THE MARTYR HANNAFORD.
A LAMENT. One more unfortunate Under the rod ; Rashly importunate, Gone into quod. Lead him up carefully Out of the street ; He's got the rheumatics In both his poor feet. Touch him not scornfully, Think of him mournfully, Gentle and meek. Up with O'Brien, In Mount Eden's Zion, He's got — a week. Make no deep scrutiny Into his mutiny, . Or what his sin is ; Nor ask why he couldn't, Wouldn't, or shouldn't, Stump up two guineas. He doesn't look frisky, He's lost all his grin ; But give him a whiskey Before he's run in. By the judgment of Barstow In quod he is cast O ! Till he pays the tin. He swore in a flout He'd take the costs out ; And they took him in. Bachelors waiting Spinsters for mating, Will be undone. Oh, it is pitiful : In a whole city full, Homes they haA T e none. Look at his nose, Cheeks, wan and chilly, With the blush of the rose , And the white of the lily. Take him up tenderly, Give him some skilly.
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Bibliographic details
Observer, Volume 2, Issue 46, 30 July 1881, Page 516
Word Count
179THE MARTYR HANNAFORD. Observer, Volume 2, Issue 46, 30 July 1881, Page 516
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