Page:Poems Merrill.djvu/118

Through the pool of molasses she dragged him
 Until his immaculate shirt,
His trousers, and coat of fine broad-cloth
 Was a mixture of molasses and dirt.

"Ye blear-eyed spalpeen! A lesson
 I'll larn ye afore I'm content—
Ye 'll not trouble agin an ould leddy
 Because she 's of Irish descent!!!
Arrah—but ye don't get away aisy!
 Will ye be done wid yer pratin', yer jokes?
Shure there's no more honor about yer
 Than to any ould bullfrog that croaks!

An' a right sorry figure I'm thinkin'
 Ye look fer a "swate bloomin' youth!"
Will ye show yerself to the fellers?
 Will ye tell yer ould Mither the truth?
Will ye tell her ye spilled me molasses—
 If ye do, will she say it was right
To deprive an ould woman of somethin'
 To eat on her cold bread to night?

An' now, me molasses-cheeked dandy—
 Ye may let this yer feelin 's console:—
If ye ever agin let me ketch ye
 I'll thrash ye! I will, by me soul!!!