Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/120

 It is not brandy, it is not wine, It is Jameson's Irish Whisky: It fills the heart with joy divine, And it makes the fancy frisky.

All other spirits are vile resorts, Except its own Scotch first cousin; And as for your Clarets and Sherries and Ports, A naggin is worth a dozen.

I have watered this, though a toothful neat Just melts like cream down the throttle: But it's grand in the punch, hot, strong, and sweet! Not a headache in a bottle.

It is amber as the western skies When the sunset glows serenest; It is mellow as the mild moonrise When the shamrock leaves fold greenest.

Just a little, wee, wee, tiny sip! Just the wet of the bill of a starling! A drop of dew for the rosy lip, And two stars in the eyes of my darling!