How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er lands,
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had on my hands,
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak,
So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week:--
Only starved I was, surely, as thin as a lath,
Till I came to an up-and-down place they call Bath,
Where, as luck was, I managed to make a meal's meat,
By dhraggin' owld ladies all day thro' the street--
Which their docthors (who pocket, like fun, the pound starlins,)
Have brought into fashion to plase the owld darlins.
Divil a boy in all Bath, tho' _I_ say it, could carry
The grannies up hill half so handy as Larry;
And the higher they lived, like owld crows, in the air,
The more _I_ was wanted to lug them up there.
But luck has two handles, dear Judy, they say,
And mine has _both_ handles put on the wrong way.
For, pondherin', one morn, on a drame I'd just had
Of yourself and the babbies, at Mullinafad,
Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flutther,
That I spilt an owld Countess right clane in the gutther,
Muff, feathers and all!--the descint was most awful,
And--what was still worse, faith--I knew'twas unlawful:
For, tho', with mere _women_, no very great evil,
'Tupset an owld _Countess_ in Bath is the divil!
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it,
(for nothin' about her--was _kilt_, but her bonnet,)
Without even mentionin' "By your lave, ma'am,"
I tuk to my heels and--here, Judy, I am!
What's the name of this town I can't say very well,
But your heart sure will jump when you hear what befell
Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day,
(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,)
When his brogues to this city of luck found their way.
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