This witty grandee has been wont to come out,
To come out of his house when the sun has gone down,
To meet with his compeers, tall, lean, short and stout,
And bishops arrayed in black gaiters and gown,
But no one could predicate till he’d begin,
With head well thrown back and with prominent chin,
Whether friends had to cheer or opponents to moan,
Over what would among them most surely be thrown.
But all must rejoice, and none can deplore,
Our having among us the Mac Allum More.