Shall hence be sent half trimmed away;
For will he—nill he—if in fault,
He forfeit must in meal or malt.
But mark the man who is in drink,
Must the cannikin oh, never, never, clink.
THE YORKSHIRE IRISHMAN; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A POTATO MERCHANT.
MY father was once a great merchant,
As any in Ireland was found,
But, faith, he could never save a shilling,