Sed goose unto gondor,
Whot felley comes yonder?
'Tis Feargus O'Connor,
I' search of a gonnor,
He wants to bestride one,
And o'er Inglun ride one,
Collecting foo's pennies
Fro gawsterin ninnies,
(They knew not the boaster
Coon theer for a roaster)—
He tips 'em the blarney
Wi' tin-dagger Harney;
Or Brimstone O'Brien,
That lung-eared lion;
Or he cropt by jailor,
That worm-doctor, Taylor,—
Whose fate doth remind us
Of Lady Belynda's;
But her bonny tangles,
Were hung wi star-spangles,
While his of the 'charter,'
Were trod into mortar—
A fate so provokin,
He neerly dee'd chokin.

Or Fixby's stark vagrant,
With cash accounts flagrant,
Grown grey in his folly,
Half cant and half bully;
Or lung-winded FIetcher,
Wi' Deegan, flat-catcher,
An' Jozif o' Stephens,
Whose odds dropt to evens,
When Dougal o' Holkham
Geet up to be-talk 'em,
How meek stood the preacher,
Before his new teacher;
It show'd not a reet heart,
To want his friend's sweetheart.

An' ex-cobbler Jackson.
Whose fist hath not wax on,
Since Kit, stuffed wi' bother;
Tramps leeter than leather.

An' Benbow, unbended,
Oft tied but ne'er mended—
Who'd rather be a hobble in,
Than bend to his cobblin;
Wi' prig-lookin Jack Hart,
Whose reet name is Black-heart,
Who drapt felon's fetter,
And coom back no better.

Pitkethly, the draper,
Sly booer an' scraper
As bee sucketh honey,
He clutched their money;
While Kilmarnock's bailie,
Held bully-talk daily.

Wi' Shonas-ap-Froster,
That Welsh-lond imposter,
Who dropt fro' his station,
While fooin' to th' nation.
An' he sent fro' Ratchdo,
Who yerd o', an' watch'd o';
Whose smoot words an' wary,
Flamm'd Tummus an' Meary.
Wi' scores 'at are nameless,
But greedy an' shameless;
A gang o' bombasters,
Wind-puffers, word-wasters,
They'd p—i' their breeches,
Ere shorten their speeches.
A crew o' decoyers,
An' poor folks' destroyers,
Like fox-cubs they're whinin,
Lost plunder repinin,
'No Michaelmas plunder'
Sed goose unto gondor;
Then from the moor springin,
The twain went a wingin,
An' left the big sinner,
Beawt Michaelmas dinner.