Though monny a stone when aw was young,
His strong upon me memory;
Aw thru when young and hed um flung,
If they forgive ’tis so wi’ me.
Could money buy o’ Nature’s mart,
Again our brightest days to see;
Ther’s monny a wun wod pawn ther shirt,
Or else they’d buy—and so wi me.
Yet after all aw oft luke back,
Without a pang o’ days gone past,
An hope all t’ wreng aw did when young,
May be forgeen to me at last.
Ode to an Herring.
Wee silvery fish, who nobly braves
The dangers o’ the ocean waves,
While monsters from the unknown caves
Make thee their prey;
Escaping which the human knaves
On thee ligs way.
No doubt thou was at first designed
To suit the palates o’ mankind;
Yet as I ponder now I find,
Thy fame is gone:
With dainty dish thou’rt behind
With every one.
I’ve seen the time thy silvery sheen
Were welcome both at morn and e’en,
Or any hour that’s in between,
Thy name wer good;
But now by some considered mean
For human food.
When peace and plenty’s smiling brow,
And trade and commerce speeds the plough;
Thy friends that were not long ago,
Such game they make;
Thy epitaph is soldier now,
Or two-eyed snake.
When times are hard we’re scant o’ cash,
And famine hungry bellies lash,
And tripes and trollabobble’s trash
Begins to fail,
Asteead o’ soups an’ oxtail ash,
Hail! herring, hail!
Full mony a time t’as made me groan,
To see thee stretched, despised, alone;
While turned-up noses passed have gone,
O’ purse-proud men!
No friends, alas! save some poor one
Fra t’ paddin can.