I. "BASE Bog-trotters," says the @3Times@1, "Brown with mud, and black with crimes, Turf and lumpers dig betimes (We grant you need 'em), But never lift your heads sublime, Nor talk of Freedom." II. Yet, Bog-trotters, sirs, be sure, Are strong to do, and to endure, Men whose blows are hard to cure -- Brigands! what's in ye, That the fierce man of the moor Can't stand again ye? III. The common drains in Mushra moss Are wider than a castle fosse, Connaught swamps are hard to cross, And histories boast That Allen's Bog has caused the loss Of many a host. IV. Oh! were you in an Irish bog, Full of pikes, and scarce of prog, You'd wish your @3Times@1-ship was incog Or far away, Though Saxons, thick as London fog, Around you lay. |