Anyways, an untitled poem (16 lines) can be found at http://hdl.handle.net/10151/OB_0001191_AR.
Having transcribed much of it, I found a version (slightly different) in print from 1812 here. There's a 3rd verse/page although the author is stated to be "Colman" - Anyways its about Whiskey and Spuds, so here it is ...
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Hail to the Chief now, he's wet through with whiskey
Long life to the Lady, come from the salt seas
Strike up blind harper, hie[?] to be friskey
For what is so gay as a bag full o fleas
Crest of O'Shaughnashane, that's a potatoe plain
Long long may the root every Irishman know,
Pats long have stuck to it, long bid good luck to it,
Whack for O'Shaughnashane dooley whack ho!
Ours is an esculent lusty and lasting
no turnip or other weak babe of the ground
waxy or mealy it hinders from fasting
half Erin's inhabitants all the year round
wants the soil where tis flung, Hog's, cow's, or horse's dung,
the crest of O'Shaughnashane [broadly???] doth grow
Shout for it Ulstermen till the bogs quake again
Whack for O'Shaughnashane dooley whack ho!
Drink, Paddies, drink to the Lady so shining!
While flowret shall open, and bog-trotter dig,
So long may the sweet Rose of Beauty be twining
Around the Potato of proud Blarneygig !
While the plant vegetates,
While whiskey recreates,
Wash down the root, from the horns that o'erflow
Shake your shillalahs, boys !
Screeching drunk, scream your joys !
Whack for O'Shaughnashane ! — Tooleywhagg, ho
