"Murder!" says he, "murder!" says myself, so to it we went, clitter clatter; Till Miss Kitty, herself, ran down and ask'd what was the matter? But when she seen myself over head and ears in a po of broth, O God! says she, the scholar is drown'd, 'tis a pity faith and troth! "Why madam," says Winny Walsh, "'twas himself struck Tim across the pate, "Tim is a rogue," says she, by the same token he never will not taste my meat:" So getting a short discharge (now this is the truth as I'm a sinner ;) He went off with a flea in his ear, and as the saying is, without his dinner. "Twas then Miss Betty came down (to be sure I never seen her such,) "O Lord!" says she," Mister Scholar "I admire your courage very much : Fye, Winny! do not weep-sure you can take himself for a spark, 'Pon my honor, he can write a ballad with any man from this to Cork." Bright Goddess! says I myself, who art much chaster than Britomartis, I adore your worshipful face-" Opus Naturæ non Artis! When Mistress Kelly heard the Latin, as she is always very discerning, And is very civil to lads such as myself of polite learning: "Hark'ee Tim!" says she, "lay the cloth-may the "weavers steal my yarn, If I don't respect him more than one with gold-lace hounds and horn." So when myself eat my 'nough, that I had done and that I could do no more : I put my lavings in my satchel, as I had often done before: Then I went to the river side, the river was full up to the brim, I stript off all the clothes I had, and so I began to swim; But little did I dream, that all my substance would be taken, When I saw the big house dog run away with my books and bacon, O Tearcoat! says I, murder! says I, what is that you're going to do?— So he turn'd about his angry nose as who'd say, what is that to you ? Myself was in such a fright, I did not know where to sit or stand, So at length I met John the Clerk with a white pole in his hand Dear John! says I, to be sure says I, you never heard of such a case; Sure Tearcoat took my satchel and eat it up before my face! I know that Duke, says John, since first he wore a leathern collar, And I'll take my bible-book he plunder'd many a ragged scholar; Ragged scholar! says myself, pray John! hold your prate, So I went to the shepherd's house for you must know it was very late; The woman prepar'd a goose, that was fit for the lord of the manor, Mister O'Shaughnessy! says she, your learning deserves greater honour. But what you'll do for bed, is a thing myself does not know: For the Cows eat all the straw last week in the time of the snow: But you can lie with ourselves, for Charles went from home this day; Hark'ee, woman! says myself, do you know what you're going to say? "Odi profanum Vulgus"—don't you know that I am a man of letters; Well then if you be wise, you never will think of your betters. So myself stretch'd my weary limbs, and fell asleep in a trice, For my satchel, you know, being gone, I was not afraid of the mice; Then I dreamt the house of Rockwood was full of ladies and people; And that ev'ry candle in the parlour was as high as a steeple, Methought I stood at the door when Mrs. Kelly got up from the table; Gentlemen and Ladies! says she, 'pon my honour I'll tell you no fable; Behold that worthy youth!-altho' he cannot dance or caper, He could write verse with any man that could set pen to paper: But Tearcoat stole his satchel, for which I'll hang the nasty thief! Now four or five ten-pennies from you would be great relief: So the Ladies felt their pockets and each brought out a goodly piece; Which were as welcome to myself, as if I got Jason's Golden fleece: Now sir! if you'd speak to Mrs. Kelly to make this vision true, Poor Daniel, as in duty bound would ever pray for her and you. THE FUNERAL. THE moon arose obscurely dark and clouded, The wholesome mawfreight of their morning fare, The titirating labour of the boys, Their stockings ruffled, with peculiar grace, And strong brass-pins supplied the cravat's place. In simple guise the old and pious went, Thro' holy views on charity intent; And now with great respect the matrons crowd, Tho' ev'ry thought of friendly reason fled, With shouts they puff'd their fondness for the dea d. Now round the door the busy crowds appear, And shoulder'd Eveleen upon her bier, Her friends are foremost from her lov'd abode, Thro' neighb'ring fields he's forced with eager speed, Allow the brawny hoydens to be seated. With solemn gait the throng'd procession goes, Whose shrieks awake the notice of the crowd; Close to the gate until the grave is made |