St Patrick of Ireland, my dear!
He came to the Emerald Isle
On a lump of a paving stone mounted;
The steamboat he beat by a mile,
Which mighty good sailing was counted.
Says he, “The salt water, I think,
Has made me most fishily thirsty;
So bring me a flagon of drink
To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye—
Of drink that is fit for a saint.”