First Prize.
Is it how the Home Rulers,
Make spaches, me boys?
Whist! I’ll tell ye the tale
In a ‘three-cornered’ rhyme,
Wid the laste taste, iv brogue—
Be the mortial, its prime!
Where they riz thim quare clothes,
Sorra, one iv me knows!
Their wondherful ‘caubeens,’