Classic Poem

Were not the Gael fallen from their high estate
And Fola's warrior kings cast down by fate
And learning mocked in Eire's evil day,
I were no servant, Edmond, in thy pay.

Ye shall not stay my toil, once held divine,
Thou and thy fleering harlots at their wine,
Till all the brave are dead and out of reach
Eireamhon's people of the golden speech.

Edmond, I give good counsel. Heed it thou!
Leave mocking at my holy labours now,
Or such a rain of venomed shafts I'll send
That never a man shall save thee nor defend.

A tale I've heard that well might tame thy mood.
A gamesome chief of Gascony's best blood
Refused a poet once. The satire sped
And the man withered, strengthless, leprous, dead.