On his head a spick-and-span tile,
Round his waist a vest of scarlet;
In his mouth a sprig of shamrock,
In his breast a dashing brooch-pin,
Gold mosaic, set with sham stones;
With his bludgeon, Millemlikefun,
With his ankle-boots so jemmy.
Warning said old fuddled Norah,
"Go not forth, son Drop o' Wather,
To the quarter of the West-End,