The Battle of Limerick

“The Limerick Battle” by William Makepeace Thackeray is a satirical poem that humorously recounts a chaotic event that takes place in Limerick, Ireland. Through playful language and exaggerated characters, Thackeray paints a vivid picture of a gathering turned into a tumultuous brawl.

The poem begins with a call to the “Genii of the nation” and “sons of General Jackson” to attend to the events unfolding on Shannon shore. It sets the stage for a comical narrative involving William, Duke of Schumbug, who is depicted as a tyrant and a humbug, leading a military assault on the city.

The poem celebrates the resilience and spirit of the Irish people in the face of adversity, highlighting their fortitude and valiance during the attack on Limerick. Despite the capitulation, Limerick emerges with a grand reputation, boasting its quays, bridges, and ships on the Shannon shore.

The central figure in the poem is William Smith O’Brine, a chief of ancient lineage, who represents Limerick for over a decade. His presence on the political scene invokes fear among the Saxons, symbolizing resistance to external oppression.

The narrative unfolds as O’Brine returns from a pilgrimage to Paris, where he is welcomed back to Limerick with a lavish reception on the Shannon shore. The gathering includes other notable figures such as Meagher of the sword and Mitchil of Belfast, who are invited to partake in the festivities.

However, the joyous occasion soon turns chaotic as Clarndon and Corry Connellan, depicted as antagonistic figures, hire a gang of ruffians to disrupt the gathering. The ruffians unleash havoc, throwing brickbats, rotten eggs, and cabbage stalks, causing mayhem and uproar among the attendees.

Despite attempts to maintain order, including the intervention of the Peelers (police), the situation escalates into a full-blown brawl. O’Brine, enraged by the chaos, attempts to confront his assailants but is ultimately struck on the nose.

The poem concludes with the intervention of the Futt and the Dthragoons (fictional military units), who quell the disturbance, bringing an end to the chaos on the Shannon shore.

In essence, “The Limerick Battle” satirizes political turmoil and social unrest, using humor and exaggerated characters to critique the absurdity of human behavior in times of conflict. Through its whimsical portrayal of events, the poem offers a lighthearted commentary on power dynamics and resilience in the face of adversity.

The Limerick Battle

Ye Genii of the nation,
    Who look with veneration.
  And Ireland’s desolation onsaysingly deplore;
    Ye sons of General Jackson,
    Who thrample on the Saxon,
  Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore,

    When William, Duke of Schumbug,
    A tyrant and a humbug,
  With cannon and with thunder on our city bore,
    Our fortitude and valiance
    Insthructed his battalions
  To respict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore.

    Since that capitulation,
    No city in this nation
  So grand a reputation could boast before,
    As Limerick prodigious,
    That stands with quays and bridges,
  And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore.

    A chief of ancient line,
    ‘Tis William Smith O’Brine
  Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more:
    O the Saxons can’t endure
    To see him on the flure,
  And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore!

    This valliant son of Mars
    Had been to visit Par’s,
  That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor;
    And to welcome his returrn
    From pilgrimages furren,
  We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore.

    Then we summoned to our board
    Young Meagher of the sword:
  ‘Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore;
    And Mitchil of Belfast
    We bade to our repast,
  To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore.

    Convaniently to hould
    These patriots so bould,
  We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan’s store;
    And with ornamints and banners
    (As becomes gintale good manners)
  We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore.

    ‘Twould binifit your sowls,
    To see the butthered rowls,
  The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore,
    And the muffins and the crumpets,
    And the band of hearts and thrumpets,
  To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore.

    Sure the Imperor of Bohay
    Would be proud to dthrink the tay
  That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O’Brine did pour;
    And, since the days of Strongbow,
    There never was such Congo—
  Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it—by Shannon shore.

    But Clarndon and Corry
    Connellan beheld this sworry
  With rage and imulation in their black hearts’ core;
    And they hired a gang of ruffins
    To interrupt the muffins,
  And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore.

    When full of tay and cake,
    O’Brine began to spake;
  But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar
    Of a ragamuffin rout
    Began to yell and shout,
  And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore.

    As Smith O’Brine harangued,
    They batthered and they banged:
  Tim Doolan’s doors and windies down they tore;
    They smashed the lovely windies
    (Hung with muslin from the Indies),
  Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore.

    With throwing of brickbats,
    Drowned puppies and dead rats,
  These ruffin democrats themselves did lower;
    Tin kettles, rotten eggs,
    Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs,
  They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore.

    O the girls began to scrame
    And upset the milk and crame;
  And the honourable gintlemin, they cursed and swore:
    And Mitchil of Belfast,
    ‘Twas he that looked aghast,
  When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore.

    O the lovely tay was spilt
    On that day of Ireland’s guilt;
  Says Jack Mitchil, “I am kilt!  Boys, where’s the back door?
    ‘Tis a national disgrace:
    Let me go and veil me face;”
  And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore.

    “Cut down the bloody horde!”
    Says Meagher of the sword,
  “This conduct would disgrace any blackamore;”
    But the best use Tommy made
    Of his famous battle blade
  Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore.

    Immortal Smith O’Brine
    Was raging like a line;
  ‘Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar;
    In his glory he arose,
    And he rushed upon his foes,
  But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore.

    Then the Futt and the Dthragoons
    In squadthrons and platoons,
  With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore;
    And they bate the rattatoo,
    But the Peelers came in view,
  And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore.

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863)

This Poem is In The Public Domain