It’s good to have you sitting by,
Old man, to prove the world no botch,
To shame the devil with your eye
And pass the Scotch.

BARNEY McGEE.

Barney McGee, there’s no end of good luck in you,
Will-o’-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you,
Wild as a bull-pup and all of his pluck in you,—­
Let a man tread on your coat and he’ll see!—­
Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity,
Nose that turns up without any vulgarity,
Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty,—­
Wow, you’re a rarity, Barney McGee! 
Mellow as Tarragon,
Prouder than Aragon—­
Hardly a paragon,
You will agree—­
Here’s all that’s fine to you! 
Books and old wine to you! 
Girls be divine to you,
Barney McGee!

Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly,
Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly. 
Here’s some Barbera to drink it befittingly,
That day at Silvio’s, Barney McGee! 
Many’s the time we have quaffed our Chianti there,
Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there,—­
Once more to drink Nebiolo spumante there,
How we’d pitch Pommery into the sea! 
There where the gang of us
Met ere Rome rang of us,
They had the hang of us
To a degree. 
How they would trust to you! 
That was but just to you. 
Here’s o’er their dust to you,
Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, when you’re sober you scintillate,
But when you’re in drink you’re the pride of the intellect;
Divil a one of us ever came in till late,
Once at the bar where you happened to be—­
Every eye there like a spoke in you centering,
You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering—­
All Vagabondia shouts at your entering,
King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee! 
There’s no satiety
In your society
With the variety
Of your esprit. 
Here’s a long purse to you,
And a great thirst to you! 
Fate be no worse to you,
Barney McGee!

Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate,
Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate! 
Faith, it’s so killing you are, you assassinate,—­
Murder’s the word for you, Barney McGee! 
Bold when they’re sunny and smooth when they’re showery,—­
Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery! 
Chesterfield’s way, with a touch of the Bowery! 
How would they silence you, Barney machree? 
Naught can your gab allay,
Learned as Rabelais
(You in his abbey lay
Once on the spree). 
Here’s to the smile of you,
(Oh, but the guile of you!)
And a long while of you,
Barney McGee!