TO MAISTER MURPHY, POET,

Saturday Advertiser, Issue 52, 8 July 1876, Page 11

TO MAISTER MURPHY, POET,

Lambton Quay, W ellington. Dear Pat, or Paddy, whilk it be, I’m no sae mickle mindin’, But in your last I’m laitli to see Sik cause for fear ye’re finclin’. For tho’ there’s mair than Ailsa Craig ’Twixt Lambton Quay and Forbury, Still hearts akin will tak’ the traig, An’ meet fra ends by ordinary. Sae, Paddy, e’en across the dib, In sympathy I’m liie’n ye ; Sae dry yer tears, and dicht yer gib, For thochtless folk are spyin’ ye. The men-o’-war’s na waur than men — Tak’ this ye muckle tent o’, This day o’ noise, by tongue and pen, Is a’ the noise that’s dreamt o’. But, mind ye, Pat, Sir George’s na gouk ! An’ tho’ a wee thocht hasty, The Ministers, he’ll mak’ them loup ! Then champ them up to pasty ! ’ An’, Pat, jist lean me ower yer lug : In Aberdeen a Jew ne’er grew, An’ Mac., ye ken —tho’ ne’er let bug— Is jist the man to jaw the Jew. There’s Bob, the law, sae Stout an’ bold, Wi’ special grief on Evolution, He will its ways to them unfold. An’ trip them ower the Constitution. Sae, Paddy, lad, ne’er fash yer thooin, Tho’ things look oot the see-saw, They’ll a’ come richt, I’ll wad a croon, Or I’m no Sandy Snawba’. Forbury, 3rd July, 1876.