And it's little grief it gives me, to give the ould bother the go!
And when another harvest comes, by the Saints! I'd like to see
The money or anything else that 'ud make a Raping-Machine of me!
I've raped in Scotland and England, and I've raped in the Lothians three,
And I dar' say it's twenty year since first I crossed the Irish Sea;
I've raped yer wheat, and yer barley, and oats and beans, sez Pat:
But as for Profit—it's sorrow the raping that ever I raped of that!
So, good luck to you, Misther Mac Cormack, and Yer Reverence, Misther Bell,
And good luck to you, Misther Hussey—I wish yer Honours well;
The shearer's footing on the fields ye've fairly cut away;