THE RAPE OF THE BARON'S WINE
Who was stealing the Baron's wine,
Golden sherry and port so old,
Precious, I wot, as drops of gold?
Lone to-night he came to dine,
Flung himself in his oaken chair,
Kicked the hound that whined for bread;
“God I the thief shall swing!” he said,
Thrust his hand through his ruffled hair.
Bolt and bar and double chain
Held secure the cellar door;
And the watchman placed before,
Kept a faithful watch in vain.
Every day the story came,
“Master, come! I hear it drip!”
The wine is wet on the robber's lip,
Who the robber, none could name.
All the folk in County Clare
Found a task for every day
By the Baron's gate to stray.
Came to gossip, stayed to stare.
Nothing here to satisfy
Souls for tragedy awake;
Just the castle by the lake.
Calmest spot beneath the sky.
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