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Fixed and wild were his looks, and his nose cold and And his countenance wore a cold church-yard like hue.
Derry down, &c. The good father bid Pat to confess all his crimes, To think of his sins, and forget them betimes; Or else, 'twould be his fate like other vile souls, To be fayed, and be salted, then roasted on coals!
Derry down, &c. Oh, think, my dear Pat, on that beautiful place, Where you'll visit St. Patrick, and see his sweet face; "Tis a country, my jewel, so charming and sweet, Where you'll never want praties, nor brogues to your feet.
Derry down, &c. Well, well, then, says Pat, with inquisitive face, That country must, sure, be a beautiful place; St. Patrick, no doubt, he will give us good cheer, But, d'ye think, has he got any ould whiskey there?
Derry down, &c. The good father, with wonder, amaze, and surprise, Clapp'd his hands, and next turned up the whites of his
eyes; « Oh, vile sinner,” says he, “ can you hope to be for
given, If you think there's carousing and drinking in heaven.”
Derry down, &c. 6. Well, well, then,” says Pat, “ though I cannot help
thinking, If in heaven they can do without eating and drinking,
Though I don't mane to say what you tell is a fablo,) "Twould be dacent, you know, just to see a drop on the table.”
Derry down, &c
BEN Backstay was our boatswain, a very merry boy, For no one half so merrily could pipe all hands a-hoy! And when it chanced his summons we didn't well at
tend, No lad than he more merrily could handle a rope's end. With his chip-chow, cherry-chow, fol lol de
riddee row, fol lol de ra.
Whilst sailing once, our captain, who was a jolly dog, One day he gave to every mess a double share of grog; Ben Backstay he got tipsy, all to his heart's content, And, being half-seas over, vy overboard he vent.
With his chip-chow, &c.
A shark was on the starboard,-sharks don't for man
ners stand, But grapple all they come near, just like your sharks on
land; We threw out Ben some tackling, of saving him some
hopes, But the shark had bit his head off, so he couldn't see the ropes—
Nor sing out chip-chow, &c. Without a head, his ghost appeared all on the bring He piped all hands a-hoy! and cried, lads, warning by
me take, By drinking grog I lost my life; so, lest my fate you
meet, Dy, never mix your liquor, lads, but always take it
And sing chip-chow, &c.
THE GAMBLER'S LEGACY.
WHEN in death I shall quiet be found,
Pray bear my clothes to some pawnbroker near, Tell him to lend you a couple of pound,
And mind he don't charge for the ticket too dear. Bid him not search too close for gam boge
In the breeches, nor nicely examine the coat, But tell him that he may send if he choose,
All he can spare 'bove a two-pound note. Then with the money pray buy me a coffin,
And bury me safe 'neath a table of chance; Haply e’en there my memory may soften
The pangs of ill-luck and the want of finance. But should some cruel and opulent Greek
Revile at my state as he stamps o'er my grave, Oh! let some thought of its master bespeak,
Your favor for him who was gambling's slave. Take, then, these cards, which now are neglected,
And bury them with me when I'm at rest; Never! oh never! in cheating detected, Though seldom by hands that were pure were they
prest. But should some fortunate gambling rover
Come here to seek them in frolic and fun, Oh, then around my genius shall hove
And teach him to spend the cash he has won.
HEY FOR THE SAWYER.
Jack Carter he took to the saw;
Tim Gordon, he took to the law.
They angled so pliant for gull and for client,
As sharp as a weazle for rats; Till what with their saw-dust, and what with their law
dust, They blinded the eves of the flats. Then hey for the sawyer, and hey for the lawyer,
Make hay, for it's going to rain!
And at 'em again and again.
They swore that they wouldn't be bit;
Tim tickled 'em up with a writ.
We both of us buy in the stocks;
Then hey, &c.
Got drunk at the George, for a freak,
And eat himself dead in a week;
A loud clap of thunder had flown,
Then hey, &c.
THE MISERIES OF MATRIMONY.
Heigho, said Dicky!
With his wooing, suing,
Buns and blue ruin,
Quoth Dicky, “ great is the fervour I feel!"
Heigho, said Dicky? And if I could manage her heart to steal, And make her my rib, 't would be for my own weal,
With my whining, pining,
Purse with the shine in,
Heigho, sighed Dicky?
With their wooing, suing,
Billing and cooing,
Heigho, sighed Dicky!
With her bump him, bruise him,
Thump, and ill use him,
Heigho, sighed Dicky!
With her mill him, drill him,
Wallop and kill him, 0, dear, sighed poor little Dicky Dicky took it all as still as a lamb,
Heigho, sighed Dicky! For, in truth, you must own, that she was his dam, For oft by her darbies he got a rare ram,
With haul him, hit him,
Maul him, and split him,