The songs of Joseph Mather

A letter charge—I've read at large
The stuff which thou'st indited,
And ere at all I read thy scrawl
I thought we'd been united;
But since I find thou art inclined
To prejudice thy neighbour,
For thy reward—thou mean blackguard—
Take this for thy past labour.

Not far from Hull thy great thick skull
At first had its existence:
The Westbar-green had better been,
If thou had'st kept thy distance.
Thy valentine, thou ill-bred swine,
Displays thy wit, I tell thee,
Thou Battys's mule dost ridicule,
Altho' it does excel thee.

For actions base, thy native place
Thou did'st at first abandon;
Wrapt up in rags, hung round with gags,
Thou had'st scarce a shoe to stand on;
But now thou'rt rais'd—fortune be prais'd,
By these three last elections;
A man of note, that's got a vote,
Thou art without objections.

Like some fat hog, or listless log,
Thou lies in bed each morning
Till nine o'clock,—altho' the cock
To rise doth give thee warning;
Thou says no prayers, but runs down stairs,
As though something did fright thee,
And down the yard,—like one that's scared,
For fear thou should'st be---e thee.

Of all the names, I think Muck James
Would never stand much bidding,
Without pretence,—he'd give twopence
Each morning for thy midden;
At such a heap how he would leap!
I wish he could but rent thee
The year about, I make no doubt
But closely he would tent thee.

With idle bread thou'rt daily fed,
And oft at others' tables,
Thou swelling hog,—thou'rt like the frog
We find in Æsop's fables;
Like it thou'lt burst, so do thy worst;
Not all the world can save thee:
Thy friends backbite, eat, drink and sh---e;
The worms in short must have thee.

University of Virginia Library

SONG LI. THE VALENTINE.