Classic Poem

As 'tis likely all this
You will skip o'er and miss,
As remote from the subject before ye;
I a few facts will lay
Now before you, which may
Form excuse for this turn of the story.
First, I think it is rude to remark what folks eat,
So I mended my pen while they cut up the meat;
And this tale copied out, which I thought might apply
To events that were passing close under my eye.
But my strain I'll resume when they come to dessert,
And will note down their jokes, which no feelings can hurt.
For who'd like a reporter on paper with ink
To note all that you eat, and write down what you drink?
Of the number of slices it takes you to fill?
Just as if he of parcels was making a bill!
No, although--like all authors--I know each one's taste;
What they thought, too; yea, dream't! still I will not now waste
Your time or your patience by piece-meal retailing
Who in this capacity showed greatest of feeling.
Suffice it to say, like the beasts in the fable,
They tucked in the victuals as long as they're able;
Then applied to the bottle to fill up the chinks,
While each mouth to the bridegroom and would-be bride drinks.
"And now, pray, Mr. Murphy, we'll have your excuse;
No excuse to get off, sir, you'll find of much use,"
Uncle Jonas exclaimed, as he shook his old head,
Just to make it appear he knew more than he said.
"Here's my niece has but eaten the third of a dinner,--
Oh, this love it will make e'en the fattest one thinner!
She seems vexed with us all, p'rhaps with you not the least,
Though I rather believe it is most with the priest."

"Well," said Murphy, "I meant through the forest to run
To look out for old Peter, when dinner was done.
But before I set out I will frankly declare
What detained me so late, though 'tis quite an affair
Of a delicate nature----wait--p'rhaps it's best not
To go talking about it--'tis better forgot--
She may think it unmanly, unjust, or unkind
If I spread it abroad, so you please must not mind
These few words I've just said; I'll be back here ere long,
And will favour you then with a comical song."
"Oh, oh!" said the farmer, and glanced a sly wink;
"There's some gal in the gale then, you'd have us to think.
We shall soon have a breeze, and a tempest will blow,
If what's up in the wind you don't presently show.
Pray be seated, there is no such great haste for the priest,
Till we're satisfied all on this subject at least.
What! oh, dear me! quick--water, she's fainting away!"
He cried out, as the dame 'gainst his arm her head lay.
While he knew, by the bye, just as much what to do,
As a pig does of making an Irish stew.
"No, no, brandy is better!" O'Flanagan said;
"Raise her head!" whispered Clare. "Lay her down here!" said Ted.
"Here's my salts," said Miss Riley, who twice had searched o'er
Both her pockets, then strewed the contents on the floor.
"Or some vinegar, p'rhaps, if applied to her brow
Might her senses revive, which seem slumbering now,"
Exclaimed Mrs. Maguire; "poor, dear thing! she, indeed,
Must have ate or drank something which has disagreed."
"Warm her feet," said Miss Delhay; "and loosen her dress;
If took out in the air she'd be better, I guess."
Said her aunt, Mrs. Jonas, "Come, Murphy, lead her;
And, Patrick, you run for a doctor to bleed her."
"Oh, the wretch that I am! what a baste of a feller
Thus to tease her to death, when I might as well tell her.
It's no fault of my own if the girls will admire.
Sure I cannot look ugly because I desire?
Oh, pray come to, my dearest! my angel, revive!
Do but squeeze out a smile, just to show you're alive.
If you're not quite well soon, and my folly forgive,
I shall ne'er more be happy as long as I live."
Then she opened her eyes, cast them down to the ground,
Rolled them slowly about, and in tones most profound
Said, "There's not much the matter, I only was grieving
For fear that dear Murphy had been a-deceiving.
But I'm much better now, and quite able to hear
What he wished to explain when I first was took queer."
Oh, the wiles of the fair sex! What tricks they will try
To beguile us poor men! With a tear in their eye
They can crush Opposition without e'er a word,
Though he wear a long tongue, and is armed with a sword.
Yea, kingdoms have crumbled, washed away by a tear--
A deep sigh sent an army to a premature bier.
Twice a kiss has released condemned captives from death;
While a frown often robs from a hero his breath.
Many heads once were broke when Meg Dogharty cried,
And fair Chloe won lovers whenever she sighed.
And pray who has not felt the sweet force of a smile
Your heart from you stealing, though on guard all the while,
All your senses o'er-turning, and making your brain
Like a teetotum spun by Miss Pleasure and Pain?
But the brute of a man who can firmly persist
'Gainst the feminine tear and a sigh to resist,
Leaves the fair one no weapons to urge her complaint
But to go in hysterics, or have a good faint.

But stop, pray where am I? I've been straying again!
That I'm quite off my beat appears perfectly plain.
Like the dog I take with me when walking about,
Who will run down each turning, first in and then out.
Thus, when but three miles past 'neath these two feet of mine,
I am certain his four feet have traversed o'er nine;
So this quill of wild goose, if the straight path it went,
Might save more of your patience than thirty per cent.

"Well," said Murphy, "you know," (and his fair bride he placed
In a chair, while he bustled his arm round her waist;
But perceiving a sore throat blow in at the door,
He just twisted his arm round her neck like a boa.)
"Well," he said; "you know"--but he could not get farther.
Oh, truly, the subject seems delicate rather.
"Stop, 'tis really too bad thus your time to be wasting,
When I'm sure the sweet whisky you'd be after tasting.
'Tis a beautiful spirit, will cure melancholy;
And can make even grief to look pleasant and jolly."
Then continued he thus, in a still lower tone,
"Dearest! Much-better-half, 'tis no fault of my own,
But I'd rather explain to yourself quite alone."
"No, no, no!" cried each voice; "we will have it, sir, now."
And they clapped, stamped, and made such a terrible row,
That poor Murphy soon saw he no rest there should find
Till confessed, so thus spoke forth in accents resigned.
"Well my friends, you must know,
About eight years ago
I first went as a lad to old Donolly's farm;
Where I've been ever since,
And, the truth not to mince,
Am thought well-behaved, clever, and quite free from harm.
Now of girls he has two,
Pretty fair ones to view,
With such figures I'm sure can surpassed be by none.
But they both of them thought
(Which their eyes soon me taught),
That I'd make for their father an excellent son.
Now what could a man do?
He can't marry wives two,
And in truth I myself wanted neither.
So I hunted about,
And a lover found out,
Whom I gave a broad hint might have either.
But the other poor girl would each offer refuse,
Till the young man decided 'twas worse than no use
To solicit her hand, and considered it mine,
Though I two or three times did the honour decline;
Then her father had made up his mind I should do,
While poor Joan on that point seemed quite satisfied too;
Though I never the slightest encouragement gave,
But was only polite--as I always behave.
I can but remember one time that I kissed her,
And then sure the pleasure was shared by her sister.
Just of late, since I fixed on this dame for my bride,
I have fled from her presence, and ever have tried
To show plain as might be--though I could not be rude--
That her love was misplaced, and would prove of no good.
Now I lived in the house, and you'll therefore suppose
That she saw I was fed, and looked after my clothes;
Sewing on truant buttons, and giving a darn
To the rents--for that stitching I never could learn.
Now it happened to-day,
That I happened to say
That p'rhaps it might happen I should be away;
For some old friends of mine
Had just asked me to dine
To give my opinion on some foreign wine.
To m' Sarah, m' deary, of course I alluded,
And though speaking a figure of speech only true did.
But the maiden appeared
As if something she feared;
And, somehow--I cannot tell why,
I felt quite nervous too,
And tried all I could do
To shun the sad turn of her eye.
Now I told you she took of my raiment the care,
So I mentioned I wanted my best clothes to wear.
When--can you believe it?--she would not give them out
She declared, till I told her what I was about.
There was something not right she could readily see,
And she ne'er did expect such behaviour from me.
One she much had respected and highly esteemed,
Till my manner of late, which quite bearish she deemed
Well, I tried all I knew
(While I thought, love, of you),
To escape from her questions by no means a few.
But I found each plan vain,
Till at length I spoke plain,--
'Then know, I am going a fair bride to obtain.'
'O the monster! the wretch!' she exclaimed with such fury,
That I'm sure any justice and impartial jury,
Had she killed me, would say 'twas manslaughter.
As it was, from the fear she some rash act might do,
To my heels out of sight like an arrow I flew,
Truly grieved I was thus forced to thwart her.
Still returning, I lingered some moments about,
To catch hold of some maid, if perchance one came out,
Who would fetch me my clothes, for I wished to appear
To the greatest advantage, when coming up here;
But just as I had made up my mind to depart,
She stepp'd forth, and I scarcely had time back to start,
Ere she drew near the spot where I stood;
And, overwhelmed by despair, on the bank's mossy side
She flung herself down, and most piteously cried.
'Oh, poor dear! 'twill,' I thought, 'do her good.'
She had buried her face in her hands from my view,
Yet I saw a tear trickle her long fingers through,--
How I wished I her grief could assuage!
But I feared all the means I the pow'r had to try,
Which her sorrows could soothe, or her bitter tears dry,
Might p'rhaps also rekindle her rage:
So I kept snug concealed there as still as a mouse,
Till she sobbed out the very last tear;
Then just waited to see her safe into the house,
And made double-quick haste to get here.
So, my friends, you perceive that no blame I can own,
I felt sure the excuse for the fault would atone;
With your leave I will go now and fetch Mr. Peter,
Cruel Fate has perplexed me, but still I'll defeat her."

"Stop," said Flanagan John, "little Patrick will go,--
Every turn in the wood he from instinct must know;
And besides, I've been waiting I don't know how long,
For the treat you just promised--a comical song."

"Well," said Murphy, "I fear I'm not equal at present,
And a molar he eased with the quill of a pheasant;
"Not quite wound up, I mean, for a comical strain,
Though not long in key doleful I mean to remain.
But if Pat, my young namesake, my son that's to be,
Will just trouble himself after Peter to see,
And Maguire will oblige with the part instrumental,
I will try what I can in a song sentimental."
"With the greatest of pleasure," said Patrick, "I'm sure,"
As he bolted without hat or cap through the door;
Though he tarried outside till the singing was done,
And then swift as the deer on his errand he run.
But quick, look, he returns,--he is after some spree;
I can tell by his eyes, they are sparkling with glee:
See, he enters the house by a window behind,--
He will play them some trick, we shall presently find.
Per-ling, pling--twang, twang, twang, went the fiddle strings soon,
As Maguire screwed them up to the requisite tune;
Though he scarce knows the song, he with grief must declare;
So that Murphy politely first whistles the air;
And then, after a prelude of Maguire's composing,
To the following words his melodious voice flows in:

"As rambling forth one morning,
Whilst the birds were sweetly singing,
I chanced to meet fair Kitty,
Who her milk-pails home was bringing;
She pretended not to see me,
And was hastening away,
When I hurried quickly after her,
And said, "Sweet maiden, stay--
For I love you fondly, dearly,
Most tenderly, sincerely!
And than a king more happy you can make me if you choose!"
But the maid seemed scarce to hear me;
Oh! she loves me not, I feared me;
For she only shook her little head and said it was no use.
"Oh thou fairest, brightest, flower,
That e'er bloomed in beauty's bower!
Than the nightingale's sweet melody I much prefer your voice;
Then, dear maid, be not thus cruel,
I can bear neglect from you, ill.
As I've banished all your rivals to allow you the first choice."
"Oh, you men do so deceive, sir,
That your vows I'll not believe, sir,
For you tell each girl she's pretty, that you roaming chance to meet;
Then, besides, some other fellow
P'rhaps may love me quite as well oh,
Who has vowed to be my slave through life, and thrown him at my feet."
"I will challenge ev'ry other,
Who presumes to be your lover,
Though I kill a man each morning, not a minikin care I;
Sure, I'll perforate the river,
Though the thought it makes me shiver,
For without you as I cannot live, 'tis pleasant so to die.
For my heart I know you'll break it,
Though my love you ne'er can shake it,
'Tis more deeply rooted than yon oak that rears its head on high;
Though the stem of hope is shivered,
And each branch of pleasure withered,
Yet it clings unto the earth still firm,--so, to my love, will I."
"Will you promise ne'er to tease me,
And do all you can to please me,
If I take you for the better, though I know 'twill be for worse?
Are you sure you love me truly?
Well, I cannot think that you lie,
But remember 'tis yourself I wed, and not your gilded purse."

"Bravo! bravo! capital song,
Very good length, and nothing too long;
Lots of fine feeling and plenty of sense,
Comical rather, and of int'rest immense."

It was Flanagan John
Sang this snatch of a song,
Though the tune he was far from correct in;
But he's one that don't care,
And will do and can dare
What he likes, without ever reflecting.
"Let's encore it!--Encore!"
"No," said Murphy, "no more,
I must really the pleasure decline;
'Tis now some lady's turn,
They such pretty songs learn,
When their voices to singing incline.
Ask the fairy-like May,
Who with Samuel Delhay
In a corner like two birds are caged.
Here, my sweet pretty Miss,
May I ask for a kiss,
When those sweet lips are quite disengaged?"
"Oh, for shame!"
Said the dame,
"Dearest Murphy, you really should never
Say such things,
For it brings
A deep tint to the fairest cheek ever.
But I'm sure Miss Maguire will oblige with a song,
I have heard her fine voice, though some time ago, long;
When a child she was, under my care."
"Well," said Jerry Maguire,
"She has at my desire
Set her voice to an enchanting air;
Which with pleasure she'll sing,
'Tis exactly the thing,
Will amuse our old friend sitting there."
"Oh, do sing, dearest May,"
Whispered Samuel Delhay;
"Pray oblige us," said every guest;
"Now then, May, don't be shy,"
Said her brother, "when I
Can assist if you aid should request."
"And," said Murphy, "I, too,
Will be sure to clap you,
If you will but oblige with your best."
"I will try my best style,"