My opponent’s firmly settled, and I cannot take his seat.
Will not, cannot, cannot, will not now take his seat.
Will not, cannot, will not now take his seat.”
“What matters it? you are not beat!” his tall friend to him said,
“There’s another man to take your place, you know, when you are dead.
If you’ll leave Ireland alone, you’ll then get on like fun,
So don’t give up, but go and sup, and we will pay your dun.
Won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you soon cry.
Will you, won’t you, will you soon cry, ‘I’ve won!’”
Miss Shaw.