From the recording The Trackless Wild


Two leagues and a half from our own little town
Lives one general Jack Shepard of famous renown,
Of companions his stock is not made of a few
For his bottle has ever the bright morning dew.

One evening as passing along by his door.
I was hailed by a dozen good fellows or more
Who all seemed gay followers of Bacchas the God
So I had to pull up with a smile and a nod.

Now I too belonged to that confederation
Where kings, queens and quakers indulge in potation,
So the bottle passed round like the wine cup of yore
Till seedy beginners were stretched on the floor.

But there was a doctor whose name was brave Dan,
And to cure the poor wretches he stood like a man;
While two sides of a sheep on a long iron bar
Were cooked by the Navvey who never smelled tar.

Now the feast board is laid and around it we wheel,
Each man from his sheathe draws a bright blade of steel,
Without grace before meals or even uncovered plates
We cut from the long bar dispensing with plates.

As the feasting is over each man gives a toast,
And the first one has come from the bottle of our host,
Who says as he holds up the bottle to view,
May the sun never shine on this inspiring dew

The out spoke another who sat by my side,
Whose body was long and whose long legs were wide,
Now comrades your glasses fill up to the brim,
I’ve a toast to propose do not think it a whim,

My name as you all know is Edward or Ned,
But as you don’t know, I’ll tell you, I’m just going to wed,
Then here’s to that girl in whose bosom loves reigns,
She’s the pride of our town and flower of our plain,

We quaffed as we rose with a right ringing cheer,
Yet me thought there seemed something in Dan’s jealous leer,
Tho’ he drank to the toast wit a hearty good will,
From his eyes the green monster looked savage and still.

“Naw boys” said our host as the doctor he spied,
“This room as you all see is lengthwise and wide,
Come then, let us finish this high jubilee,
With the game that comes after an Irishman’s spree.”

The words were scarce ended when a bottle flew by,
Struck my hat and made blacker Ned’s rolling dark eye,
Away went the table, each man grasped his friend,
But I lay flat and low ‘ore I witnessed the end.

When next I looked round strange sights met my view,
Each face there was marked with the red white and blue,
There were shirts all in tatters, coats wore a new cut,
Whilst I a peace-maker had one shutter shut.

A Wandering TIp.

El Monitor de la Campaña, N° 43, August 3rd, 1873.