Classic Poem

Dare you dispute,
You saucy brute,
And think there's no refelling
Your scurvy lays,
And senseless praise
You give to Ballyspellin.

Howe'er you bounce,
I here pronounce
You medicine is repelling,
Your water's mud,
And sours the blood
When drunk at Ballyspellin.

Those pocky drabs
To cure their scabs
You thither are compelling,
Will back be sent
Worse than they went
From nasty Ballyspellin.

Llewellyn! why,
As well may I
Name honest Doctor Pelling;
So hard sometimes
You tug for rhymes
To bring in Ballyspellin.

No subject fit
To try your wit
When you went colonelling,
But dull intrigues
'Twixt jades and teagues
That met at Ballyspellin.

Our lasses fair
Say what you dare,
Who sowens make with shelling;
At Market Hill
More beaux can kill
Than yours at Ballyspellin.

Would I was whipped
When Sheelah stripped
To wash herself our well in;
A bum so white
Ne'er came in sight
At paltry Ballyspellin.

Your mawkins there
Smocks hempen wear;
For Holland, not an ell in;
No, not a rag,
Whate'er you brag,
Is found at Ballyspellin.

But Tom will prate
At any rate,
All other nymphs expelling;
Because he gets
A few grisettes
At lousy Ballyspellin.

There's bonny Jane
In yonder lane,
Just o'er against the Bell Inn;
Where can you meet
A lass so sweet
Round all your Ballyspellin?

We have a girl
Deserves an earl,
She came from Enniskillen;
So fair, so young,
No such among
The belles of Ballyspellin.

How would you stare
To see her there,
The foggy mists dispelling,
That cloud the brows
Of every blowze
Who lives at Ballyspellin.

Now, as I live,
I would not give
A stiver or a skilling
To touse and kiss
The fairest miss
That leaks at Ballyspellin.

Whoe'er will raise
Such lies as these
Deserves a good cudgelling;
Who falsely boasts
Of belles and toasts
At dirty Ballyspellin.

My rhymes are gone
To all but one,
Which is, our trees are felling;
As proper quite
As those you write
To force in Ballyspellin.