Ode to an Herring.

Wee silvery fish, who nobly braves The dangers o’ the ocean waves, While monsters from the unknown caves Make thee their prey; Escaping which the human knaves On thee ligs way.

No doubt thou was at first designed To suit the palates o’ mankind; Yet as I ponder now I find, Thy fame is gone: With dainty dish thou’rt behind With every one.

I’ve seen the time thy silvery sheen Were welcome both at morn and e’en, Or any hour that’s in between, Thy name wer good; But now by some considered mean For human food.

When peace and plenty’s smiling brow, And trade and commerce speeds the plough; Thy friends that were not long ago, Such game they make; Thy epitaph is soldier now, Or two-eyed snake.

When times are hard we’re scant o’ cash, And famine hungry bellies lash, And tripes and trollabobble’s trash Begins to fail, Asteead o’ soups an’ oxtail ash, Hail! herring, hail!

Full mony a time t’as made me groan, To see thee stretched, despised, alone; While turned-up noses passed have gone, O’ purse-proud men! No friends, alas! save some poor one Fra t’ paddin can.

Whoe’er despise thee, let them know The time may come when they may go To some fish wife, and beg to know If they can buy The friendship o’ their vanquished foe, We weeping eye.

To me nought could be better fun, Than see a duke or noble don, Or lord, or peer, or gentleman, In search o’ thee: And they were bidden to move on, Or go t’at sea.

Yet I will sing thy praise, wee fish; To me thou art a dainty dish; For thee, ’tis true, we often wish, My little bloater; Either salted, cured, or shining fresh Fra yon great water.

If through thy pedigree we peep, Philosophy from thee can keep, To me I need not study deep, There’s nothing foreign; For aw like thee, am sold too cheap, My little herring.