IN CONTUMACIAM.

Och! Father McGlynn,

Ye appear to be in

Fer a bit of a bout wid the Pope;

An' there's divil a doubt

But he's knockin' ye out

While ye're hangin' onto the rope.

An' soon ye'll lave home

To thravel to Rome,

For its bound to Canossa ye are.

Persistin' to shtay

When ye're ordered away—

Bedad! that is goin' too far!

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