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The jolly boy, the darling boy!
The ladies' toy, the widow's joy!
Long sword girted,-neat, short skirted,
Head cropp'd, whisker-chopp'd,
Captain Carey!

O, sweet Paddy!
Beautiful Paddy!

White-feather'd, boot-leather'd, Paddy Carey!

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THERE'S an isle, clasp'd by waves, in an emerald zone, That peers forth from ocean so pearl-like and fair, As if nature meant it the water-king's throne;

A youth, whom I name not, remembers me there. The breeze now in murmurs, a plaint brings from far, From my own native isle, and my lover's guitar. Oh! cheer thee, fond mourner, let hope's whisper soften The wild pang of absence and doubts too unkind; The maid thou upbraidest, for thee sighs as often,

And speeds gentle wishes by every wind.

Then winds blow ye homeward, waves waft me afar, To my own native isle, and my lover's guitar.

PADDY O'LEARY AND MISS JUDY M'SNIFTER. ADOWN a dark alley I courted a maid,

Miss Judy M'Snifter, who wash'd for a trade,

Och Cupid led me a figary;

Her toes they turned in, and her back it grew out, And her eyes look'd so melting across her snout, They bother'd poor Paddy O'Leary,

Mr. Leary, Paddy Leary, Och fillilililoo, fol de rol de rol.

Miss Judy M'Snifter was bandy, 'tis true,

Her mouth very wide, and her nose rather blue,

She put me in such a quandary;

Says she, I could love you the whole of my life, But they say that in Ireland you've left your old wife,' 'Don't believe it,' said Paddy O'Leary.

Mr. Leary, &c.

So a bargain we made soon at church to say grace,
Which I seal'd with a kiss on her sweet yellow face,
But I soon did repent my figary;

When we had been married a year and a day,
With a dirty coal-heaver my wife ran away,
'Devil speed you,' said Paddy O'Leary.

Mr. Leary, &c.

Crim. Con. we all know, is the rage in this town,
So for damages I thought to make him come down:
But the law it was devlish contrary;

For all that they gave-when much blarney 'd been

said,

For planting a pair of big horns on my head,
Was five shillings to Paddy O'Leary.

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THE HUMOURS OF AN IRISH FAIR.

Ir's the drop of good whiskey

That makes my heart friskey,

Arrah! down goes the cratur, with a tear in my eye, Shellelagh we'll battle,

On foes' heads we'll rattle,

Ding dong at each nodale-for mercy they cry;
Now down they are falling,

On hands and knees crawling,

My Judy cries Bravo! good luck to you Pat!
Och! faith you're the dandy,

You nick'd 'em so handy,

You tipp'd Jerry Casey, and down he went flat.'

Spoken.] Yes, by my soul, down he went, sure enough, and when he was down I gave him the devil's own to bring him up again, saying,

Horo buglamy, ditheramy corragi,

Horo buglamy, row de row row.

Now the foe is all scatter'd,
With heads and limbs batter'd,
Whack goes shellelagh, with joyful huzza;
My rival, big Jerry,
In a devil of a hurry,

Frowns on my Judy and then runs away;
Och! the joy that this gave me,
Faith, never will leave me,

I kiss'd my sweet cratur, and squeez'd her soft fist;
I'll be my own speaker,

And my own I will make her,

And be true to my Judy, as the sun to the east

Spoken.] Aye, by the powers! and if any one insults my darling, I'll take my blackthorn in my fist, Judy shall put a stone in her stocking, and we'll go thro❜ the fair singing,

Next homeward retiring,

Each sweetheart admiring,

Horo buglamy, &c.

And binding the wounds of each favorite swain;
Recounting the actions

Between the two factions,

And swearing to fight if we meet them again:
Next morning, what pity,

With mournful ditty,

I weep over Jerry, for breaking his sconce;
We embrace one another

Like brother and brother,

The piper's play up and we join in the dance

Spoken.] Yes, and we're always better friends after beating one another, than ever we were before;

and, whilst the piper plays, we drown animosity in the

real stuff, and sing,

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SHANNON'S FLOWERY BANKS.

In summer when the leaves were green, and blossoms deck'd each tree,

Young Teddy then declar'd his love, his artless love

to me;

On Shannon's flow'ry banks we sat, and there he told his tale,

O, Patty, softest of thy sex! O, let fond love prevail! Ah, well-a-day, you see me pine in sorrow and despair, Yet heed me not, then let me die, and end my grief and care.

Ah, no dear youth, I softly said, such love demands my thanks,

And here I vow eternal truth-on Shannon's flow'ry

banks.

And here we vow'd eternal truth on Shannon's flow'ry

banks,

And then we gather'd sweetest flow'rs, and play'd such artless pranks;

But, woe is me! the press-gang came, and forc'd my Ted away

Just when we nam'd next morning fair to be our wed

ding-day.

6

'My love," he cried, they force me hence, but still my heart is thine;

All peace be yours, my gentle Pat, while war and toil

be mine:

With riches, I'll return to thee.' I sobb'd out words

of thanks

And then he vow'd eternal truth on Shannon's flow'ry

banks.

And then we vow'd eternal truth on Shannon's dow'ry

banks,

And then I saw him sail away and join the hostile

ranks;

From morn to eve for twelve dull months, his absence sad I mourn'd,

The peace was made the ship came back—but Teddy ne'er return'd!

His beauteous face, his manly form, has won a nobler fair

My Teddy's false, and I, forlorn, must die in sad despair,

Ye gentle maidens, see me laid, while you stand round in ranks,

And plant a willow o'er my head on Shannon's flow'ry banks.

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WHEN a man that's in service is out of employ,
He's confin'd to be roving all day;

What he wants he may whistle for: I wish him joy
Of the meals-that wo'nt come in his

way

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Spoken.] O, for a nice pitchfork eel and a cold slice of melted butter to it; or a turban and lobster sauce; or the lovely beefsteak lining that makes the under crust of pigeon pye! O, don't mention it! There's a time for all things,' they say, but I know no more about dinner-time than a cat does of churning salt-butter.'No Song no Supper,' is another old saw, but though I sing all day, sorrow the taste of supper I get morning, noon or night.

Which makes me now lament and say,

(Imitation of the original singer.) 'May we ne'er want a friend, or a bottle to give him.'

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