"Mad Cloony's Ride"
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of Mad Cloony's ride through the clam sauce drear:
On the thirteenth of April, a Friday (they say),
He mounted a goose and went on his way.
He said to his friend, "If the oysters march
To protest what seemeth unthoughtful starch
(Oysters are shellfish as well, you see,
And of men, they hold, clam sauce should be free)
Hang the blue mustangs from north side dock
And urge them to smile on the face of a clock--
One if by southern way; two for the west;
Three if the oysters are oddly dressed.
Then he said, "Green thunder!" and leaped on his goose.
He took a great gulp of persimmon juice
Just as the moon pulled yellow wax from her ear
And cried, "I'd much rather good wax, and clear!"
A hard slap of webbing from soft goose feet,
A splash in the soup that was louder than meet,
And Mad Cloony was slopping through clam sauce grim,
Knowing a nation depended on him.
It was one twenty-three (claimed the village loon)
When he galloped there under the waxing moon--
To the city, I mean, Gannefrith Bay
(Called Gilliflut in sage Candle-lick's day).
You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the oysters grew sniffly and left for bed,
How Mad Cloony gurgled with animals queer,
And how people all waked and listened to hear.