Dear, dirty Dublin--Io te salute
Every misfortune has an end at last
Fighting like devils for conciliation
Half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him
Hating each other for the love of God
He first butthers them up, and then slithers them down
He was very much disguised in drink
Least important functionaries took the greatest airs upon them
Might almost excite compassion even in an enemy
Misfortune will find you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest
Profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing medicine
Rather a dabbler in the "ologies"
Recovered as much of their senses as the wine had left them
Seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining power of vanity
The tone of assumed compassion