And adopting a shroud as his sole outer garment,
Becomes food for worms, slugs, and all such-like varmint.
My Lord Dandelion,
That illustrious scion,
Not possessing the pluck of the bold hero Brian,
(Of whom Irishmen rave till one murmurs “how true
Is the brute’s patronymic of Brian Bore you”),
Neither feeling inclined,
Nor having a mind
To be shot by a highwayman, merely said “Eh?