The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/Ye Ballade of Patrick von Flynn
Ye Ballade of Patrick von Flynn.
Or, The Hibernio-German-American England-Hater.
By Lewis Theobald, Jun.
"Germanis ipsis Germantores"
Attind ye all me wonthrous tale, an' Oi will tell to you,
Of how an honest Oirishman into a Proosian grow.
'Twas nigh on twinty year' ago Oi lift me native bog
To seek in these majestic States a place to earn me grog.
Sure, wurrk was aisy found fur me, for Oi'm a clever man;
Oi earnt so much Oi soon cud buy me whiskey by the can.
Wid half a dozen other Micks, a merry, dhrinkin' crew,
Oi used to hang around shebeens an' currse Ould England blue!
Jist why Oi hate the Englishmen, Oi don't remimber quoite,
But Jimmy Dugan's grand-dad says they've ne'er used Oireland reight.
Sure all they iver done for us was civilise our land,
An' we've no use fer sober laws, but all for fraydom shtand!
How glad will be the fateful day whin England last draws breath,
An’ good Ould Oireland shall be free--to dhrink hersilf ter death!
Now comes the cruel, cruel, warr, wid German's runnin' loose.
Sure, here's the toiem to make a shtir, an' give some more abuse!
Us Oirish have no love fer Dutch, but side wid Germany
Because she hates Ould England most as fiendishly as we!
We know der Kaiser'd treat us wurrse thin England iver done,
But sure, if we used England roight we'd lose our sweetest fun!
There's somethin' in the Oirish hearrt thot niver bows to rules;
At jooty's call we tache our sons sedition in the schools.
Last night the Germans hereabouts all gather'd in a hall.
Wid German flags above the stage, an' Kaisers on the wall.
Oi don't know what they wanted, but so far as Oi cud see,
They mere hoched der Kaiser and enjoin'd "noothrality."
They all denounc'd the Prisident an' currs'd the Yankee laws
Fer bein' too un-noothral loike to hilp the German cause.
Thin they shtarted afther England, an' me hearrt bate quick wid proide
As about "foul British perfidy" they babbled an' they lied.
Oi thought we Oirish cud invint the rankest Billingsgate,
But wonthrous arre the fishy yarrns thim Dutchmen kin relate!
Me frinds what had come wid me was so mov'd wid martial ire,
They cluster'd round the rusty shtove to argue an' perspire.
Oi grew so pathriotic thot I tuk me hat in hand
An' shouted "Hoch der Kaiser, und das dear ould Vaterland!"
Bedad, we 'll lick thim Britishers within a fortnight sharrp,
An' jine on one thriumphant flag the aigle an' the harrp!
Thin all began to fraternise; McNulty and von Bohn--
O'Donovan and Munsterberg, von Bulow an' Malone.
In Baccic bonds our pact we seal'd; in harmony serayne
We sang at once "Die Wacht am Rhein" an' "Wearin' av the Grane."
Old von der Goltz pick'd up a broghe; in Dutch young Dooley sang;
Mid Prussian an' Hibernian shtrains the ancient rafthers rang!
Now all at once a magic seem'd to creep into me bones--
Me whiskey-mellow'd Oirish voice burst forth in Prussian tones!
Oi felt a sthrange sinsation, and in fancy seem'd to see
Instad of dear ould Shannon's banks, the gently rippling Spree--
No, not the Spree ye think Oi mane, but that which softly flows
Through glorious Deutschland's grassy leas, where warr an' kultur grows.
Ochone! Ochone! Where am Oi now? What conflict am Oi in?
Do Oi belong in Dublin town or back in Ould Berlin?
A week ago me son was borrn; his christ'nin's not far off;
Oi wonther will I call him Mike, or Friedrich Wilhelm Hoff?
'Tis hard indade for one loike me to know jist whore he's at;
Oi wonther if me name is Hans or if it shtill is Pat?
But lot me bore ye all no more; the proper course is clear.
Oi'll slanther England all Oi dare, an' rayson niver hear.
A loyal, "noothral" Oi shal be in all me wurrds an' worrk.
An' niver shpake excipt to praise the Dutchman an' the Turrk'