But equal magic fills the tune-
ful name of Scotia's Gorbals;
And if you ever should desire
A subject to wax funny on,
What theme more fitly can inspire
The Muse than Ballybunnion?

Some places on my astral rounds
I'm strong upon tabooing,
On anti-alcoholic grounds
Grogport and Rum eschewing;
But no such painful stigma robs
Proud Potto of its lustre,
Or rules out Crank and Smeeth and Stobs,
A memorable cluster.

The pictures rising in my brain
Are strange; sometimes I muddle 'em,
Confounding Pleck with Plodder Lane,
Titley with Tillietudlem;
In short, it's not a game of skill,
Else I should scarce essay at;
But it is harmless, costs me _nil_;
And nobody need play it.

The plan is simple; choose a spot,
Then focus with decision
Your thoughts upon it till you've got
A clear-cut mental vision;
And though from fact it widely errs,