Some think, like me for one,
You've kissed the Blarney Stone;
But though your blunders make a pretty rout,
Sure, if you're right, by second sight,
You well may be, at first, a little out.
But cock your weather eye athwart the sky,
Of wind and storm disclose your store,
For one year more,
And tell us true.—
Led by your lies the ships lie to,