The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 87

The Governor's Reception

The Governor's Reception.

Lambton Kay, Wellin'ton,
Be the piper that played afore Moses, I was as nigh as a toucher gettin' into an attack o' delarium thramins over the Governor's arrival. Av coorse, as I tould ye afore, I hadn't seen Sir Herculis since we worat school together at Murty Donohoe's, jist beyant the crass-roads, op-pos-it the Mullingar road. Well, 'pon me conshinse, I thought his Ixcillincee would shake the two hands o' me on the Kay whin I met him landin' from the Wolverine. "Tare-an-ounthers, can I believe me two eyes?" ses the Governor, whin he first caught sight o' me "Blur-an-agers, sure that can't be yerself, Paddy aroon," ses he. "Begorra, it's all that's lift o' me, yer Ixcillincee," ses I. "'Fon me conshinse I shouldn't have known ye, Paddy, av it wasn't for the blue wart on the lift hand corner o' yer nose," "D'ye tell me so?" ses I, "an be-dad I can make the same rimark wid rispict to yer Ixcillincee," ses I, "for be-jabers, av it wasn't for the piculiar cut av yer Ixcillincee's right hand whisker I'd have parsed ye in the sthreet widout knowin'ye," ses I. Sir Herculis then inthroduced me to Lady Robinson an' his shuite, an' in return I inthroduced him to me collaiges—Mac, Whitmore, an' Fisher. Johnnie had the impidcuce to inthroduce himself. After our mutchual congratulashnns, Sir Herculis tuk me aside, an' ses he, "Faddy, allanah, yersilf and yer collaiges can come up afther tay an' we'll have a quiet dhrop o' the craythur togetber." Well, in response to his Ixcillincee's invitation, mesilf an' Mac, an' the Colonel, an' Fisher, wint up to the Vice-Raygil residince in the evenin', an' spint a most injoyable night. Afthera few rounds o' punch had recaived ample justice, we gave a song aitch. As mesilf was the only one that sang in plain English, I vintchure to give ye the other ditties in the gibberish in which they wor sung, verbatim et litheratim. This is Mac's song:—

Air: "Bonnie Jean."
O a' the airts the win' can blaw,
I dearly loe the South,
For there the silv'ry Doric braw
Fa's frae ilk Scottish mouth;
There's nae a settler in the Ian',
Frae Taieri tae the sea.
But boasts o' the auld Free-kiric ban'
O' auld Iden-tit-ee.

Blaw, blaw, ye Opposition men,
Ye re unco fu' o' gas;
The guid auld Scottish folks, ye ken,
Wha dearly lo'ed a glass,
Could hae a crack and mak' the laws Sae that the'rsel's were free;
The Cooncil foucht the guid auld cause
O' auld Iden-tit-ee.

Whin Mac had finished, loud calls wor made on Misther Fisher for a song, an' afther a few preliminary coughs, me Cantherbury collaige cleared his throat and gate the followin':—

The Kurnil's Song,

Air; "Drops o' Brandy."
I'm ready for a row.
For my sword is rusty now,
And I want to carve the Maoris neat and handy O.
My courage is all there,
I can make the rebels stare,
At skirmishing and fighting I'm a dandy O.

When filled with port or hock,
I defy the battle's shock,
My spirit is as strong as three-star brandy O;
I'll conquer any field.
And make the foeman yield,
At skirmishing and fighting I'm a dandy O.

Whin the Kurnil had concluded, his Ixcillencee got upon his vice-raygil legs, an' rindhered the followin' in a fine racy voice;—

The Races.

Air: "Limerick Races."
Come fill the flowin' bowl,
Wid whiskey punch or brandy,
For railly, 'pon me sowl,
I'll take whatever's handy;
Sir Herculis, me boy,
Here's to yer horses' paces,
Me heart is filled wid joy,
Sure we'll have honest races.

Be-gorra, faix, av coorse
I used to back the stable,
That was me last resoorce,
But now, mavrone, I'm able
To lay upon ihe prad
That runs Vice-raygil chaces,
Sir Herculis, be-dad,
Goes in for honest races.

The sells an' swindles, too,
The scratchiogs an' the capera,
That humbugg'd me and you,
Are inded now, be japers;
The mimbers o' the ring,
Must put on honest faces,
The Turf has got a king,
Who prides in honest races.

Be-dad I'm nearly ashamed to tell ye that we stayed up till three o'clock that night, so we did, an' the nixt mornin' Molly had to sind out to the Impire for a "John Collins "for me. I'll thry an' come down wid his Ixcillincee on the 18th, so ye can jist minshin it to Mick, in case I should want a room.

Paddy Murphy.