Yet still Awd Isaac tells his teeal,
Ower monny a weeary hill an’ deeal,
An’ ’ll sumtaames into cities steeal,
Nor silent be;
Till infants try te lisp his theeame
Across the sea.
Oor last, an’ lasting interview,
His wonted theeame he did renew,
Fra’ which, a paraphrase he drew,
An’ thus began,
I’ conversation clear, an’ frindship true,
Like man te man.
“Ah lahtle thowght, as weel thoo knaws,
Thoo te t’ public wad expooase,
Mah awd gray cooat, wi’ all its flaws,
An’ stick an’ all,
For want o’ which, the aged prood
Seea offens fall.
Ah varry leeatly gat a hint,
They’d put oor stoory into prent,
An’ copies roond the coontry sent
Beeath left and reeght;
Bud if ’twur deean wi’ gud intent,
Gud luck gang wi’ ’t.
Noo all Ah sed wur meeant for gud,
If it wur reeghtly understud;
Te sum neea doot, t’language wud
Seeam quite abrupt;—
We’re all alike, ov flesh and bleead,
An’ hearts corrupt.
Fooaks oft leeaks mare at bleead an’ breedin,
Than at t’subject they are reeadin,
An’ thus awd prejudice is feedin,
I’ system’s narrow,
For want o’ pains te crack the beean
Th’oft miss t’marrow.
Men still i’ spite ov all oor caution,
’Ll hanker efter heeigh promotion;
Like Evan’s Pills, or Rowland’s Lotion
Saain’d by t’King;
We’re seea inclin’d te self-devotion—
That’s the thing.!
T’ Naation still seeams discontent,
Ther’s strange debeeates i’ parliament,
Petitions on petitions sent
Theer, all implorin;
An’ sum i’ dungeons deep lament
Whahl they’re snoorin.
Still ower t’land t’clood hangs dull,
An’ we may thrust, an’ they may pull;
Wi’ “Eys an’ Nooas” the paper’s full,
Wi’ applause an’ laughter:
An’ all the gud for poor John Bull
’S te cum hereafter.
Still let us calmly wait the end,
On God, an’ nut on man, depend.
Oor Nation’s woond is bad te mend,
Ommost incurable!
His Israel he will still defend,
Wi’ kindness durable.