Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!

Ye've eyes like a bat!-can ye see in the dark?"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
"Yer figger wants padd'n'—

Sure, man, ye've no shape!
Behind ye yer shoulders
Stick out like two bowlders;
Yer shins is as thin

As a pair of pen-holders!

Wan-two!

Wan-two!

Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!

I'm dhry as a dog-I can't shpake but I bark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:

"Me heart it ud gladden

To blacken yer eye.
Ye're gettin' too bold, ye

Compel me to scold ye,

"Tis halt! that I say,

Will ye heed what I told ye?

Wan-two!

Wan-two!

Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!

Wan-two!

Time! Mark!

What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:

"I'll not stay a gadd'n

Wid dagoes like you!
I'll travel no farther,
I'm dyin' for wather;-
Come on, if ye like,—

Can ye loan me a quather?

Ya-as, you,

What,-two?

And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!

You'll do!

Whist! Mark!

The Rigiment's flatthered to own ye, me spark!"
Robert William Chambers [1865-

FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN

SUPERINTINDINT wuz Flannigan;

Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;

Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack
An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back,
Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,

Afther the wreck wuz all on agin;

That is, this Finnigin

Repoorted to Flannigan.

Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,
He writed tin pages-did Finnigin,

An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;
Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd
Did Finnigin write to Flannigan
Afther the kyars had gone on agin.

That wuz how Finnigin

Repoorted to Flannigan.

Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin—
He'd more idjucation--had Flannigan;

An' it wore'm clane an' complately out

To tell what Finnigin writ about

In his writin' to Musther Flannigan.

So he writed back to Finnigin: "Don't do sich a sin agin;

Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"

Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,

He blushed rosy rid-did Finnigin;

An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay

That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay

Befoore Sup'rintindint, that's Flannigan,
Gits a whack at this very same sin agin.
From Finnigin to Flannigan

Repoorts won't be long agin."

Wan da-ay on the siction av Finnigin,
On the road sup'rintinded be Flannigan,

A rail give way on a bit av a curve

An' some kyars wint off as they made the shwerve. "There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,

"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan."

An' he winked at McGorrigan,

As married a Finnigin.

He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,

As minny a railroader's been agin,

An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright

In Finnigin's shanty all that night

Bilin' down his repoort, wuz Finnigin!

An' he writed this here: "Musther Flannigan:
Off agin, on agin,

Gone agin.-Finnigin."

Strickland W. Gillilan [1869

BARNEY MCGEE

BARNEY MCGEE, there's no end of good luck in you,
Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you,
Wild as a bull-pup and all of his pluck in you,
Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see!—
Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity,
Nose that turns up without any vulgarity,
Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty,-
Wow, you're a rarity, Barney McGee!
Mellow as Tarragon, prouder than Aragon-
Hardly a paragon, you will agree—

Here's all that's fine to you!

Books and old wine to you!

Girls be divine to you, Barney McGee!

Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly,
Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly.
Here's some Barbera to drink it befittingly,
That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee!

Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there,
Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there,-

Once more to drink Nebiolo spumante there,

How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea!

There where the gang of us met ere Rome rang of us,

They had the hang of us to a degree.

How they would trust to you!

That was but just to you.

Here's o'er their dust to you, Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate,

But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect;

Divil a one of us ever came in till late,

Once at the bar where you happened to be-
Every eye there like a spoke in you centering,
You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering-
All Vagabondia shouts at your entering,
King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee!
There's no satiety in your society
With the variety of your esprit.
Here's a long purse to you,

And a great thirst to you!

Fate be no worse to you, Barney McGee!

Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate,

Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate!

Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate,-
Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee!

Bold when they're sunny and smooth when they're showery,-
Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery!
Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery!
How would they silence you, Barney machree?
Naught can your gab allay, learned as Rabelais
(You in his abbey lay once on a spree).
Here's to the smile of you

(Oh, but the guile of you!)

And a long while of you, Barney McGee!

Facile with phrases of length and Latinity,
Like honorificabilitudinity,

Where is the maid could resist your vicinity,
Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea?
Then your vivacity and pertinacity
Carry the day with the divil's audacity;
No mere veracity robs your sagacity

Of perspicacity, Barney McGee.

When all is new to them, what will you do to them? Will you be true to them? Who shall decree?

Here s a fair strife to you!

Health and long life to you!

And a great wife to you, Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility;
Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility;
Nobody ever yet found your utility,-
That is the charm of you, Barney McGee;
Under conditions that others would stammer in,
Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron,
Polished as somebody in the Decameron,
Putting the glamor on prince or Pawnee!
In your meanderin', love, and philanderin',
Calm as a mandarin sipping his tea!
Under the art of you,

Parcel and part of you,

Here's to the heart of you, Barney McGee!

You who were ever alert to befriend a man,
You who were ever the first to defend a man,
You who had always the money to lend a man,
Down on his luck and hard up for a V!

Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude

(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)— Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee.

That's no flim-flam at all, frivol or sham at all,

Just the plain- Damn it all, have one with me!
Here's luck and more to you!

Friends by the score to you,

True to the core to you, Barney McGee!

Richard Hovey [1864-1900]