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To the custom-house in the next town,
'Twas yet some three furlongs or more,
When says Michael, Pray set your load down,
For this here, sir, is my cottage door.
T'other answer'd, I thank you friend, no;
My burden, just yet, I shan't quit.
Then, says Michael, before you do o,
I'll get you to read my permit.

Your permit! Why not show it before?
Because it came into my nob,
By your watching so long on the shore,
That your worship was wanting a job;
Now, I'd need of a porter, d'ye see,
For the load made my bones almost crack;
And so, sir, I thank you for me,
And wish you a pleasant walk back.

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GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me:
When the praise thou meetest,
To thine ear is sweetest,
Oh! then remember me:
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;