Classic Poem

ST . Patrick was a gentleman,
— Who came of decent people;
He built a church in Dublin town,
— And on it put a steeple.
His father was a Gallagher;
— His mother was a Brady;
His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy,
— His uncle an O'Grady.
So, success attend St. Patrick's fist,
— For he's a saint so clever;
Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist,
— And bothered them forever!

The Wicklow hills are very high,
— And so's the Hill of Howth, sir;
But there's a hill, much bigger still,
— Much higher nor them both, sir:
'Twas on the top of this high hill
— St. Patrick preached his sarmint
That drove the frogs into the bogs,
— And banished all the varmint.

There's not a mile in Ireland's isle
— Where dirty varmin musters,
But where he put his dear fore-foot,
— And murdered them in clusters.
The toads went pop, the frogs went hop,
— Slap-dash into the water;
And the snakes committed suicide
— To save themselves from slaughter.

Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue
— He charmed with sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloe
— In soups and second courses.
Where blind-worms crawling in the grass
— Disgusted all the nation,
He gave them a rise, which opened their eyes
— To a sense of their situation.

No wonder that those Irish lads
— Should be so gay and frisky,
For sure St. Pat he taught them that,
— As well as making whiskey;
No wonder that the saint himself
— Should understand distilling,
Since his mother kept a shebeen-shop
— In the town of Enniskillen.

O, was I but so fortunate
— As to be back in Munster,
'Tis I'd be bound that from that ground
— I never more would once stir.
For there St. Patrick planted turf,
— And plenty of the praties,
With pigs galore, ma gra, ma 'store,
— And cabbages — and ladies!
— — So, success attend St. Patrick's fist,
— — — For he's a saint so clever;
— — O, he gave the snakes and toads a twist
— — — And bothered them forever!