17 March 2014

Reed-bird Shooting

By H.P. Leland.
Three men and bull-dog ugly,
two guns, and a terrier lame:
They'd better set themselves up for game!
But no! I see, by the cocking
Of that red-haired Paddy's eye,
He's been 'reeding' to much for you, Sir,
Any such game to try!
'Whist, Jamey, me boy! kape dark there,
Who hould the big bull-dog in:
There's a bloody big cloud of rade-birds
That nade a peppering'!'
'Chip-bang!' speaks the single-barrel;
'Flip-booong!' roars the old 'Queen-Anne'
There's a Paddy stretched out in the mud-hole,
A kicked over, knocked-down man!
the big-bluu-dog's eyes stick out,
And the terrier's barks begin;
The Paddy digs out of the deep mud,
And then the 'discoursin'' comes in:
'Oh Jamey, ye pricious young blag-guard,
I know ye're the divil's son!
How many fingers' load, thin,
Did ye put in this damned old gun?'
'How many fingers? Be jabers!
I nivir put in a one!
D'ye think I'd be afther ramming
Me fingers into the gun?'
'Well give me the powdher, Jamey!'
'The powdher! as sure as I'm born,
I put it all in yer muskit,
As I had ne'er a powdher-horn!'
Philadelphia, August, 1853.
December 1853. The Knickerbocker, or New York Monthly Magazine 42(6): 613.