Mick Malone on the tramp, weary, dusty, and warm,
Thought a pint of good ale wouldn't do him much harm;
But before he indulged--just for Conscience's sake--
He thought he'd the views of Authority take.
So poising his stick on the ground--so they say,
He resolved on the beer if it fell the beer way;
If it went the contrary direction--why then
He'd his coppers retain, and trudge onward again.
The shillalegh, not thirsty, went wrong way for Mick,
Who again and again tried the Test of the Stick,
Till, worn out with refusing, the sprig tumbled right:
"Bring a pint!" sang out Pat, which he drank with delight;
And smacking his lips as he finished his beer,
Cried--"Success, Mick, me boy! always persevere!"