Classic Poem

Now is Jack Kirkland mean, my son?
The neighbours all say, “No!”
And, “If Jack Kirkland's always short,
His good wife keeps him so.”
But I have heard of many such,
And tell you this, my son:
That “One makes the bullets, and
The other fires the gun.”

Jack Kirkland drank McFarland's ale
And whisky by the keg;
Jack Kirkland cadged McFarland's cash
Though he'd no need to beg.
And if Jack Kirkland bought a pint
He kept it all for one.
His wife made the bullets,
And Kirkland fired the gun.

Now Mrs Kirkland saved the cash—
A pound, or maybe three—
From speculations small but rash
And Jack's fortnightly spree.
She'd talk about McFarland's waste,
And Kirkland heard it done;
For one made the bullets, and
The other fired the gun.

McFarland got in debt, and he
Could “shout” and give no more;
The Kirklands then were never seen
At Jim McFarland's door.
For Mrs Kirkland plainly said
(Or led the folks to think)
That 'twas McFarland always led
Her husband on to drink.

Jack Kirkland got a “hand” to help;
McFarland went to work.
McFarland went to Blazes and—
The Kirklands went to kirk.
The Kirklands bought McFarland's home
And little dairy run;
For one made the bullets,
And the other fired the gun.