THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS M Y name is Pleaceman X; All underneath the moon. Those three pore Christmas Waits: "When this black year began, This Eighteen-forty-eight, I was a great great man, And king both vise and great, And Munseer Guizot by me did show "But Febuwerry came, And brought a rabble rout, And me and my good dame And children did turn out, And us, in spite of all our right, Sent to the right about. "I left my native ground, I left my kin and kith, I left my royal crownd, Vich I could n't travel vith, And without a pound came to English ground, In the name of Mr. Smith. "Like any anchorite I've lived since I came here, I've kep myself quite quite, I've drank the small small beer, And the vater, you see, disagrees vith me And all my famly dear. "O Tweeleries so dear, O darling Pally Royl, Vas it to finish here That I did trouble and toyl? That all my plans should break in my ands, And should on me recoil? "My state I fenced about Vith baynicks and vith guns; O varn't it crule to lose my rule, "And so, vith arp and woice, Both troubled and shagreened, I bid you to rejoice, O glorious England's Queend! And never have to veep, like pore Louis-Phileep, Because you out are cleaned. "O Prins, so brave and stout, I stand before your gate; Pray send a trifle hout To me, your pore old Vait; For nothink could be vuss than it's been along with us In this year Forty-eight." "Ven this bad year began," The nex man said, saysee, "I vas a Journeyman, A taylor black and free, And my wife went out and chaired about, "The Queen and Halbert both To drag them to the ground; "Aginst her Pleacemen all We said we'd try our strenth; Her scarlick soldiers tall We vow'd we'd lay full lenth : "Three 'undred thousand snobs Came out to stop the vay, Vith sticks vith iron knobs, Or else we'd gained the day. The harmy quite kept out of sight, And so ve vent avay. "Next day the Pleacemen came And the hard hard beak did me bespeak "In that etrocious Cort To go beyond the sea: And so for life, from his dear wife "O Halbert, Appy Prince! With children round your knees, Ingraving ansum Prints, And taking hoff your hease; O think of me, the old Cuffee, Beyond the solt solt seas! "Although I'm hold and black, My hanguish is most great; Great Prince, O call me back, And I vill be your Vait! And never no more vill break the Lor, As I did in 'Forty-eight." The tailer thus did close (A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose, And spoke with Hirish brogue: "I'm Smith O'Brine, of Royal Line, Descended from Rory Ogue. "When great O'Connle died, "The glorious Hirish Crown,' "Too long the Saxon churl Our land encumbered hath; Arise my Prince, my Earl, And brush them from thy path: Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep 'em vith The besom of your wrath.' "Then in my might I rose, My country I surveyed, I saw it filled with foes, I viewed them undismayed; 'Ha, ha!' says I, 'the harvest's high, I'll reap it with my blade.' |