My mind is sad and weary thinking how
The griffins of the Gael went over the sea
From noble Eire, and are fighting now
In France and Flanders and in Germany.
If they,‘ mid whom I sported without dread,
Were home I would not mind what foe might do,
Or fear tax-man Odell would seize my bed
To pay the hearth-rate that is overdue.
I pray to Him who, in the haughty hour
Of Babel, threw confusion on each tongue,
That I may see our princes back in power,
And see Odell, the tax-collector, hung.