Classic Poem

A am a loyal Orangeman
From Portadown upon the Bann;
My loyalty, A will maintain,
Was ever and always without stain,
Though rebelly Papishes may call
My loyalty “conditional.”
A never did insist upon
Nor ask condition beyont the one—
The crown o' the causeway on road and street,
And the Papishes put under my feet!

'Twas when rebellion threatened the State
In the month of April in '48,
A mounted up upon my hackney,
And off A started to General Blakeney.
Says I, “Sir Edward, here we are,
Six hundred martial men of war,
All ready and able, never fear,
To march from the Causeway to Cape Clear,
And drive the rebels would dar' to raise
The Irish colours, intill the says!”

Then what div' ye think my buffer sly
Had the imperance for to reply?
Says he, “Your offer's very fair,
And very timely A do declare,
For here we're all as one besieged,
So for your offer we're much obleeged;
But ye won't object, A hope, to mix
In the ranks of the—loyal Catholics?”
There was sitting by, never lettin' on,
That rebelly Papish, Radington;

And that other Papisher rebel still,
The fella they call Somerville:
A gave them both, as A made reply,
A look from the corner of my eye.
A said, “Make no excuse, A pray,
For asking us to serve that way,
We wouldn't think the trouble much—
For we don't allow there's any such!”
You'd have given a pound to see the two,
And the way they looked, as A withdrew.

Well, what div' ye think, sir? After that
A thought A might put on my hat;
But, hell to my sowl, if they didn't send
And ask me back by a private friend.
And A seen the Colonel, and brave John Pitt,
And A got a gun, and A hev' it yit,
And if ever the rebelly villains dar'
Again to provoke the North to war,
That Radington, the Papish dog,
Is the very first man A'll shoot, by Gog!