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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 2

The Three Kingdoms

The Three Kingdoms.

Whisper, Misther Editor, I want, to spake a word to ye; jist the laste taste in private, for, betune you an' me, it's a great saycrit I'm going to disclose. At a Cowcass meetin' held a few nights since, wid miself in the chair, it was unanimously resolved that the counthry be cut up into three powerful inchular kingdoms, to consist av the North, the Middle, an' the South Islands, as soon as siparation is carried. I have it on good authority that Sir George is to rule the North, Mac the Middle, an' Stout the South, as he undherstands fishin'. This arrangement gave birth to the followin' beutiful idayas which I have wove into a nate garland av song for the occasion:—

Come Polyphamus, an' likewise Raymus,
An' all ye Jaynii av ancient times,
Wid Radamantus, attind an' grant us
The Muses' favour for me humble rhymes;
Like Ould King Priam, their sarvint I am,
The divil a lie I am tellin' ye;
Wid your atthinshon I'll quickly minshon
A haro's praises in sweet po-et-three.

Our Fedhral baud or Squad's great commandher,
Is a long way grandher than the King o' Throy,
Or fair Pandora, or charmihg Flora,
Or ancient Thaysis, that Athanian boy
This chieftain glorious is now victorious,
An' we're uprorious to have our own
Provincial Nation, wid Siperation,
King George we'll station upon Auckland's throne,

page 11

An' thin there's Mac, boys, he'll not be slack, boys,
To claim his whack, boys—long live King Jim—
His realms are broader thin Maggie Lauder,
Or the Thane o' Cawdor—long life to him.
Aitch hill an' mountain, aitch creek and fountain,
From Hokeyteeky to Pelichey Bay,
Aitch pig an' stye, boys (faix, that's no lie, boys),
Wid sheep an' kye, boys, shall own his sway.

An' nixt comes Bobby, whose little hobby
Is jist a job he has now on hand,
Called "Local option" for our adoption—
Sure Stewarts Isle will be his kingdom grand.
He looks demure, boys, but there he'll sure, boys,
Make poteen pure, boys from a quiet Still
(In Shetland Islands among the Highlands,
He larned the saycrit av a whisky mill).

Thin down wid Vogel, that cute ould bogle—
Och, sitch a rogue'll ne'er rein agin
In Saysir's garmint—the dirty varmint
Would make New Zaylanders united min,
In Union's chains, boys, he'd bind our plains, boys,
But soon the reins, boys, will lave his claws;
Thin kingdoms three, boys, will surely be boys,
Proud, grate, an' free, boys, wid splindid laws.

Paddy Murphy.

Lambton Kay, Willin'ton