O faire merchants of this green isle,
In ye four weeks to end of May,
Yon retail sales did thee beguile,
Yet their growth ebb'd to a six-month sway.

In lands afar, 'cross silver'd sea,
The counsel of Tobacco's smoke,
Their outlook for vast treasure's plea,
Stood steadfast, answering the hopes they stoke.

To the Orient an echo rose,
Where traders in their Nippon lair,
Did flourish with unyielding pose,
As heavens bless'd prosperity's affair.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur