13: Do I hunt fur the throuble? Mayhap, now, it's thrue
Upon certain occasions that's jisht what I do. 5. Shure, how else would they know I'm that stunted an'
small-
I'd the heart of a man in me body at all?”
Says little Dan Crone.
"Well, thin, keep yer opinion. 'Tis little it's worth,"
Says little Dan Crone. "Faix, we're jisht the most peaceable race on the earth, If ye l'ave us alone.”
Thomas Augustin Daly (1871–
Şez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
“Bedad, yer a bad 'un!
Now turn out yer toes!
Yer belt is unhookit,
Yer
cap
is on crookit,
Ye may not be dhrunk,
But, be jabers, ye look it!
Wan-two!
Wantwo!
Ye monkey-faced diyil, I'll jolly ye through!
Wan-two!
Time! Mark!
Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
“A saint it ud sadden
To dhrill such a mug!
Eyes front!-ye baboon, ye!
Chin up!-ye gossoon, ye!
Ye've jaws like a goat-
Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!
Wantwo!
Wantwo!
Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!
Wan-two!
Time! Mark! Ye've eyes like a bat!-can ye see in the dark?"
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
“Yer figger wants padd’n’—
Sure, man, ye've no shape!
Behind ye yer shoulders
Stick out like two bowlders;
Yer shins is as thin
As a pair of pen-holders!
Wan-two!
Wan—two!
Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!
Wantwo!
Time! Mark! I'm dhry as a dog–I can't shpake but I bark!”
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
“Me heart it ud gladden
To blacken yer eye.
Ye're gettin' too bold, ye
Compel me to scold ye,-
'Tis halt! that I say, –
Will
ye
heed what I told ye?
Wan-two!
Wan-two!
Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!
Wan-two
Time! Mark!
What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark."
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
"I'll not stay a gadd'n
Wid dagoes like you!
I'll travel no farther,
I'm dyin' for-wather;-
Come
if
Can ye loan me a quather?
What,--two? And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!
You'll do!
Whist! Mark!
The Rigiment's flatthered to own ye, me spark!"
Robert William Chambers (1865–
FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN
SUPERINTINDINT Wuz Flannigan;
Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;
Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack
An' muddled up things t'th' divil an' back,
Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,
Afther the wreck wuz all on agin;
That is, this Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.
Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,
He writed tin pages-did Finnigin,
An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;
Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd
Did Finnigin write to Flannigan
Afther the kyars had gone on agin.
That wuz how Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.
Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin-
He'd more idjucation-had Flannigan;
An' it wore’m clane an' complately out
To tell what Finnigin writ about
In his writin' to Musther Flannigan.
So he writed back to Finnigin:
“Don't do sich a sin agin;
Make 'em brief, Finnigin!”
Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,
He blushed rosy rid-did Finnigin;
An' he said: “I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay
That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay
Befoore Sup'rintindint, that's Flannigan,
Gits a whack at this very same sin agin.
From Finnigin to Flannigan
Repoorts won't be long agin."
Wan da-ay on the siction av Finnigin,
On the road sup'rintinded be Flannigan,
A rail give way on a bit av a curve
An’some kyars wint off as they made the shwerve.
“There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,
“But repoorts must be made to Flannigan.”
An' he winked at McGorrigan,
As married a Finnigin.
He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,
As minny a railroader's been agin,
An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright
In Finnigin's shanty all that night-
Bilin' down his repoort, wuz Finnigin!
An' he writed this here: “Musther Flannigan:
Off agin, on agin,
Gone agin.-Finnigin.”
Strickland W. Gillilan (1869
A RELIGIOUS USE OF TOBACCO
The Indian weed now withered quite;
Green at morn, cut down at night;
Shows thy decay: all flesh is hay:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
And when the smoke ascends on high,
Think thou behold'st the vanity
Of worldly stuff, gone with a puff:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
But when the pipe grows foul within,
Think of thy soul defiled with sin,
And that the fire doth it require:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
The ashes, that are left behind,
May serve to put thee still in mind
That unto dust return thou must:
Thus think, then drink Tobacco.
Robert Wisdome (?) (?-1568)
Thou who, when fears attack,
Bid'st them avaunt, and Black
Care, at the horseman's back
Perching, unseatest;
Sweet when the morn is gray;
Sweet, when they've cleared away
Lunch; and at close of day
Possibly sweetest:
I have a liking old
For thee, though manifold
Stories, I know, are told,
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