says I. So on that he steps down to the kitchen for the
boiling water, but, bedad, before he came back, I woke straight up; and
now it's distressing me that I didn't take it cold!"
We have somewhat of a parallel to this in a Turkish jest: The Khoja
dreamt that some one gave him nine pieces of money, but he was not
content, and said, "Make it ten." Then he awoke and found his hands
empty.
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