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McMANUS' COW.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

McMANUS' COW.

I had roses a score an' pinks go leor,
An' daisies with goolden eyes,
An' hollyhocks tall an' violets small,
To my neighbor's great surprise.
My garden gate was stout as a wall;
It's nothin' but brish just now:
An' my beautiful garden's a howlin' waste,
Because of McManus' cow.
My roses an' pinks destroyed by the minx—
Bad luck to McManus' cow!
The four-legged brute has the mildest eyes,
An', augh! but she's innocent quite;
She chews her cud for the livelong day,
To choose something else at night.
When the day goes out, thin out goes she,
An' the neighbors all allow
No fince can howld an' no gate can bar
That same McManus' cow.
Without any fail she'd break out of jail—
Bad luck to McManus' cow!
You talk of a huntin' horse, bedad,
The hunter niver was born,
Though he had six legs instead of four,
That she wouldn't put to scorn.

626

You build up a wall that is six feet high
An' say, “I have barred her now;”
Whoop! she cocks her tail an' over she goes,
The vilyan, McManus' cow.
An' some night soon she'll go over the moon—
Bad luck to McManus' cow!
I bought in the shop a safety latch,
An' I fastened it on my gate;
Says I, “My lady, you're smart, I know,
But I'll bother you, sure as fate.”
But she handles her horns as a gentleman does
His blackthorn in a row;
Be jabers, she'd pick your pocket, I think,
This cute McManus' cow.
She's a murderin' baste, to say the laste—
Bad luck to McManus' cow!
Last night at tin I wint to my bed,
An' I purposed, or all were gone,
To gather some posies to pleasure my friends
Next mornin' at peep of dawn.
So early this mornin' out I wint;
An' you may believe me now,
The only posies that met my eye
Were tracks of McManus' cow.
All crushed were they, an' kilt they lay—
Bad luck to McManus' cow.
It's meself that was always a peaceful man,
An' niver disposed to strife,
An' Larry McManus an' I are friends,
An' his Bridget's the friend of my wife;
But I'll have that baste in the bars of the pound
Or I'm a day owlder, I vow;

627

An' a tax they'll lay of a dollar to pay
On the hide of McManus' cow.
That coorse I'll pursue, an' that's what I'll do—
Bad luck to McManus' cow!