So, while the chilling torrents ran
And soaked our best figaries,
Within the Old Mass Shandrydan
We pummelled at the Careys:
“Wisha, where were all the Careys? Sure the rain might melt the fairies!”
“Faith, and if it was the races then, they wouldn’t stop away.”
“That’d be another story; there they’d be in all their glory—
Wisha, what could keep them all from Mass to-day!”
And when we held the big bazaar—
A fine and lively meeting—