Poirier's Rooster
"W'at's dat? de ole man gone, you say?
Wall! Wall! he mus' be sick,
For w'en he pass de oder day,
He walk along widout de stick,
Lak twenty year or so—
Fine healt'y man, ole Telesphore,
I never see heem sick before,
Some rheumateez, but not'ing more—
Please tell me how he go."
You 're right, no common t'ing for sure
Is kill heem lak de res';
No sir! de man was voyageur
Upon de Grande Nor' Wes'
Until he settle here
Is not de feller 's goin' die
Before he 's ready by an' bye,
So if you want de reason w'y
I 'll tell you, never fear.
You know how moche he lak to spik
An' tole us ev'ryt'ing about
De way de French can alway lick
An' pull de w'ole worl' inside out,
Poor Telesphore Cadotte!
He 's knowin' all de victory,
An' braves' t'ing was never be,
To hear heem talk, it 's easy see
He 's firse-class patriot.
Hees leetle shoe store ev'ry night
Can hardly hol' de crowd of folk
Dat come to lissen on de fight,
An' w'en you see de pile of smoke
An' hear ole Telesphore
Hammer de boot upon hees knee,
You t'ink of course of Chateauguay,
An' feel dat 's two, t'ree enemy
Don't bodder us no more.
But oh! dat evening w'en he sen'
De call aroun' for come en masse,
An' den he say, "Ma dear ole frien',
Dere 's somet'ing funny come to pass,
I lak you all to hear—
You know dat Waterloo affair?
H-s-s-h! don't get excite, you was n't dere—
All quiet? Wall! I 'll mak' it square,
So lissen on your ear.
"I 'm readin' on de book to-day
(Some book, dey say, was guarantee),
An' half a dollar too I pay,
But cheap, because it 's tellin' me
De t'ing I 'm glad to know—
Of course de w'ole worl' understan'
Napoleon fight de bes' he can,
But he 's not French at all, dat man,
But leetle small Da-go.
"Anoder t'ing was mak' it show
Dere 's not'ing new below de sun,
Is w'en I 'm findin' as I go—
Dat feller dey call Welling-ton,
He 's English? No siree!
But only maudit Irlandais!
(Dat 's right! dey 're alway in de way,
Dem Irish folk), an' so I say
I 'm satisfy for me.