Have not I myself known five hundred living soldiers sabred into crows' meat for a piece of glazed cotton, which they call their flag; which had you sold it at any market-cross, would not have brought above three groschen?

O Paddy dear, an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his color can’t be seen,
For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the Green!

For they’re hangin’ men an’ women there for wearin’ o’ the Green.

Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room!

No taxation without representation.