Dick And Edward.

        The Thurso baker Robert Dick[E]
        Armed with his hammer and his pick,
        Dame nature's secrets did reveal,
        Which she for ages did conceal.

        In Banff has genius found regard
        In the person of an Edward,[F]
        Who now does rank among the first
        In the world as naturalist.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Niagara's Charms And Death Of Webb.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Eagle And Salmon.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Whittier.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Welcome To The Prince Of Wales.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Dick * * * *, A Character.

Of various scraps and fragments built,
    Borrowed alike from fools and wits,
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt,
    Made up of new, old, motley bits--
Where, if the Co. called in their shares,
    If petticoats their quota got
And gowns were all refunded theirs,
    The quilt would look but shy, God wot.

And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking,
    Reversed ventriloquism's trick,
For, 'stead of Dick thro' others speaking,
    'Twas others we heard speak thro' Dick.
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding,
    Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats;
One day with Malthus, foe to breeding,
    The next with Sadler, all for brats.

Poor Dick!--and how else could it be?
    With notions all at random caught,
A sort of mental fricassee,

Thomas Moore

Tom And Dick[1]

Tim[2] and Dick had equal fame,
    And both had equal knowledge;
Tom could write and spell his name,
    But Dick had seen the college.

Dick a coxcomb, Tom was mad,
    And both alike diverting;
Tom was held the merrier lad,
    But Dick the best at farting.

Dick would cock his nose in scorn,
    But Tom was kind and loving;
Tom a footboy bred and born,
    But Dick was from an oven.[3]

Dick could neatly dance a jig,
    But Tom was best at borees;
Tom would pray for every Whig,
    And Dick curse all the Tories.

Dick would make a woful noise,
    And scold at an election;
Tom huzza'd the blackguard boys,
    And held them in subjection.

Tom could move with lordly grace,
    Dick nimbly skipt the gutter;<...

Jonathan Swift

Dick's Variety

Dull uniformity in fools
I hate, who gape and sneer by rules;
You, Mullinix, and slobbering C -    -
Who every day and hour the same are
That vulgar talent I despise
Of pissing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I listen to the noise
Of idiots roaring to the boys;
To better judgment still submitting,
I own I see but little wit in:
Such pastimes, when our taste is nice,
Can please at most but once or twice.
    But then consider Dick, you'll find
His genius of superior kind;
He never muddles in the dirt,
Nor scours the streets without a shirt;
Though Dick, I dare presume to say,
Could do such feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture everywhere,
Let the boys pelt him if they dare,
He'd have them tried at the assizes
For priests and jesuit...

Jonathan Swift

The Fudge Family In Paris Letter III. From Mr. Bob Fudge To Richard ----, Esq.

Oh Dick! you may talk of your writing and reading,
Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like feeding;
And this is the place for it, DICKY, you dog,
Of all places on earth--the headquarters of Prog!
Talk of England--her famed Magna Charta, I swear, is
A humbug, a flam, to the Carte^[1] at old VÉRY'S;
And as for your Juries--who would not set o'er 'em
A Jury of Tasters, with woodcocks before 'em?
Give CARTWRIGHT his Parliaments, fresh every year;
But those friends of short Commons would never do here;
And, let ROMILLY speak as he will on the question.
No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion!

By the by, DICK, I fatten--but n'importe for that,
'Tis the mode--your Legitimates always get fat.
There's the REG...

Thomas Moore

Dick, A Maggot

As when, from rooting in a bin,
All powder'd o'er from tail to chin,
A lively maggot sallies out,
You know him by his hazel snout:
So when the grandson of his grandsire
Forth issues wriggling, Dick Drawcansir,
With powder'd rump and back and side,
You cannot blanch his tawny hide;
For 'tis beyond the power of meal
The gipsy visage to conceal;
For as he shakes his wainscot chops,
Down every mealy atom drops,
And leaves the tartar phiz in show,
Like a fresh t - d just dropp'd on snow.

Jonathan Swift

The Shires On The Moray Frith.

        Worthy of either song or story
        Are the shires round frith of Moray,
        Here lies the valley of Strathspey,
        Famed for its music, lively, gay,
        Elgin cathedral's 'prentice aisle
        Is glory of that ruined pile.
        What modern chisel now could trace
        Fine sculpture of that ancient place,
        And Forres famed for Sweno's stane
        In honor of that kingly Dane,
        'Graved with warriors runes and rhymes,
        Long prior to historic times,
        For a thousand years its been forgot
        Who was victor Dane or Scot,
        It is the country of McBeth
        Where good King Duncan met his death,
        And barren heath that place of fear
        Stood witches cauldron of Shakespeare,

James McIntyre