I ranted to the knave and fool，

    But outgrew that school，

    Would transform the part，

    Fit audience found， but cannot rule

    My fanatic1 heart.

    I sought my betters： though in each

    Fine manners， liberal speech，

    Turn hatred into sport，

    Nothing said or done can reach

    My fanatic heart.

    Out of Ireland have we come.

    Great hatred， little room，

    Maimed us at the start.

    I carry from my mother‘s womb

    A fanatic heart.