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Orellana and Other Poems

By J. Logie Robertson

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“A BARBARY HEN.”
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238

“A BARBARY HEN.”

[_]

See Shakespeare's As You Like It.

Whither have fled his gamesomeness and glee,
His rosy gills, his laughter, and his jinks,
The sparkle of his eyes between the winks,
And all the merriment we used to see?
There is not now a duller man than he:
At festive times he sits alone and thinks,
Drains glass on glass, and still the more he drinks
The less inclined to smile he seems to be.
And now, what power in what fell hour did snatch
The mirth we may not hope to see again?
—They say it went for money in a match
That gave him with the gold a Barbary Hen!
—Proves the old proverb, Tom! the maddest bach-
Elors make still the saddest married men!