Classic Poem

Of all the animals alive,
Whether it's birds or beeasts of prey,
Insecks, or anything to slive,
Like snaakes or lizards, far awaay
Wi' sneeaking habit;
Of all the pests you maay contrive,
I'll back the rabbit.

Yer corn in spring's all lush and green,
You smile to watch it sprout and grow,
But who is it, besides, has seen?
Who comes to crop each tender row?
Who's sure to nab it?
Who eeats as fast as he can go?
Of course … the rabbit.

If he would only live on weeds,
If he would eat the thistles up,

To satisfy his hungry needs
On twitch and docks and nettles sup,
I'd call him clever;
I shouldn't care how much he feeds,
Nor hurt him ever.

But no! he must devour the corn,
The oats, the barley, and the clover;
A pest as soon as he is born,
A curse until his daay is over:
Afore it's light
He's robbing you; all through the morn,
All noon, all night.

Them plaagues what did owd Pharaoh brown
Was niver bad as rabbits be.
They would a brought his temper down
And maade him let them Jews goa free
Straight out of hand,
To git the rabbits 'cross the sea,
Off o' the land.

They breed soa fast, the mucky critters,
To fill your farm from top to toe
They multiply in endless litters,
And wants as much as you can grow,
Then asks for more;
They reap as fast as you can sow
And keeps you poor.

If somebody about the plaace
Could larn to speak their lingo true,
And just address 'em faace to faace
Explainin' what they orter do,
That's: Kill the weeds!
And leeave the corn aloan, and rue
Their evil deeds;

I shouldn't meddle wi' 'em then,
'Coz life's as sweet to them as we;
Noa doubt they're hungry, like mysen;
I haates to shoot 'em when they be
Little and warm;
Only the brutes'll live on me,
And end my farm.

Young thistle nobs is nice and tart,
The nettle, some foaks say, is good,
The dock is green and sound at heart
A lot of weeds 'ud do for food—
I understand;
If they could just be got to start,
It would be grand.

Down in the orchard yesterday,
Frisking about soa merrily,
A little 'un was out at play
As sweet a sight as you could see
That nice and warm!
It maad me wipe a tear away
Wishin' noa harm.

All soft and nice he danced around,
All innocent, he played at ease,
When, suddenly, the little hound
Began to nibble at my peas,
My garden's pride!
I shot him quick among the trees:
Gol darn his hide!

'Eer's nowt as sarves to keep 'em under;
Noa illnesses seems to upset 'em;
How it can be, I often wonder,
Noa fever nor noa droughts affect 'em.
They swarm away.
Hungry as rats, they work like thunder
By night and day.

They steal across from Burnam Wood
To maak my crops a cruel sight.
The man what owns it—Colonel Blood—
Says: When they're out I 'ev the right
To shoot or catch 'em.
Expectin' I'm to sit all night,
Just for to watch 'em!

To watch all night wi'out noa sleep,
Wi' men and dog, wi' stick and gun,
Awaatin' till his vermin creep,
And trying hard to think it's fun!
Why don't he hold 'em?
He's keepers plenty near their run,
Why can't he fold 'em?

'Eer's two things what noa man can stick,
What noabody can't farm agen—
Rabbits and watter does the trick,
And watter dreeans—unless you're Fen;
But rabbits—never;
You fight 'em till you bust yersen—
There's more'n ever!

Kill one, another takes his plaace;
Kill two, there's three about to-morrer.
They swarm afore your very faace,
They fill your heart wi' grief and sorrer:
Safe underground,
'Cept when a ferrett's down the burrer,
And guns around.

To git your own back from the critter,
'Eer's nobbut one thing you can do,
Return agen his ways, soa bitter,
Treeat him as he has treeated you;
Pay off yer score:
Pop th' owd rascal in a stew,
And grieve noa more.