Whose incense in one corner you might see
Rising in volumes from four sacred stills,
Which, as Miss Reilly empties, Darby fills
With boiling fluid from a cauldron spoutless,
That had been ages at the Three Blacks, doubtless.
But now the pipes are smoking both and playing:
"Come, boys!" says Father Martin, "no delaying!
Let's have a song. Come, you first, Tommy Byrne,
And then we'll get a stave all round in turn."
Tommy, obedient, put his dudheen[25] in