SONG OF THE SHIRTLESS FOR THE YEAR THIRTY-THREE
BY SIR MORGAN O'DOHERTY, BART.
DEDICATED TO ALL TRUE REFORMERS.
[_]
To the Tune of “Tolderol.”
I
Welcome, welcome, my gentle reader!
Here we have come to thirty-three—
Year in which all sides agreed are
Many a marvel we shall see.
Chant we therefore an opening chorus,
Swelling it loud with joy and glee:
Here 's to the year that is now before us—
It is the year for you and me.
Tolderol, lollol, lollol, lollol;
Tolderol, lollol, lollol lol.
II
Up and be stirring, my sturdy neighbor—
Up and be stirring—the time is come
To shoulder musket and draw the sabre,
To cheering sound of trump and drum.
Soon shall we hear the firelock prattling—
Soon shall the noisy cannon hum—
Soon shall the shells in showers be rattling,
Sputtered abroad by the jolly bomb.
Tolderol, &c.
III
What shall we fight for, what shall we fight for—
What shall we fight for, gossip dear?
That which we have so good a right for
In this thorough reforming year:
Hall and house, and park and palace,
Wealth and plenishing, goods and gear,
Star and jewel, and plate and chalice,
Hose and doublet, feast and cheer.
Tolderol, &c.
IV
Down with coronet, down with mitre,
Down with altar, down with throne;
Easier shall we be and lighter
When this mummery all is gone.
King and bishop, and peer and parson,
If unhanged, in jail may groan;
Long enough they carried their farce on—
Now, my boys, the day's our own!
Tolderol, &c.
V
Shout, my brother descamisado—
Shirtless brother, come shout with me!
Rich and noble will soon be made to
Bend to fellows like us the knee.
Weep and wail, ye men of riches—
Wail, ye men of house and land!
Here come we who wear no breeches,
Seeking our own with pike in hand.
Tolderol, &c.
VI
Off with Howard, and out with Percy—
Down with Stafford and Devonshire;
For Duke John Bedford's lands no mercy—
Pluck Lord Grosvenor's—worthy peer!
We shall soon, for good example,
Give the axe its full career,
And on the Bar ycleped of the Temple
Noble heads we again shall rear.
Tolderol, &c.
VII
Tremble, ye sons of the circumcision—
Rothschild's heart may throb with pain;
Now is the time for a long division
Of all the shents of your godless gain.
Visitors worse than Nebuchadnezzar,
When he spoiled your sacred fane,
More to be feared than Titus Cæsar,
Shall invade Bartholomew Lane.
Tolderol, &c.
VIII
Away with schools, with hall, with college—
Make them the nests of owl and toad;
We know more of useful knowledge
Than e'er to Isis or Cam was owed.
We teach the art of sack and pillage
All by the rule of prime and load;
We shall show to town and village
That the true teacher is abroad.
Tolderol, &c.
IX
Far and wide shall be cities flaming—
Long and loud shall the bayonet ring;
Blood on wave and plains shall be streaming—
Princes and peers shall on gibbets swing.
Honor and justice, faith or pity,
We to the idle winds will fling;
And is not this a charming ditty,
Fit to be sung before a king?
Tolderol, lollol, lollol, lollol;
Tolderol, lollol, lol.
M. O'D. Tower Hill, 1st of the 1st decade of the year I.
