Yorskhire Poems by Thomas Jefferson Monkman, part 19

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THE THOROUGHLY GOOD YOUNG MAN.

[This rhyme records how his hypocrisy gained
him an important situation under Government.)

He was such a nice and steady young man,
A never took anything heady young man,
            This good young man, d'you see.
He'd the face of a saint, he had on my word,
And often was heard to pray to the Lord,
            Such a moral voting man was he.

He'd tremble to think of a cirque or a play,
And turn up his nose at everything gay,
            Such a moral young man was he,
And at the very same time
He was plotting a crime,
            This good voting man, d'you see.

He was an out and out eighteen carat young man,
A didn't care about Wilson Barratt young man,
            This good young man, d'you see.
He'd preach on a night, he'd preach on a day,
But few of his debts he ever would pay,
            So thoroughly good was he.

He'd shudder to think of an ancient inn,
Said it meant hell, damnation and sin,
            So thoroughly good was he.
But if a puncheon of spirits should come in his way,
He'd purchase it quick if he thought it would pay,
        This moral young man, d'you see.

Folks ran after this nice young man,
This pure as a piece of ice young man,
        So moral and good was he.
They all fell down on their bended knees,
The worshipping he's and the worshipping she's,
        Inviting him home to tea.

And so this thoroughly nice young man,
This pure as a piece of ice young man,
        So thoroughly good was he,
That they've put him in prison,
For taking what wasn't his'n,
        Of his master's £ s. d.

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WHEN FAR AWAY.

When far away from home and thee
    In distant climes I roam,
My thoughts on wings of fancy flee
    Back to my native home ;
Back to my native home again,
    Thy sunny smiles I see,
Tho' far upon the bounding main,
    My every thought is still of thee.

When far away from home and thee,
    Lov'd visions I recall;
Once more my native hills I see,
    My cot and comrades all ;
Clearly I hear our village bells,
    Far, far away upon the sea,
While memory's whisper sweetly tells
    My every thought is still of thee.

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THE LOADED SHELLS.

Quick flew the whisper round the town,
From Jones until it met with Brown ;
Mysterious hints of shell and shot,
Connected with a Fenian plot.
Such were the rumours, and they flew
On lightning wings, and quickly grew
From small proportions into large-
First 'twas a boat and then a barge,
That had conveyed unto our shore
A hundred shells, or less, or more.
Some knowing ones these shells did trace
Into our ancient Market-place ;
But there, alas ! the clue was lost,
And none knew when they might be tossed
Into our factories, gaols, or halls
In order to subvert their walls.
            *            *
To show what truth there is in rumour,
Some Hull wit, to suit his humour,
Had propagated this report,
Anent shells coming to our port.
And so set the town in motion,
To put it on its guard and caution.
            *            *
After several close inspections,
The bubble burst in all directions ;
They found 'twas true and not a "cram"-
A ship had sailed from Amsterdam,
And brought unto the Humber's shore
A hundred shells, or less, or more.,
But entre nous this toil and tussle
Had emanated from a mussel.

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LINES ON A COUNTRY PUMP.

I wrote some lines once on a pump,
    I don't say they were witty;
My pencil it went jump, jump, jump,
    Which made them far from pretty.

Still there was one who valued much
    My hieroglyphic ditty,
And held the lines within his clutch-
    A merchant in the city.

He valued them at pounds in price,
    From his companion true,
And now behold my small device-
    Zounds ! 'twas an I O U'.

Poems by Thomas Jefferson Monkman (1885)
Scanned by Graham Metcalf ©2003
OCRd and checked by Colin Hinson ©2003