JOE’S LAST APPEAL TO HIS DEAR FRIEND.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume III, Issue 663, 15 June 1882, Page 2

JOE’S LAST APPEAL TO HIS DEAR FRIEND.

Oh, Hippolyte ! Oh, Hippolyte ! Do come and speak for me ; If you could sec my wretched plight, You merciful would be. You know I put my writing mm For me a speech to write, And learn’d to use it as my own. By reading day and night.

Some words there were I never heard, Though seen with printer’s eyes; And Dunn laughed loud when I declared, I’d give no “ tre-a-tise. ” It promised every mortal thing That any one had asked; And though I miss’d some good bits out, It came all right at last.

Before the nomination day ’Twas heard on every floor, And S r said ’twould never do To say it any more. Another speech he wrote for me. And told me to rehearse ; But though I’d learn’d to faster talk, I found my memory worse. We then agreed that we must let No other man be heard ; But get some Tipperary boys To smother every word. We sent three coaches round the town To find the roughest cards, To clear out Shearman’s, Quill’s and Brown’s, And drive them to the yards. We told them, Megson, not to hear, And Irwin to put down ; But clap their hands at every word That came from me or Brown. Morrow raved with passion fierce, And Saunders called a thief, Who ought to be in Nelson gaol. Without a smell of beef. Saunders replied, he yet would go To Nelson’s honor’d gaol, Before he would a friend betray, Or tell a traitor’s tale. He said that Father Larkin’s fate Was one he owed to me : And one I should have shared with him If I would manly be. We put up S r to repeat The speech he wrote for me, To talk again ot Nelson gaol, And groans in gallery. But Saunders pointed to his face, And ask’d them there to see If he was telling honest-truth Or talking for a fee. And now he’s asked me to the Hall, To meet in open fight, And say the things before his face I paid my man to write. You know I could not meet him there Wich speech composed for me, But we could* go to Bullock’s place, And have a jolly spree. Wo there could say just what we like, With no one to deny; And make them think we’re honest men, Who never tell a lie. They don’t know what you swore in town About that poor man Scott; Or how that letter came to light, To mar a well-laid plot. They don’t know what your pen can write On Acts you never read; Or how the Judges bowled you out t In everything you said. Oh, Hippolyte ! Oh, Hippolyte ! Pray do my cause defend; Put Saunders down and crack me up, And serve your humble friend.