Besides a great many fine castles—
But, bad luck,—they were all in the air.
For in rainy, &c.
Though I’d scorn to be rude to a lady,
Miss Fortune and I can’t agree;
So I flew without wings from green Erin—
Is there anything green about me?
While blest with this stock of fine spirits,
At care, faith, my fingers I’ll snap;
I’m as rich as a Jew without money,