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 lig 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: Wee dainty dish thou art behind With every one.

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

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

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

Full monny a time it's 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, Wi' weeping eye.

To me naught 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 to t'sea.

Yet we'll sing thy praise, wee fish; To me thou art a dainty dish; For thee, 'tis true, I 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, An' I need not study deep, There's nothing foreign; For I, like thee, am sold too cheap, My little herring.

[Picture: Decorative pattern]