O'BRIEN mongrel villin,
And as for cur DILLON
Just look at him ranging afar at his will!
I thought, true as steel,
They would both come to heel,
Making up for the pack
Whistled off by false MAC,
As though _he'd_ ever shoot with _my_ patience and skill!
To me ye'll not stick, Sirs?
What divil's elixirs
Tempt _ye_ on the Twelfth in the morning?

Plague on ye, come back!
Och! ye villainous pack,
Ye slaves of the Saxon, ye blind bastard bunch!
Whelps weak and unstable,
_I_ only am able
The Celt-hating Sassenach wholly to s-c-rr-unch!
Yet for me ye won't work,
But sneak homeward and shirk,
Ye've an eye on the ould spider, GLADSTONE, a Saxon!
He'll sell ye, no doubt.
Sure, a pig with ring'd snout
Is a far boulder baste
Than such mongrels! The taste
Of the triple-plied thong BULL will lay your base backs on
Will soon make ye moan
That ye left _me_ alone
On St. Grouse's Day in the morning!