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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 2

On The Tariff

page 65

On The Tariff.

Lambton Kay, Wellin'ton,

Av coorse yer thousands av readhers will be on the tiptoe av ixpictashun to hear me opinion av the Major's tine-anshil statement. Well, betchune me an' you an' the bedpost, he's made nothin' less than a holy show av himsilf wid his Tariff. Av coorse he called up to see me on the Kay before he imptied his Budget in the House; but begorra I'm not sich a ommadhaun as to give advice to the inimy, so I'm not. "An' what d'ye think o' me schaime, Paddy, allanah?" ses the Major, afther Molly had filled up our tumblers three times for us. "Be me sowl, Major," ses I, "it's mighty little I think av it." "I'll be itarnally obleeged to ye," ses he, "av ye'll put me up to a rinkle or two," ses he. "Begorra, I'll do nothin' av the kind, me honey," ses I. "Arrab, don't be so rivingeful, Paddy," ses he; "you know we must raise the wind somehow, and sure I'm doin' me level best to make things meet," ses the Major. "But blur-an'-ounthers, man alive, what d'ye mane," ses I; "be taxin' split pays ? Sure, ye might as well talk about taxin' split sthraws," ses I. "An' so we are, ma bouchil," ses he; "for we're puttin' tin shillin's on chaff." "An' what in the name av all that's lucky injuced ye to tax chaff?" ses I. "Whisper, Paddy, avick," ses the Major, "an' I'll tell ye, but mind it's a great saycrit intirely. Av coorse ye know that ould Tom Dick is a grate frind to the present Ministhry, an' he's been complainin' that there's a grate dail too much jokin' an' levity goin' on in the House. He ses that we should discuss the counthry's affairs in a more sarious an' solemn mood, and so be advised us sthrongly to put a heavy duty on chaff," ses the Major. "Och! luk at that now," ses I, "but I think ye have a sthronger rayson thin that for taxin' chaff." "An' what may that be?" inquired the Major. "Why, ye want to rivinge yerselves on Vincent Pyke an' stop his punuin', bekays he turned round on you," ses I. "Begoria, yer not far wrong," says the Major. "But I've a blacker crow thin all that to pluck wid ye," ses I. "Arrah, yer jokin,' ses the Major. "Musha, faix, thin, I'm not," ses I. "What the juice d'ye mane be taxin' the craythur?" ses I. "Let us change the subject, Pat, me boy, for I feel the liquor mountin' to me head. Give us a stave av a song before I go, and let us part good frinds," ses he. Well, as Molly was in the front o' the house puttin the childher to bed in the back room, I sthruck up the followin' song, afther which I help' d the Major aboord the late thram-car, an' wished him good night

Darlint Potheen.

Arrah, lave me alone, boys, to sigh an' to moan, boys,
For sure it's mesilf that's in grief an' disthress;
They're taxin' the craythur, aginst human nathur;
They'll soon have this land in the divil's own mess.
We've kept up our sperrits, an' stood on our merits,
Before those ould Tories cum on to the scene;
But sure the bould Major was made for a guager,
Bad luck to the varmint who taxes potheen.

Sure vile digradashun must fall on the nation
That gives up its whisky for coffee or tay;
It stands sure to rayson that sorrow an' thraison
Must come whin our pluck an' our sperrits decay;
Our Thrishurer's ackshun may plaise a small facshun,
It's jist an injucemint for chaitin' the Queen,
Sly stills will be goin' where pure creeks are flowin'—
In spite o' the Major we'll have our potheen.

page 66

In histhory's story we'll find Britain's glory
Is jew to the bottle, the keg, an' the flask;
Aitch hayro so stout, boys, was ne'er put to rout boys,
Bekays aitch bould warrior fought in his casque;
Should our legislachure now wather the craychur
Begorra there soon will be wigs on the green;
The beer an' the brewin' may all go to ruin
So long as they lave us our darlint potheen.

Paddy Murphy.