Catches, canons and drinking songs
The text of this item has been flagged as containing xenophobia and racism.
Let us drink to the blades intrenched on the Shannon,
discharge our full glasses as they their whole cannon,
ev’ry health shall be flourished with trumpets and drums,
and our bumpers go off in pledge to their bombs,
see the town in a blaze, now our faces resembles,
and at both the pale Monsieur, poor Mac and Taig trembles.