Of DNB's triumph, I shall sing and raise,
Profit hath flown high, causing hearts to sizzle,
Yet shy were they, a pint short in their grizzle,
A share of ale, to faithful hands they praise.
In the realm of cure, green hope doth gleam,
The stewards of health, to cleanse their trail,
Yet 'tis the smoke of distant fires, tells the tale,
A bitter draught, yet hope in every stream.
In Renault's halls, the coin doth flow and rise,
Repeating words of hope, as revenue soars,
Half a plate of gold, they promise and implore,
A fragrant brew, beneath the autumn skies.
