Come, Hartington, why bite thy beard? Come, Joe, why look askance?
And Spencer, loyal Spencer gaze across the Irish water!
It is not rapture lights the eyes of those who schemed thy slaughter.
As thou wert constant in our ills, joy in our coming joy,
For glum, and mum, and dumb are they who wrought thy rule annoy.
Hurrah! How oft a single charge hath made the Tory flee,
Hurrah! Hurrah! for victory, and valiant William G.
Oh! how all hearts are beating, on this our opening day,
We see the army of the League drawn out in long array;
With all its priest-praised patriots, and all its rebels red,