BY Mr. J. B. Laughton 1842.

IN the days of King Orry, as everyone knows,
A ship in full sail so the old story goes,
Was the ensign that Mona unfurled to her foes;
And those were the days of our glory,
Before that we stood on three legs.

Bad luck to the memory of Magnus, who sold
To the king of the Scots, as we oft have been told,
The dear sweet little Mona for silver and gold.
So ended the days of our glory,
Before that we stood on three legs.

Old Sawney came over with sword and with spear,
(I wish in my heart he had never come near,)
And he kick'd up a dust in the Isle of MacLear;
For our own noble arms he took from us,
And gave us his three crooked legs.

'Twas to teach us poor Manxmen the game of hop-scotch,
That he gave us these legs our escutcheon to blotch;
But he found that his patch-work turned out but a botch.
So to cover the loss of our old arms,
With new arms he greased the three legs.

With spurs and bright cuishes, to make them look neat,
He rigged out the legs, then to make them complete,
He surrounded the whole with fine Roman feet.
They were " Quocunque jeceris stabit,"
A thorough-paced Roman Iamb.

From that time to this, since the three legs are ours,
While the one foot stands firm as old Rushen's gray towers,
We spurn with the others at all foreign powers,
Whoever have landed in Mona,
And attempted to break our three legs.

But for honest John Bull and for Paddy to boot,
Our arms are wide open, our hearts never shut,
And they're welcome, whenever their tastes it may suit,
To visit the shores of old Mona,
And shake hands with the three legs of Man.



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