But after all this is not half so great an exaggeration as what the cultivated English poet wrote:—
I found her on the floor
In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful,
Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate,
That were the world on fire it might have drowned
The wrath of Heaven and quenched the mighty ruin.
A great dandy wears his hat on three hairs of his head.
He said such funny things that the company were splitting their sides laughing.
Matt Donovan (in 'Knocknagow') says of his potatoes that had fine stalks but little produce—desavers as he called them—Every stalk of 'em would make a rafter for a house. But put the best man in the parish to dig 'em and a duck would swallow all he'd be able to turn out from morning till night.
Sometimes distinct numbers come in where they hardly apply. Not long ago I read in an article in the 'Daily Mail' by Mr. Stead, of British 'ships all over the seven seas.' So also here at home we read 'round the four seas of Ireland' (which is right enough): and 'You care for nothing in the world but your own four bones' (i.e. nothing but yourself). 'Come on then, old beer-swiller, and try yourself against the four bones of an Irishman' (R. D. Joyce: 'The House of Lisbloom.') Four bones in this sense is very common.
A person meeting a friend for the first time after a long interval says 'Well, it's a cure for sore eyes to see you.' 'I haven't seen you now for a month of
