Nor hats of silk, so exquisitely glossed,
Nor spicy ties, nor jetty varnish’d boots,
Console me for the treasure I have lost!
Oh! Mulligan, thy shirts perfection were,
Now I ne’er put one on but feeling pain,
And buttoning close my waistcoat in despair,
Feel I can never show their like again!
Nymphs of the tub attend the fun’ral throng,
Plant mangle wortzel near where she is laid,
And scatter snowdrops as ye press along,—