At Sunday carousels, all know, I'm in flower,
My taste for the grape don't extend to the shower.
Besides, those blue pills disagree with my chyle,
So, hurrah!—pence and peace for the grand Emerald Isle!
If the scoffer should ask, what the deuce brought you there?
Of course, it was only to taste the fresh air;
To pick cowslips and daisies; and brush off the dew,
Or drink gin o'er the tombstone of Brian Boru.
As to flags, and all that; 'twas but doing in style,
The honours of Freedom to Erin's green isle.