Volume 1 — HERRINGS
Reading edition
Be not sparing, Leave off swearing. Buy my herring Fresh from Malahide,[1] Better never was tried. Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard, Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard. Come, sixpence a-dozen, to get me some bread, Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead. [Footnote 1: Malahide, a village five miles from Dublin, famous for oysters.—F.]