i62 LIFE IN IRELAND 



Then plunging deep his mighty arm, 



Pluck'd from its dark domain this throne of freedom, 



Drench'd it in whiskey punch, and 



Caird it — Ireland — he did and will preserve it.' 



Mason was always a favourite poet with Brian, 

 and as such he altered the last stanza of this grand 

 apostrophe, if not for the better, to better please his 

 own wayward fancy. Brian now being in a humour- 

 some mood, sat down near the second drawbridge, 

 and pulling forth his tablets, invoked his muse to the 

 following effect : — 



A PLANXTY TO the memory of BOB JOHNSTON, 



THE 



DRUNKEN COUNSELLOR OF DAME STREET. 



' Go along, Bob.' 



Of all that ever graced the Bar, 



Or at the Drop were seen, 

 Bob Johnston beats both near and far. 

 Ready to fight, to fend, or spar, 



As things would intervene. 



He was a good attorney's guide, 



But could not guide himself ; 

 In swearing he took monstrous pride. 

 His hands in blood were often dy'd, 



Though seldom stain'd by pelf. 



His pen was ready as his speech. 



Which was both bold and strong, 

 Full well he could good doctrine teach, 

 But then to practise what you preach, 

 Said Bob, is always wrong. 



