'e lived for nigh two 'undred years, In th' art o' magic e had no peers, His greatest treasure or artifact, Is said to be, aye, th' hat.
Made some say an age ago, From tooth o' tiger, ice, not snow, An ounce o' haggis, n' more, n' less, But ock! Me friends! I do digress.
Its purpose now is long forgot, Will it bring happiness? Wealth? or rot? Glory? Pleasure? Peace or pain? Will its wearer lose or gain?