by Irwin Russell
Well , Katie, and is this yersilf? And where was you this whoile?
And aunt ye dhrissed! You are the wan to illusthrate the stoile!
But niver moind thim matthers now, there's toime enough for thim;
And Larry — that's me b'y — I want to shpake to you ay him.
Sure, Larry bates thim all for luck! — 'tis he will make his way,
And be the proide and honnur to the sod beyant the say.
We'll soon be able — whisht! I do be singin' till I'm hoorse,
For wer since a month or more, me Larry's on the foorce!
There's not a proivate gintleman that boords in all the row
Who houlds himsilf loike Larry does, or makes as foine a show:
Thim eyes av his, the way they shome — his coat, and butthons too —
He bates them kernge dhroivers that be on the avenue!
He shtips that proud and shtately-loike, you'd think he owned the town,
And houlds his shtick convanient to be tappin' some wau down.
Aich blissed day I watch to see him comin' up the shtrate,
For, by the greatest bit ay luck, our house is on his bate.
The little b'ys is feared ay him, for Larry's moighty shtrict,
And many's the litthle blagyard he's arristed, I expict;
The beggyars gits acrass the shtrate — you ought to see thim fly!. —
And organ-groindhers scatthers whin they see him comin' by.
I know that Larry's bound to roise; he'll get a sergeant's post,
And afther that a captincy widhin a year at most;
And ay he goes in politics he has the head to throive —
I'll be an Aldherwoman, Kate, afore I'm thirty-foive!
What's that again? Y'are jokin', surely — Katie! — is it thrue?
Last noight, you say, he — married? and Aileen O'Donahue?
O Larry! e'u'd ye have the hairt — but let the spalpeen be:
Ay he demanes himsilf to her , he's nothing more to me.
The ugly shcamp! I always said, just as I'm tellin' you,
That Larry was the biggest fool av all I iver knew:
And many a toime I've tould mesilf — you see it now, av coorse —
He'd niver come to anny good ay he got on the foorce!
Last updated September 05, 2017