Fall dry to staves in Doneraile;

May cold and hunger still congeal,

The stagnant blood of Doneraile;

May every hour new woes reveal,

That hell reserves for Doneraile;

May every chosen ill prevail

O’er all the imps of Doneraile;

May th’ inquisition straight impale,

The Rapparees of Doneraile;

May curse of Sodom now prevail,