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The pewter he lifted in sport,
(Believe me I tell you po fable,) A gallon he drank from the quart,
And then planted it full on the table.
And they all took a hawl at the stingo,
But I've nought in my larder but mutton,
Except an unchristian-like glutton.”
What you tell me is nothing but gammon;
And the leg most politely complied.
You've heard, I suppose, long ago,
How the snakes, in a manner most antic,
And trundled them into th' Atlantic.
The people of Ireland determine ;
And vipers, and other such stuff.
As you'd meet from Fair Head to Kilcrumper,
Yet here goes his health in a bumper!
He might by art magic replenish;
Because all the liquor is out!
Air.--Lamentation over Sir Dan.
I wish to St Patrick we had a new war, I'd not care who 'twas
with, nor what it was for; With the French, or the Yankees, or,
better again, With the yellow mulattoes of Lisbon or Spain.
My heart is half broke when I think of the fun
And our active light-bobs, and our bold grenadiers,
So bad luck to the minute that brought us the peace,
With uproarious jollity.
When you go courting a neat or a dainty lass, Don't you be sighing, er
rea-dy to faint, a-las! Little she'd care for such pluckless philandering,
Sir T. Picton, who commanded the 4th division in the Peninsular War. It was chiefly composed of Irishmen, and was called the “ fighting division,” from its constant activity in engaging. The Connaught Rangers, (the 88th,) was one regiment of this most dashing brigade; and many a saying of Sir T's. is treasured up by them, for he was a great favourite from his gallant habits.
+ A common phrase among the Irish soldiery for charging with the bayonet.
And to Old Nick she would send you a-wandering. But, you thief, you
rogue, you rapperee, Arrah, have at her like Paddy O'Raf-fer-ty.
When you go courting a neat or a dainty lass,
But you thief, you rogue, you rapparee !
Tip her the wink, and take hold of the fist of her;
Oh you thief, you rogue, you rapparee,
Oh you, &e.
Pitch to the devil sighings and “well-a-days,"
Oh you, &c.
Oh the dear creatures-sure I am kill'd with 'em!.
Oh you, &c.
Tune.-Groves of the Pool.
JERRY Mahony, arrah, my jewels Come let us be off to the
fair, For the Donovans, all in their glory, Most certainly mean to be
* No allusion here to C. N. Esq.
out clear and clean;” But it ne- ver was yet in their breeches, their
bull - a - boo words to maintain.
1. JERRY MAHONY,* arrah, my jewel, come, let us be off to the fair, For the Donovans all in their glory most certainly mean to be there; Says they, “ The whole Mahony faction we'll banish 'em out clear and clean." But it never was yet in their breeches, their bullaboo words to maintain.
There's Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke,
And Tim, who served in the militia, his bayonet has stuck on a pole ;
· We muster a hundred shillelahs, all handled by elegant men,
A real Irish “ Fly not yet.” [Tune, -Lillibullero. Time, four o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts.]
Hark! hark ! from be-low, The ras-cal - ly row Of watchmen in cho-rus
• De voce âge Videndi Valck. ad Eurip. Hipp. p. 306. Herm. ad Vig. p. 708. Heind. ad Plat. Crat. p. 19. Græcique Grammatici passim. C.I.B.
+ Tory, in Ireland, is a kind of pet name.“ Oh! you Tory," is the same as, “Oh! you rogue,” used sportively. If a man wishes to call another a rogue seriously, he calls him, Whig-the terms being convertible.
bawl - ing four ! But, spite of their noise, my rol - lock-ing boys, We'll
word about walking, Out of the windəw at once with him.
The rascally row
But spite of their noise,
My rollocking boys!
And he who is talking
A word about walking,
As ever yet stood,
It came from a still,
Snug under a hill,
Away from the sun-
We drank to his rest
Last night in the west,
And here we shall stop,
Until every drop,
And then, sallying out,
We'll leather the rout,
• Of whisky, viz. about thirteen tumblers.
+ We pronounce the word generally in Ireland as we sound the ch in churchTchorus-I think it is a prettier way.
#Beating the watch, is a pleasant and usual finale to a social party in this metropolis. I am compelled myself now and then to castigate them, merely for the impertinent clamour they make at night about the hours. Our ancestors must have been in the depths of barbarity, when they established this ungentlemanlike custom. Vol. X.