Which my grandfather got from the governing powers,
When penal laws flourished in Erin-go-bragh.
Erin, my country! you’ll soon be forsaken
By all the respectable landlords of yore;
Then will those rascally tenants awaken,
With their nose to some grindstone they knew not before.
Oh, cruel fate, could you ever replace me
In my seat in the House, where no bagman could chase me;
I’d vote for Coercion—though Healy should face me—
And prove my relations were hanged by the score!