"The kings go up and the kings go down, And who knows who shall rule?Next night a king may starve or sleep,But men and birds and beasts shall weep At the burial of a fool.
"O, drunkards in my cellar, Boys in my apple tree,The world grows stern and strange and new,And wise men shall govern you, And you shall weep for me.
"But yoke me my own oxen Down to my own farm;My own dog will whine for me,My own friends will bend the knee,And the foes I slew openly Have never wished me harm."
And all were moved a little, But Colan stood apart,Having first pity, and afterHearing, like rat in rafter,That little worm of laughter That eats the Irish heart.
And his grey-green eyes were cruel, And the smile of his mouth waxed hard,
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