i FOIGHT YE FIRST.

Observer, Volume 1, Issue 9, 13 November 1880, Page 68

i FOIGHT YE FIRST.

Ye haythen godu and goddesses from high Olympus brow, Attind me muse! och, don't refuse, but listen to me now, Wid magic fire insphire me lyre, arrah, me sowl is big j For to rehearse in glowing verse the wondhers of the j Pig. Ould Homer's rhyoimes of ancient tiomes, the jaynius of Tom Moore Would be too faint that pig to paint, all poethry is poor, Och, phillaloo! to justice do to Bertie Saverna We'd want the lays of bygone days, the harp of old Tara. Let potes prize their ladies' eyes, and sing of bloody war, , A grander thayme me verses claim the Bertie Saverna; Awake me lute, an' don't be mute, be gob, I'll win the bays. And butt of wine. Ye chuneful nine, resound the grantor's praise! You've read of thim Eolian harps, that sigh when breezes stir, But I'll go bail their vartues pale to Berfcie Saverna, Gooch and Swallow he bates thim hollow, for athyle, an* taste and feeling, An' Finton's fiddle sthopped in the middle whin Bertie i started squealing. If Phidias came on earth again an' searched both near an' far, He'd find no model to suit his noddle like Bertie Saverna; E'en Vaynus self, the naughty elf, in beauty can't | compare For illigance and consequence to Bertie Saverna. McCullough Reed deserves a meed of praise an' admira- j tion Ould Ireland's sod for months he trod in pushing emigration; But Mr. Hurst, he ranks the first, be gob, he's in the van, . . | At his own cost he introjooced an Irish jintleman.