V.
In short, the world is one great ass-
emblage of hoaxed and hoaxing ninnies,
'Mong which even I myself am-ass
More bran than grist—more jokes than guineas;
Still I don't mind—nor care to ass-
uage my distresses like your sobbers?
Wrapped in my cloak, my grand cuir-ass,
I laugh at all—Rads., Whigs, and robbers.[1]
MY LAND.
I.
She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
She is a dear and rare land—
This native land of mine.
II.
No men than her's are braver—
Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.
III.
She's not a dull or cold land;
No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land—
This native land of mine.
IV.
Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe could cross her border—
No friend within it pine!
- ↑ "Robbers"—that is to say Tories. See the Gælic.
