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Anon: A Strike among the Poets
THE AMERICAN INDIAN
There once were some people called Sioux
Who spent all their time making shioux
Which they coloured in various hioux:
Don't think that they made them to ioux
Oh! no, they just sold them for'bioux.
ANON
A STRIKE AMONG THE POETS
In his chamber, weak and dying,
While the Norman Baron lay,
Loud, without, his men were crying,
'Shorter hours and better pay.'
Know you why the ploughman, fretting,
Homeward plods his weary way
Ere his time? He's after getting
Shorter hours and better pay.
See! the Hesperus is swinging N
Idle in the wintry bay,
And the skipper's daughter's singing,
'Shorter hours and better pay.'
Where's the minstrel boy? I've found him
Joining in the labour fray
With his placards slung around him,
'Shorter hours and better pay.'
Oh, young Lochinvar is coming;
Though his hair is getting grey,
Yet I'm glad to hear him humming,
'Shorter hours and better pay.'
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