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For whilst, with rapture fraught, they this explore,
And view such sights as ne'er were seen before,
Some Circumnavigators may, ere long,
Hear Birmingham extoll’d in Savage Song;
And when some progreſs in the Arts they've made,
Can tell who form'd the Hoe, the Axe, the Spade;
Or when their great utility they feel,
And learn the use of Iron and of Steel,
In extacy, may cry, enrapt with wonder,
'Dese English make de Guns dat roar like tunder;
'De Sword, de Lance, de Hatchet and de Spear,
'All dat be grand, and Bir—ming—ham, be dere.'
And when, in mirrors, they themselves behold,
Dreſs'd out with amber beads, with pearls or gold,
With varnish'd cheeks, of ochre, or red clay,
Like Chimney Sweeps, deck'd out on first of May,
With bracelets for their Thighs, their Arms, their Toes,
Or gaudy pendants for their Ears or Nose;
Each martial Chief, each sable colour'd Squaw,
Won't cry, in broken French, 'Me nong-tong paw,[1]
But cry, in broken English, '0, Manne,
'Dat Englan be grand place—me go an zee.'
The end.
Swinney & Hawkins, Printers,
No. 75 High-street,
Birmingham.
- ↑ A Corruption of "Je ne vous entends pas.' i.e. I do not understand you.
