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SONG-THE GONNOR. (15)

A GONNOR dwells o'th' Barrowfells,
O, he's a meety gonnor:
Of gonnors o', he bears the bells,
An' surely that's a honour;
Some time ago, as yo' mun kno',
Authority wur gin him,

To banish ducks, fro' dams an' brucks,
If after daylit swimmin'.

As looks 66 'a gentleman o'th' teawn,"
When stufft wi' public dinner,
Upon a cholic grip'n cleawn,

A hungry, wand'rin sinner;
As looks at my poor rhymin' ripp
A welkin-born Pegasus;
So awful looks his gonnorship,
As o'er the wave he passes.

He chanc't to look into a nook,
An' theer espy'd wi' pleasure,
Some duckys bent o' merriment,

Just tipplin' at their leisure;

Then swell'd his breast, an' he his crest

Tow'rd heaven he distended;

An' deep he swore, by flood an' shore,
Their manners shud be mended.

Neaw ducks, yo' known, cry quack, quack, quack,
An' geese dun hiss and cackle,

An' this, a tawkin' is their mack,
When they'n a mind to rattle :
So, void of grace, wi' brazent face,
He in goose-language tow'd 'em,
'At he durst swear, by th' book o' prayer,
They'rn nowty ducks fro' Owdham.

Beneath his wing he had a thing,
An' quickly eawt he pood it,
'Twur painted blue, an' yallo' too,

An' to these ducks he show'd it ;
He sed 'twur sent by th' Cormorant,
At op at Lunnun keawers,

To banish ducks fro' dams an' brucks,
At after sartin heawers.

The ducks did pray 'at they mut stay
Just too'thre minnits longer;
But Mester Goose did quick refuse,
Which caus'd no little anger;
Then swoarn the ducks, wi' pottert plucks,

Who gaily had been fuddlin',

'At they'dn' stop, while the're a drop

O' weatur fit to puddle in.

The goose did sail, an' tow'd his tale
Unto a meety sea-gull;

But wisperin' foke at th' back dun tawk,
That gull wur but a ray-gull :
Bee't as it may, my neyburs say,

'At th' drake fro' wom mun wander, An' the goose wi' th' bell, has provet itsel, An addle-yeded gonthur.

REFLECTION.

IN midst of life we are in death;
And breathing brings to loss of breath;
Our laughter is akin to crying;
Our smiling often leads to sighing;

And our enjoying ends in dying.

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WHO, OF ALL THE ENGLISH BARDS, HAS PLEADED MOST ELOQUENTLY AND

PERSEVERINGLY THE CAUSE OF THE LABOURING MILLIONS.

THIS Poem was first published in April, 1839; it was inscribed, as at present to the before-mentioned bard, and was addressed to "The Hand-loom Weavers of Lancashire, and the Persons styled Chartists," in the hope that the reading of the piece, with the accompanying introductory remarks, and the post-scriptum (for which see note 16), might have some effect in counteracting the baneful influence of the Chartist demagogues, who, having wickedly devised the plan of "a National Holiday," or "Sacred Month," as they called it, were then urging their followers to attempt carrying it into effect.

Whatever of an exciting tendency was to be found in the Poem, brought with it, in the same pages, a counteracting admonition; and the author hopes it was not then, nor has been since, altogether forgotten, either by the employers or the employed.

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