Our Folks


Our Folks.

“He raise a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.”
My muse on heavier pinion flies,
And glances o’er the town.

Alas! they’re gone—the grand old days—
When, Marshall-ing to Battle,
They Crow-ed and Polk-ed, Leonidas
With paper gun and rattle.

Ah me! that any Mor(e)decay
Should get its dirty Claw-
S-on us! E’en Hec(k)-tor fails at last,
And doesn’t come to taw.

“Justi(ce)-tia fiat!” Let us Bragg,
Our honor’s pure as Snow,
We yet have Crow—a worthy Fowl(e)—
Who’ll no White feather show.

Grimes is not. dead, that good old man,”
We yet “shall see him Mo(o)re,”
Great is his Hardie-Hood who dares
That Worth-y man give o’er.

We Harp too Strong-ly on the past,
We think Askew the hour,
To lift the Ha(ys)ze on new and then,
Would need Dod(d)-ona’s power.

Strike out new paths, get out the Rut-
“Jes(t)” left by old slow coaches,
”Twill Black(e)n-all our page that T(hi)eems
With Hope, and now encroaches.

You doubt. Then ask it, (An Gosman?)
Of any one I name
You May, or Harr(ys)ison, or self,
Or Sr. Nic(k)h-(alls the same)

And stay, our Bulles are not o’er,
Mars weds the Muse in Kemp ill.
It mars our song, Let’s seek The Hill
And mount to learning’s temple.

’Tis nine A. M.; and see here now,
A(l)leg(e) I(t)s-lat(e) or early—
’Tis early bird that picks the worm—
And, late or early, surly.

He makes the Best of it, he Bet(t)s
Our Bachelor friend, who cries;
“Laugh Merry-man. Bu(s)zz-bee, I wait,
To Fish-er-ratic flies!”

But West-ward ho! We’ll ne’er get on
With such a flagging Pace,
At Church-(h) ill base, we’ll go Up-church,
And Foot(e) a swifter race

Here comes a Friend we all hold dear,
No Royster-ing one, I Wis.,
Sure there’s some Ark of sure de Fen(ce)dts
For tuneful birds like this

’Tis queer, did you observe the Mills
At t’other end of town?
While Millers live un-Fair-ly here,
Not e’en a Poole around.

Let’s go back through the Eastern gate,
If you don’t set your II(e)art-on
Some special street, I’d Blount-ly turn,
And Hey! Wo(ul)d quickly dart on.

Just see here, where a gentleman
B-Little(s) his profession,
Subjectin undertakers to
Such terrible depression.

But elsewhere the Directory,
A (s)signs a rival party
Who claim to make case (Mckees) easily
And set a fellow Heart(t).y.

Ah! here’s a building, Ra(y)in-or shine,
It’s Royall-y kept; you’ll tell,
It’s neighbours like it Vas(8)-tly. “Bless-
Ings on thy frosty Pow”-Well!

Serenest happiest Life is here,
Insured in leafy tress,
From this pure Company Pes(ts)cud
Like clouds before the breeze.

Down Fayetteville we’ll wander now,
This end of town is Woth-less,
You k-Newsom(e) there? Briggs in full sa(i)le,
And a Petty Primrose earthless.

A soft W(y)in(n)-d plays round Rose-in-bloom
(N. B. The German isn’t germain—won’t do em)
Here’s clusters of sweet Williams,
And there a store of Tuckers ruffled—
Foods enough to fill y’ arms.

Art tired? Rest. You’ll here re-Cline
For (Creech, your) creature comfort’s sake,
And if you would an Apple-get,
Need fear no hidden snake.

The cock a-spires a Senlined,
The breezeless flags Stand-(h)ard by,
They Turu(er) a va(i)ne-ly anxious face,
Whence Grant fair weather May fly!

Item Information help

  • Item ID
  • Genre
  • Illustrated
  • DCMI Type
    Still Image
  • Extent
    31 cm x 21 cm
  • Title
blog comments powered by Disqus