Roger Goodfellow.
A SONG.
[_]
To be song to all sorry rascals.
1
Small sirs, so melancholy
In patriotic wo,—
To cure your carking folly
Comes Roger Goodfellow;
To live as best it list him,
To scorn who does not so—
Ha, ha, this is the system
Of Roger Goodfellow.
2
At field the earliest whistling;
At kirk the doucest seen;
On holydays a-wrestling
The stoutest on the green;
Thus on in frank enjoyment
And grateful glee to go—
Ha, ha, 'tis the employment
Of Roger Goodfellow.
3
Round Roger's cabin dangle,
From curious carved pins,
All wonders of the angle,
All mysteries of gins;
While in his cupboard niche, is
A pewter pot or so—
Ha, ha, these are the riches
Of Roger Goodfellow.
4
To know the wind and weather
Will make the salmon spring;
To know the spot of heather
That hides the strongest wing;
To tell the moon's compliance
With hail, rain, wind, and snow—
Ha, ha, this is the science
Of Roger Goodfellow.
5
For wine to think nought of it,
With jolly good ale when lined;
Nor ma'am my lady covet,
So housewife Joan be kind;
While of each old state-housewife he
Doth nothing ask to know—
Ha, ha, 'tis the philosophy
Of Roger Goodfellow.
6
To say, “O mighty Maker,
I bless thee, that thou here
Hast made me thus partaker
Of love and lusty cheer:
As older still, oh, gayer,
And jollier may I grow,”—
Ha, 'tis a worthy prayer
Of Roger Goodfellow.
7
Ho, ho, ye wheezing whiners;
Ye kill-joys of the land!
State-malady-diviners;
Yarns-pinners out of sand!
On common-sense who'd trample,
And lay religion low;
For God's sake take example
By Roger Goodfellow.