"THE BIG GUN!"
Grand Old Gunner loquitur:—
'Tis a regular "Mons Meg" of a cannon!
The swabs, they have been every one,
Very hard the Grand Old (Gunner) Man on,
But what will they think of this gun?
Double shotted, and charged to the muzzle,
And trained by my hands and my eye,
The foes I conceive it will puzzle,
And tempt them to fly.
Mere skirmishing, up to the present,
With pop-guns, and flint-locks, and such;
But now! They will not find it pleasant,
When once this huge touch-hole I touch.
Mighty Cæsar! I guess they won't like it;
Great Scott! won't it just raise a din?
And don't they just wish they could spike it
Before we begin?
The fun of it is, they have furnished
The filling themselves, unaware.
The shot they've cast, polished, and burnished,
The powder were prompt to prepare.
It's pitiful, quite, their position,
To see, the unfortunate elves!
Their carefully-stored ammunition
Thus turned on themselves.
Their batteries big it should batter,
Their trenches should burst and blow up,
Their forces allied it should scatter,
It's worse than an Armstrong or Krupp.
Chain-shot for swift slaughter's not in it,
For spreading it's better than grape,
They'll all be smashed up in a minute,
Scarce one can escape.
Now, Morley, my boy, and brave Parnell,
I'll lay it; just follow my hand.
That plain will soon look like a charnel,
With all that remains of their band;
The "fragments of him called McCarty"
(Referred to, I think, in the song)
Were huge chunks to the scraps that their Party
Will show before long.
They shall see what I can do, when ready,
As Grand Old (Artillery) Man.
Right, Parnell! left, Morley! Now, steady!!!
Stop! Just one last peep, whilst I can!
I do hope, dear boys, there's no blunder;
I think it is loaded all right.
Are they horribly frightened, I wonder?
Well, now for a sight!!!
