Classic Poem

Old mother O'Kelly, the scold,
Who lived in a county of blunder,
Called great Tipperary, I'm told,
Thus spoke to her little boy Dunder —
" I've only got you and a cow,
And, since I can't keep all the three,
I'd better keep her, you'll allow,
Because the kind creature keeps me. "

So Dunder O'Kelly set sail
From Ireland to better himself,
And climb'd up the Holyhead mail
To ease Johnny Bull of his pelf.
To follow of glory the path,
And put British beef in his belly,
At Margate, at Brighton, at Bath,
He sported Sir Dunder O'Kelly.

Sir Dunder in dancing was skill'd,
And look'd very neat in his clothes;
But indeed all his beauty was kill'd
By a terrible wen on his nose.
This double appendage, alas!
He thought neither pretty nor proper;
Nature gave him one visage of brass,
And Bacchus two noses of copper.

He dived into Bath for a bride,
The ladies all check'd his advances,
And vow'd they could never abide
Loose manners, and straiten'd finances;
One lady alone met his flame,
With a hop, and a jig, and a nod.
I ask'd a blind fiddler her name,
And he answer'd me — Moll in the Wad .

His looking-glass set the poor knight
Ofttimes in his bedchamber raving,
His ugliness showing at night,
And eke in the morning when shaving.
He flung himself down on the floor; —
Was ever unfortunate elf
So terribly haunted before
By a ghost in the shape of himself?

Resolved Charon's eddy to pass,
His pistol he prim'd, but — O blunder!
He thought, if he shot at the glass,
'Twould blow out the brains of Sir Dunder.
So bang went the slugs at his head,
At once from this life to dissever;
He shot all the quicksilver dead,
But himself was as lively as ever.

Amazed at the hubbub was he,
And began, in the midst of the clatter,
All over to felo-de-se ,
But found there was nothing the matter.
So, glad Charon's eddy to shun,
His sentiments thus he discloses —
" Since two heads are better than one,
Perhaps 'tis the same with two noses. "

To his own Tipperary poor Dun,
From scenes of disturbance and bother,
Trudged back, like the Prodigal Son,
And fell on the neck of his mother.
At home he now follows the plough,
And, whilst in his rustical courses
He walks at their tails, you'll allow
He never can frighten his horses.