And the harder the mattrass the later to sleep,
So good-bye to the three in their “pounding.”
GOBO.
Second Prize.
Three land agitators went down to the West,
Went down to the West, where the storm-clouds rise;
Each thought of fair Erin, the land of unrest,
And of fair Erin’s children, so poor, so unwise.
For times are hard, and harvests are bad,