Old Pharao’s daughter went to bathe in style,
She took her dip and came unto the land,
And for her to dry her royal pelt she ran along the strand.
A bull-rush tripped her, whereupon she saw
A smiling babby in a wad of straw,
She took it up and said in accents mild,
‘Tare-an-ages, girls, which o’yees own the child?’
* * *
The Song of Zozimus
Gather round me boys, will yez
Gather round me
And hear what I have to say,
Before ould Sally brings me
My bread and jug of tay.
I live in Faddle Alley,
Off Blackpitts near the Coombe;
With my poor wife called Sally,
In a narrow, dirty room.
Gather round me, and stop yer noise,
Gather round me till my tale is told;
Gather round me, ye girls and ye boys,
Till I tell yez stories of the days of old;
Gather round me, all ye ladies fair,
And ye gentlemen of renown;
Listen, listen, and to me repair,
Whilst I sing of beauteous Dublin town.
* * *
In Praise of Potheen
O long life to the man who invented potheen –
Sure the Pope ought to make him a martyr –
If myself was this moment Victoria, the Queen,
I’d drink nothing but whiskey and wather.
* * *
In the proud tradition of satire, Zozimus created a short verse mocking a Dublin constable who was known for harassing the local media, including a journalist named Dunphy. The policeman’s behaviour prompted the poor bard to compose and regularly recite the following;
How proud Robert Peel must be of such a chap
He stands about five feet nothing in his cap
And his name’s immortalised by me friend Mr.D
A statue must be riz to 184B
The scorn and derision that Constable 184B suffered from the popularity of this verse was enough to force him out of the police. It’s a perfect example of the Power of the Bard in those bygone days when they were feared for their capabilities with words.