"And so, vith arp and woice, Both troubled and shagreened, I hid you to rejoice, O glorious England's Queend! And never have to veep, like pore Louis-Phileep, Because you out are cleaned. "O Prins, so brave and stout, I stand before your gate; Pray send a trifle hout To me, your pore old Vait; For nothink could be vuss than it's been along vith us In this year Forty-eight." "Ven this bad year began," The nex man said, seysee, "I vas a Journeyman, A taylor black and free, And my wife went out and chaired about, And my name's the bold Cuffee. "The Queen and Halbert both I swore I would confound, I took a hawfle hoath To drag them to the ground; And sevral more with me they swore Aginst the British Crownd. "Aginst her Pleacemen all We said we'd try our strenth; Her scarlick soldiers tall We vow'd we'd lay full lenth; And out we came, in Freedom's name, Last Aypril was the tenth. "Three 'undred thousand snobs Came out to stop the vay, Vith sticks vith iron knobs, Or else we'd gained the day. The harmy quite kept out of sight, And so ve vent avay. "Next day the Pleacemen came-- Rewenge it was their plann-- And from my good old dame They took her tailor-mann: And the hard hard beak did me bespeak To Newgit in the Wann. "In that etrocious Cort The Jewry did agree; The Judge did me transport, To go beyond the sea: And so for life, from his dear wife They took poor old Cuffee. "O Halbert, Appy Prince! With children round your knees, Ingraving ansum Prints, And taking hoff your hease; O think of me, the old Cuffee, Beyond the solt solt seas! "Although I'm hold and black, My hanguish is most great; Great Prince, O call me back, And I vill be your Vait! And never no more vill break the Lor, As I did in 'Forty-eight." The tailer thus did close (A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose, And spoke with Hirish brogue: "I'm Smith O'Brine, of Royal Line, Descended from Rory Ogue. "When great O'Connle died, That man whom all did trust, That man whom Henglish pride Beheld with such disgust, Then Erin free fixed eyes on me, And swoar I should be fust. "'The glorious Hirish Crown,' Says she, 'it shall be thine: Long time, it's wery well known, You kep it in your line; That diadem of hemerald gem Is yours, my Smith O'Brine. "'Too long the Saxon churl Our land encumbered hath; Arise my Prince, my Earl, And brush them from thy path: Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep 'em vith The besom of your wrath.' "Then in my might I rose, My country I surveyed, I saw it filled with foes, I viewed them undismayed; 'Ha, ha!' says I, 'the harvest's high, I'll reap it with my blade.'