But the might of England flush'd
In those courts of emerald sheen.
Wilfrid flew, and H. B. rush'd.—
Oh! the wearing of the Green!—
Where is Irish Pim, where Stoker, that great gun?
Though they smashed and volley'd madly,
The Hibernians murmured sadly,
"Faix! Auld Erin's beaten—Baddeley
At this fun!"
Then there's sweet Miss Dod again!