Classic Poem

When first I saw sweet Peggy,
—'Twas on a market day,
A low-backed car she drove, and sat
—Upon a truss of hay;
But when that hay was blooming grass
—And decked with flowers of Spring,
No flower was there that could compare
—With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar
——Never asked for the toll,
——But just rubbed his ould poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,
—The proud and mighty Mars,
With hostile scythes, demands his tithes
—Of death—in warlike cars:
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,
—Has darts in her bright eye,
That knock men down in the market town,
—As right and left they fly;—
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,—
——For the doctor's art
——Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
—Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
—By far outnumber these;
While she among her poultry sits,
—Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,
—Of the blooming god of Love!
While she sits in her low-backed car,
The lovers come near and far,
——And envy the chicken
——That Peggy is pickin',
As she sits in her low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,
—With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach-and-four, and goold galore,
—And a lady for my bride;
For the lady would sit forninst me,
—On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,
—With my arm around her waist,—
While we drove in the low-backed car,
To be married by Father Mahar,
——O, my heart would beat high
——At her glance and her sigh,—
Though it beat in a low-backed car!