This page has been validated.
8
To the custom-house in the next town,
’Twas yet some three furlongs or more,
When says Michael, Pray set your load down,
For this here sir, is my cottage door.
T’other answer'd, I thank you, friend, no;
My burden, just yet, I shan’t quit,
Then, says Michael, before you do go;
I’ll get you to read my permit.
Your permit! Why not show it before?
Because it came into my nob,
By your watching for me on the shore,
That your worship was wanting a job:
Now, I'd need of a porter, d’ye see,
For that load made my bones fit to crack;
And so, sir, I thank you for me,
And wish you a pleasant walk back.
FINIS.
