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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 2

Out in the Could

Out in the Could.

Och, Billy, me honey,
Begorra its funny
To see ye, me darlint, without any sait;
It's mighty perplexin',
An' railly it's vexin,
To find such an illigant orathor bait;
In Parliament nightly,
Ye spoke so politely,
In beautiful language yer sintences roull'd;
We thought ye a janus,
A grate Dim-o-sthainus,
But, Billy, me darlint, yer out in the could.

Faix, sure it's a pleasure
To hear ye, me threasure,
Addhressin' the boys wid yer sootherin' voice;
Aitch mighty orashun,
Sure, caused a sinsashun,
Yer Billingsgate dicshun was always so choice;
Aitch sintince ye utther,
Like soft-milted butther,
Or tallow for candles run in to a mowld,
Falls sweet on the ear, sure,
'Tis lovely to hear, sure,
But Billy, me darlint, yer out in the could.

Bad lack to the spoutin',
'T was it, beyant doubtin'
That cooked ye, me honey, Sir George an' his stump,
Disthroyed yer ilicshun,
An' caused yer evicshun,
And lift ye to weep by the side o' the pump.
Grey, Sheehan, and Mac has,
Wid Ballance an' Bacchus,
Gone sthraight for yer brush, dear—at laist so I'm tould,
Within a long "cooey"
Av ould Wanganui
Ye could'nt raitch, darlint, yer out in the could.

Paddy Murphy.