Oh, where shall I go, and what shall I do?
Turn which way I will, I am under the screw.
Every Voter must feel a tight clutch on the throat
Of my conscience—poor thing!—ere he'll promise his vote.
PAT late was my patron,—'twas only his fun!
Now he's "three single gentlemen" not rolled in one.
There's PARNELL, MACARTHY, and SAUNDERSON! Phew!
If I partly please one, I make foemen of two.
Hang Ireland! And Scotland is getting as bad.