Is it poison ? — we feasted him times by the score, 

 An' he licked it like butther, an' axed us for more: 

 An' a nate charge of buckshot, why, Andy an' Tim, 

 I tell ye 'tis jist vintilation to him. 

 Small comfort ye'll see 



Through the world as ye jog, 

 If ye're apt to make free 

 Wid a Prodesdan dog. 



Faith, an' Michael himself got a shmall little taste 

 Of the ways an' the means of that heretic baste. 

 For his grandfather Kelly, the head of the clan, 

 Departed in peace wid the shpagms, poor man ! 

 An' his cwoat wid brass buttons, of illigant make, 

 That he bought second-hand for his misthress's 



wake, 

 He bequeathed it to Mike, wid his blackthorn 



an' hat, 

 For his nateral life, an' his heirs afther that. 

 Here's a caution to each, — 



Through the world as ye jog, 

 Be houldin' no speech 



Wid a Prodesdan dog. 



Now Mike, dacent boy, had a girl in his eye, 

 Wid tayshpoons an' cows an' a thrifle laid by ; 

 An', axin no lave of that arrogant brute, 

 He laid himself out in the family shuit. 

 An', what wid the buttons, the chrame in his hair, 



202 



