Classic Poem

I T'S of one John George Montresor,
And Briggs, Esquire, his master kind,
This retch, all for his privat pleasure,
Did froddylently order wind.

To Mister Ellis, Richmond, Surrey,
Where Briggs, Esquire, he did reside,
This wicked John druv in a urry,
On June the fust and tenth beside

And then, this mene and shabby feller
To Mister Ellis did remark,
Briggs ad gone out and took the cellar
Kee away across the Park;

And cumpny comeng on a suddent,
Ad stayed to dine with Missis B,
Whereby in course the butler cooden't
Get out the wind without the kee

So Missis B. she would be werry
Much obliged if e'd send in
Arf a dozen best brown sherry,
And single bottel 'Ollans gin.

But this was nothink but a story as
This wicked butler went and told,
Whereby for nothink to get glorious,
Wich so he did, and grew more bold

Until, at last grown more audashus,
He goes and orders, wat d'ye think?
He goes and orders, goodness grashus!
Marsaly, wind no gent can drink.

It wasn't for his private drinkin —
For that he'd Briggses wine enuff —
But, wen the sherry bins was sinkin
He filled 'em with this nasty stough

And Briggs, Esquire, at is own tabel
(To rite such things my art offends)
Might ave to drink, if he was abul,
Marsaly wind, hisself and frends!

But praps John ne'er to tabel brort it,
And used it in the negus line;
Or praps the raskal, when he bort it,
Knew Briggs was not a judge of wind.

At all ewents, all thro' the seson
This villin plaid these orrid games.
For butlers to commit such treson,
I'm sure it is the wust of shames.

But masters, tho soft, has there senses,
And roges, tho sharp, are cotcht at last;
So Briggs, Esquire, at last commenses
To find his wind goes werry fast.

Once, when the famly gev a party,
Shampain, in course, the bankwet crown'd;
And Briggs, Esquire, so kind and arty,
He ordered John to and it round.

No wind in general's drunk more quicker,
But now his glass no gent would drane;
When Briggs, on tastin, found the licker
Was British arf-a-crown Shampain!

That they'd not drink it was no wunder,
A dredful look did Briggs assoom,
And ordered, with a voice of thunder,
The retched butler from the room.

Then, rushin edlong to the cellar,
Regardless if he broke is shins,
He found wot tricks the wicked feller
Had been a playin with the binns.

Of all his prime old sherry, raelly
There wasent none to speke of there,
And Mr Ellis's Marsaly
Was in the place the sherry were

Soon after that the wicked feller's
Crimes was diskivered clear and clene,
By the small akount of Mr. Ellis,
For lickers, twenty pound fifteen.

And not content with thus embezzlin
His master's wind, the skoundrel had
The Richmond tradesmen all been chizzlin,
An' a doin' every think that's bad.

Whereby on Toosday, Janwry thirty,
As is reported in the Times ,
He wor ad up for his conduc dirty
And dooly punished for his crimes.

So masters, who from such base fellers
Would keep your wind upon your shelves,
This int accept — If you have cellars,
Always to mind the kee yourselves.