LIFE IN IRELAND 163 



The WEAK unto the strong must yield, 



Said Bob, for that 's my way ; 

 The Law is but a Coward's shield, 

 And none to Justice e'er appeal'd, 



That could from Justice stray. 



Bob had an energetic power 



He often call'd to use, 

 He glitter'd in the darken'd hour, 

 And could both be7ich and boxes scower, 



By dint of sheer abuse. 



With Newgate's dens familiar. Bob 



Had unto manhood grown ; 

 With thieves was seen to hob and nob, 

 And taught the rogues to doubly rob 



Whom he could rob alone. ' 



I hate, said Bob, a villain's tread, 



His presence I fight shy ; 

 To gain an honest crust of bread, 

 These rogues in spirit are deeply read, 



A rogue in grain am I. 



They live upon the Public purse 



As if it was their own ; 

 But Lord, it matters not a curse, 

 To spur to death the willing horse 



Is practis'd by the throne. 



For gallows birds, are mortal men 



That flutter in life's day ; 

 Like me they prey on brother men, 

 Like me in foul corruption's den, 



In stench they will decay. 



Thus oft he spoke in merry glee, 



When Whiskey rais'd his feeling, 

 For Bob when drunk oft double saw, 

 And both in liquor and his law. 



He dealt in double dealing. 



