If you were an elector, And I a candidate, I’d send you round a notice, And say “I trust your vote is A thing I may expect, or Request at any rate.” If you were an elector, And I a candidate. If you were influential, And I of no renown, I’d say, “It is a pity You’re not on my committee, Your name is consequential So let me put it down,” If you were influential, And I of no renown. If I were well supported, And you of little weight, I’d say, “I hope to rank you Among my voters――thank you.” Your promise once extorted, I’d leave you to your fate; If I were well supported, And you of little weight. If you were at the polling, And I were in the booth, And if your vote you gave, or Recorded in my favour, I’d find it both consoling, And powerful to soothe, If you were at the polling, And I were in the booth. If you should vote against me, And I were standing by, I might be forced to fell you, And then should simply tell you That having so incensed me You ought to mind your eye; If you should vote against me, And I were standing by. If I were not elected, And you would keep alive, You oughtn’t to come nigh me, But shun, avoid, and fly me, And go about protected (For _vide_ stanza 5). If I were not elected, And you would keep alive. If you were not a voter, Nor I a candidate, I would not give a penny, To know your views (if any), Contingency remoter I can’t enunciate, If you were not a voter, Nor I a candidate. From _Dublin Doggerels_, by Edwin Hamilton, M.A. Dublin. C. Smyth, Dame Street. 1877. ―――― A MATCHER. If you were what your nose is, And I were like the red, Then should we glow together, Sunned in the singing weather, Blown well as winter closes, And colds come in the head―― If you were what your nose is, And I were like the red. If I were what your words are, And you H aspirate, We ne’er should dwell together; For you would snap your tether, And leave me where the birds are, And drop at hailstone rate―― If I were what your words are, And you H aspirate, If you were “call to-morrow,” And I an unpaid bill, You’d meet me at all seasons, With plaintive looks and reasons, And leave me then to sorrow, And all _unsettled_ still―― If you were “call to-morrow.” And I an unpaid bill, If you were what’s called “shady,” And I were quarter-day, You’d take French leave some hours Ere I arrived; no powers, Could make you _meet_ me, Lady, Nor make me stay away―― If you were what’s termed “shady” And I were quarter-day.