[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
YOU that love mirth, attend to my song,
A moment you never can better employ;
Sawny and Teague were trudging along,
A bony Scots lad and an Irish dear-joy;
They neither before had seen a wind-mill,
Nor had they heard ever of any such name:
As they were a walking,
And merrily talking,
At last by meer chance to a wind-mill they came.
Haha! crys Sawny, what do ye ca’ that?
To tell the right name o’t I am at a loss.
Teague very readily answer’d the Scot,
Indeed I believe it’sh shaint Patrick’s cross.
Says Sawny, ye’ll find your sell meikle mistaken,
For it is saint Andrew’s cross I can swear;
For there is his bonnet,
And tartans hang on it,
The plaid and the trews our apostle did wear.
Nay, o’ my shoul joy, thou tellesht all lees,
For that I will shwear is shaint Patrick’s coat;
I shee’t him in Ireland buying the freeze,
And that I am shure ish the shame that he bought;
And he is a shaint mush better than ever
Made either the covenantsh sholemn or league:
For o’ my shalwashion,
He was my relashion,
And had a great kindnesh for honesht poor Teague.
Wherefore says Teague I will by my shoul,
Lay down my napshack, and take out my beads,
And under this holy cross’ set I will fall,
And shay pater-noshter, and shome of our creeds:
So Teague began with humble devotion,
To kneel down before St. Patrick’s cross;
The wind fell a-blowing,
And set it a-going,
And it gave our dear-joy a terrible toss.
Sawny tehee’d, to see how poor Teague
Lay scratching his ears, and roll on the grass,
Swearing, it was surely the de’ils whirly-gig,
And none (he roar’d out) of St. Patrick’s cross:
But ish it indeed, crys he in a passion,
The cross of our shaint that has crosht me so sore;
Opo’ my salwashion,
This shall be a cawshion,
To trust to St. Patrick’s kindnesh no more.
Sawny to Teague then merrily cry’d,
This patron of yours is a very sad loun,
To hit you sic a fair thump on the hide,
For kneeling before him, and seeking a boon:
Let me advise ye to serve our St. Andrew,
He, by my saul, was a special gude man;
For since your St. Patrick
Has serv’d ye sic a trick,
I’d see him hung up e’er I serv’d him again.