Siz he unto his Familee, "Let one of you's, sit up for me,"
Thin slipped around the corner, and he dhrank till he got dhrunk.
But Pat O'Toole, he always kep' the pledge, he took before the flood,
He lived for eighteen hundred years, a blameless sort of life,
And whin he died, the Hill of Howth was built up for his monument,
And Ireland's eye was modelled out, in memory of his wife.
SONNET ON SHARES.
