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And might indeed have claimed akin to that,
Case wore the liver's livery that such
Pray mark this difference of dark and sallow, Pompey's black husk, and the old Colonel's yellow.
The Colonel, once a pennyless beginner,
Unhappily for Case's scheme of quiet,
Careless of news ;
Of morning frays by some O'Brien Burke,
Judge then the horror of the nigger's face
land — • That Case, — his master, — was a packing case
For Ireland ! He saw in fearful reveries arise, Phantasmagorias of those dreadful men Whose fame associate with Irish plots is, Fitzgeralds — Tones — O'Connors — Hares —
and then “ Those Emmets,” not so “ little in his eyes” As Doctor Watts’s !
[hacked, He felt himself piked, roasted, — carved and His big black burly body seemed in fact A pincushion for Terror's pins and needles, — Oh, how he wished himself beneath the sun Of Afric - or in far Barbadoes - one Of Bishop Coleridge's new black beadles.
Full of this fright, With broken peace and broken English choking, As black as any raven and as croaking, Pompey rushed in upon his master's sight, Plumped on his knees, and clasped his sable
Thus stirring Curiosity's sharp fidgets —
drop — Oh why for Massa go so far a distance To have him life ?” — Here Pompey made a
stop, Putting an awful period to existence.
“ Not go to Ireland — not to Ireland, fellow, And murdered - why should I be murdered,
Sirrah ? " Cried Case, with anger's tinge upon his yellow,Pompey, for answer, pointing in a mirror The Colonel's saffron, and his own japan,“ Well, what has that to do — quick — speak out
right, boy? “O Massa” – (so the explanation ran) “ Massa be killed — 'cause Massa Orange Man, And Pompey killed — 'cause Pompey not a White
THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD.
I SAWE a Mayd sitte on a Bank,
All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist,
With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe,
She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde
“ Gay being, born to flutter!” – SALE'S GLEE.
Is this your faith, then, Fanny !
What, to chat with every Dun! I'm the one, then, but of many,
Not of many, but the One !
Last night you smiled on all, Ma'am,
That appeared in scarlet dress ; And your Regimental Ball, Ma'am,
Looked a little like a Mess.
I thought that of the Sogers
(As the Scotch say) one might do, And that I, slight Ensign Rogers,
Was the chosen man and true.
But ’Sblood ! your eye was busy
With that ragamuffin mob; — Colonel Buddell — Colonel Dizzy
And Lieutenant-Colonel Cobb.