While whisky recreates,
Wash down the root from the horns that o’erflow;
Shake your shillalahs, boys!
Screeching drunk, scream your joys!
Whack for O’Shaughnashane! Tooleywhagg, ho!
The Song in Canto III, commencing thus:—
The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder’s tread,
Far, far, from love and thee, Mary;