5. The pewter he lifted in sport, And they all took a hawl at the stingo, The pot still frothed over the brim. 6. Next day, quoth his host, ""Tis a fast, And the leg most politely complied. 7. 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; With mighty good reason, I think, Since St Patrick has fill'd it with vermin, O! he was an elegant blade, As you'd meet from Fair Head to Kilcrumper, And though under the sod he is laid, Yet here goes his health in a bumper! I wish he was here, that my glass He might by art magic replenish; But as he is not, why, alas! My ditty must come to a finish Because all the liquor is out! SONG II. LAMENT OF A CONNAUGHT RANGER. Air.-Lamentation over Sir Dan. With the melancholy expression of days gone by.. 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. 1. I WISH to St Patrick we had a new war, I'd not care who 'twas with, no, nor what it was for: 2. My heart is half broke when I think of the fun 3. When he, who, God rest him! was never afraid, 4. When abroad and at home we had sport and content- 5. Now the landlord is bother'd, and tenant bereft- And the Duke is no more than a Government Lord! 6. And our active light-bobs, and our bold grenadiers, At no more than a proctor, we're thrown into trap. 7. So bad luck to the minute that brought us the peace, Och! no matter with whom, no, nor what it was for! With uproarious jollity. SONG III. 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. 比 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! 2. Tip her the wink, and take hold of the fist of her ; You're a devil of a fellow, Paddy O'Rafferty. 3. Give her another, or rather a score of 'em, 4. Pitch to the devil sighings and "well-a-days," When in your arms you fairly have got her, sir, 5. Oh the dear creatures-sure I am kill'd with 'em! Oh you, &c. No. IV. THE GATHERING OF THE MAHONYS. Tune.-Groves of the Pool. With indignant energy. 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 * No allusion here to C. N. Esq. out clear and clean;" But it never 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, Says they, "The whole Mahony faction we'll banish 'em out clear and clean." 2. There's Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke, 3. There's broken-nosed Bat from the mountain-last week he burst out of the jail, 4. And Tim, who served in the militia, his bayonet has stuck on a pole; But I think that a man is more handy, who fights as I do with a flail. 5. . We muster a hundred shillelahs, all handled by elegant men, Who batter'd the Donovans often, and now will go do it again; To-day we will teach them some manners, and shew that, in spite of their talk, We still, like our fathers before us, are surely the cocks of the walk. 6. After cutting out work for the sexton, by smashing a dozen or so, SONG V. A real Irish " Fly not yet." [Tune,-Lillibullero. Time, four o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts. SOLO. HARK! hark! from be-low, The ras-cal-ly row Of watchmen in cho-rus De voce aga 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. stay till we've emptied one bot-tle more. Bumpers, bumpers, flow-ing bumpers, Bumper your glasses high up to the brim, And he who is talking a word about walking, Out of the window at once with him. Of whisky, viz. about thirteen tumblers. Bumpers, &c. +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. 4 I |