Classic Poem

By the Rev. Robt. Burrowes, Dean of St. Finbar's Cathedral, Cork.

The night before Larry was stretched,
The boys they all paid him a visit;
A bit in their sacks, too, they fetched —
They sweated their duds till they riz it;
For Larry was always the lad,
When a friend was condemned to the squeezer,
But he'd pawn all the togs that he had,
Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer,
And moisten his gob 'fore he died.

" Pon my conscience, dear Larry, " says I,
" I'm sorry to see you in trouble,
And your life's cheerful noggin run dry,
And yourself going off like its bubble! "
" Hould your tongue in that matter, " says he;
" For the neckcloth I don't care a button,
And by this time to-morrow you'll see
Your Larry will be dead as mutton:
All for what? 'kase his courage was good! "

The boys they came crowding in fast;
They drew their stools close round about him,
Six glims round his coffin they placed —
He couldn't be well waked without 'em.
I axed if he was fit to die,
Without having duly repented?
Says Larry, " That's all in my eye,
And all by the clargy invented,
To make a fat bit for themselves. "

Then the cards being called for, they played,
Till Larry found one of them cheated:
Quick he made a hard rapat his head —
The lad being easily heated.
" So ye chates me bekase I'm in grief!
O! is that, by the Holy, the rason?
Soon I'll give you to know, you d — d thief!
That you're cracking your jokes out of sason,
And scuttle your nob with my fist. "

Then in came the priest with his book,
He spoke him so smooth and so civil;
Larry tipped him a Kilmainham look,
And pitched his big wig to the divil.
Then raising a little his head,
To get a sweep drop of the bottle,
And pitiful sighing he said,
" O! the hemp will be soon round my throttle,
And choke my poor windpipe to death! "

So mournful these last words he spoke,
We all vented our tears in a shower;
For my part, I thought my heart broke
To see him cut down like a flower!
On his travels we watched him next day,
O, the hangman I thought I could kill him!
Not one word did our poor Larry say,
Nor changed till he came to " King William: "
Och, my dear! then his colour turned white!

When he came to the nubbling chit,
He was tucked up so neat and so pretty;
The rumbler jugged off from his feet,
And he died with his face to the city.
He kicked too, but that was all pride,
For soon you might see 'twas all over;
And as soon as the noose was untied,
Then at darkey we waked him in clover,
And sent him to take a ground-sweat.