When our Avershaws were strangling,
And our Mrs. Frys were preaching:
And our priests and bishops wrangling,
And our patriots a-screeching!
Sing the days, etc.
When a Tory was a Tory,
Armour’d tight in old tradition,
Quoting nothing but the hoary,
And a friend to superstition:
Hating Irishman and priests, sir,