After supper of Heaven I dream,
But that is fat pullet and clouted cream,
Myself, by denial, I mortify—
With a dainty bit of a warden pie;
I’m cloth’d in sack-cloth, for my sin;
With old sackwine I’m lined within;
A chirping cup is my matin song,
And the vesper’s bell is my bowl, ding, dong.
What baron or ’squire, &c.
J. O’Keeffe.