Classic Poem

S IR Dogberry Dory,
(Pray list to my story,)
Sold fish all alive, fit to bite one,
His wife, huge and tubby,
Tormented her hubby
To dip in the ocean at Brighton;
" O what a fine town is Brighton,
We all want sea-bathing at Brighton;

I vow now, Sir Doggy,
Your head is quite foggy,
You must take a journey to Brighton. "
The knight he looked glum,
And he mutter'd out " hum, "
To her, ay or no, it was quite one;
So she and Miss Dolly,
So funny, so jolly,
Set off with old Dory for Brighton.
" La, Pa, what a sweet place is Brighton!
I must get a husband at Brighton;
My Pretty poke bonnet
Will breed a love sonnet,
And I shall get married at Brighton. "

Then to the library,
On donkies, so airy,
They trotted, their purses to lighten,
Each pull'd out a crown,
And wrote her name down,
Then gazed at the loungers at Brighton.
" What! Deputy Treacle at Brighton!
Miss Fubby, too! how you delight one!
Lord, who could have thought
Uncle Tom to have caught
So far from Whitechapel as Brighton! "

Old Dory, I ween,
Mounts a bathing-machine,
The waves the poor fishmonger frighten,
So ridicule scorning,
He pulled down the awning,
And roared for assistance at Brighton,
" Hollo! this machine's not a tight one,
Drive out of the water to Brighton,
You dog, I don't wish
To be food for the fish,
Tho' I'm a fishmonger at Brighton. "

At night, one and all,
They repaired to the ball;
Miss wanted a partner, a light one;
She chose, among many,
A lad from Kilkenny,
One Mr. Macshannon at Brighton.
Next day they played billiards at Brighton,
The very first hazard the knight won,
But soon all the cannons
Were Mr. Macshannon's,
He choused poor old Dory at Brighton.

Macshannon, sad story,
Made love to Miss Dory,
The cord of affection to tighten,
With hearts like Mount Etna,
They galloped to Gretna,
Nor thought of poor daddy at Brighton.
The knight swore an oath, not a slight one,
He laid all the blame on poor Brighton,
" My duck, what's the matter? "
" Zounds, madam, don't chatter.
Our Dolly has hopped off from Brighton. "

Ma'am sighed for the races,
But he took two places
For London — the coach was a night one;
Then, lord! what a prig,
He put on his Welsh wig,
And bowing thus took leave of Brighton,
" I've lost all my money at Brighton,
I'm caricatured too by Dighton,
Well, well, I wont't swear,
But next year, I declare,
I'll be hang'd if you catch me at Brighton. "