A b e r c r o m b i e.
J. Sharp, Printer, No. 30, Kent Street,
Twas on the spot, in ancient lore oft nam'd,
Where Isis and Osiris once held sway
O'er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride
But now for British valour far more sam'd,
Since Nelson's band archiev'd a glorious day ;
And crown'd with laural Abersrombie died !
Her roseate colors the dawn had not shed,
O'er the field which Stern slaughter had tinted to red,
Twas dark-save each flash at the cannon's hoarse sound
When the brave Abercrombie receiv'd his death wound
His comrades. wise grief unaffected, deplore,
Though to Britain's renown he gave one laurel more,
With a mind unsubdued, still the soe he defied.
Oh the steed which the hero of Acre supplied ;
Till, feeling he soon to fate's summons must yield,
He gave Sydney the sword he no longer could wield,
The standard of Alb on, with victory crown'd;
'Waved o'er his head as he sank on the ground,
'Take me hence, my brave comrades, the hero did cry,
'My duty's complete, and contented I die,
His comrades, &c
The cloth vos laid in the Vorkhouse hall,
The great coats hung 'gainst the white washed wall,
The paupers all were blithe and gay,
Keeping their Christmas holiday,
When the master he cried with a roguish leer,
Yo'll all get fat on your Christmas cheer,
When one by his looks he seem'd to say,
I'll have some more soup on this Christmas day.
Oh the poor Vorkhouse Boy,&c.
At length all on us to bed vos sent,
The boy vos missing;--in search ve vent,
Ve sought him above, ve sought him below,
Ve sought him vith faces of grief and woe,
Ve sought him that hour. ve sought him that night,
Ve sought him in fear, and ve sought him in fright,
Vhen a young pauper cried, I knows ve shall,
Get jolly vell vopt for loosing our pal:
Oh ! the poor Vorkhouse Boy.
Ve sought in each corner each crevice ve knew,
Ve sought down the yard, and ve sought up the flue!
Ve sought in each saucepan,each kettle each pot,
In the v/ill/ ter bult look'd, but found him not ;
And vecks roll'd on,ve vere all on us told,
That somebody said he'd been burk'd and sold ;
Vhen our master goes out the Parishioners vild,
Cries, 'There goes the cove that burk'd the poor child.
Oh, the poor Vorkhouse boy, &c.
At length the soup-coppers repairs did need,
The coppersmith come, and there he seed,
A doliop of bones lay grizzling there,
In the leg of the breeche. the boy old wear,
To gain his fill the boy did stoap,
And dreadful to tell he was boil'd in the soup,
And ve all of us say, and say with a sneer,
That he vos push'd in by an Overseer,
Oh, the poor Vorkhouse boy,&c.
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Probable period of publication:
1844-1850 shelfmark: APS.4.85.10
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