 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
That everin' Cain was off to Peel,
And a Tommy Artlar in the bay,
And her anchor tripped, and goin' to sea
Directly. And Cain just settled his passage,
And sent a passil and a message
By a chap on the pier—aye! it's a fac'!
And away to Ireland aboord of this smack,
And got the steamer at Queenstown, bedad!
And off to America—Catch my lad!
Apt to come back? Indeed he isn'—
If he'd show his nose, he'd be clapt in prison
Like a shot—not him! else what did he run for,
Eh? and so that villyan is done for!
And a Tommy Artlar in the bay,
And her anchor tripped, and goin' to sea
Directly. And Cain just settled his passage,
And sent a passil and a message
By a chap on the pier—aye! it's a fac'!
And away to Ireland aboord of this smack,
And got the steamer at Queenstown, bedad!
And off to America—Catch my lad!
Apt to come back? Indeed he isn'—
If he'd show his nose, he'd be clapt in prison
Like a shot—not him! else what did he run for,
Eh? and so that villyan is done for!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |