BEAUTIFUL BLOW.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2282, 10 July 1880, Page 3

BEAUTIFUL BLOW.

(Satui’day Advertiser.) Oh the blow, the beautiful blow, Fillin’ the houses, above and below, Talkin’ more bosh than the boys in the sthreet, Humbug so arrant, an’ barney so sweet; Slcitin’, fightin’, growlin’ along ; Beautiful blow, it can’t do w r rong, Plenty o’yabber an’ plenty o’ cheek, Picking to get, boys, and billets to seek ; Beautiful blow, the reporthers, above, Mearsure the gas,—‘tis a labour of love. Oh ! the blow, the beautiful blow, Why are the numbers all blathern’ so ? Why don’t the boys get the biziness dane ? I'ts over a month since the session begun ; Laughin’, talkin’ lie upon lie, Tellin’ aitch crammer, that’s all in me . e y e * Faix, don’t the boys like to hear their tongues sound, Full up wid pride an’ concait I’ll be bound ; Our city is dead till the session ye know, Commences, an’ then we have beautiful blow. Och ! how the ilecthers gulp down the ould song, Aitch number is singin’ to gammon the throng, “Be jabers, me boys, for mo country i’d die,” Sure that’s on the hustin’s, aitch pathriot’s cry; Bingin’, singin’, spoutin’ they go ; Darlints, there’s nothin’ like beautiful blow, — Tlow so thranspharint—begorra I sigh Bo think that New Zaylandhers aren’t more fly; Don’t ye put thrust in thcr promises sweet, “Posh” is ther tixtwhin together they meet. Onced I put thrust in their blow—what a sell, Bailly 1 thought it as sound as a bell— Bell that the town-crier rings in the sthreet, Bell that on Sundays sounds lovely an’ sweet— Roarin’,soarin’, swearin’ they’d die Before they’d be sould in the sweet buy an’ buy, Giving the counthry thcr heart an’ thcr bead, It’s quaro, ’pon me sowl, how the people arc led Tundher an’ turf, have I fallen so low, As onced to be gulfed be thcr beautiful blow.

Onced I would stare whin the beautiful blow Kern out of aitch candidate’s mouth wid a flow ; Onced I would Ink wid an innoeiut face, Listenin’ to boys who wor wantin’ a

place ; Banipin’, stampin’, jistnrc—bawl, These are the things that arc kcepin’ in Hall, But now', tarc-an’-ounthcrs, ther’s some o’ thim shy, For Ormond, me honies, is gettin’ too fly» I don’t like tell to yc a saycrit I know', But ! Johnny’s afraid av his beautiful blow.

How stbrangc it should be that this beautiful blow Should make the vale workav the sission so slow 7, How sthrauge it should bo, whin aitch night comes again I’m forced to listen, wid sorrow an’ pain ; Sneezin’, wheezin’, teasin’ ocbone Wastin’ ther gas an’ our five million loan ; Though some o’ the pubs in our Willington town, I’m tould be the landlords, scarce collar a “ brown ” For nohblers, from those who are chatin’ us so, Spindin’ our money in beautiful blow. Bailly I’m sick o’ this baldherdosh blow, Plinty o’ yahber an’ nothing to show 7 , Bad luck to the day ivliiu’ the Major waat in, Murthrin’ our credit and miltin’ our tin, Whinin’, pinin—“Boys, don’t ye see, “ We‘d all he insolvents, sure, only for me,” Faix, that is his sad lamintashun, I hear, “ We’re kilt, hoys,” he cries, “for were down on the Beer Begorra, ye’d think, from his accints o’ woe, That iverythiug’s gone hut the beautiful blow. PADDY MUEPHY. Lambton Kay, July 5,1880.