"Now's the time and now's the hour,"—BURNS.
"Seven's the main."—CROCKFORD.
Pity the sorrows of a class of men,
Who, though they bow to fashion and frivolity,
No fancied claims or woes fictitious pen,
But wrongs ell-wide, and of a lasting quality.
Oppress'd and discontented with our lot,
Amongst the clamorous we take our station;
A host of Ribbon Men—yet is there not
One piece of Irish in our agitation.