III. Great love I bear to a' the fair, A mortal sin to thraw that. IV. For a' that, &c. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, But for how lang the flie may stang, For a' that, &c. V. Their tricks and craft have put me daft, For a' that, and a' that, And twice as muckle's a' that; So sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, To quench their lowan drouth. Then owre again the jovial thrang To low'se his pack, an' wale a sang, He, rising, rejoicing, Between his twa Deborahs, Looks round him, an' found them AIR. TUNE- Jolly mortals, fill your glasses.' I. SEE the smoking bowl before us! CHORUS. A fig for those by law protected! What is title? what is treasure? If we lead a life of pleasure, III. A fig, &c. A fig, &c. With the ready trick and fable, IV. Does the train attended carriage Does the sober bed of marriage V. Life is all a variorum, We regard not how it goes; A fig, &c. Let them cant about decorum, VI. A fig, &c. Here's to budgets, bags and wallets A fig for those by law protected, SMILE AGAIN, MY BONNIE LASSIE. SMILE again, my bonnie lassie, Prithee do not frown, sweet lassie, If to love thee too sincerely Be a fault in me, Thus to use me so severely Is not kind in thee. Smile again, &c. Fare thee well, my bonnie lassie, Lassie, fare thee well, Time will show thee, bonnie lassie, More than tongue can tell. (And 'tis hard to part,) Still, believe me, thou shalt ever Own thy faithful heart. Then smile again, &c. IRISH SONGS. WHACK FOR O'SHAUGHNASHANE. PARODY ON "Hail to the Chief." HAIL to our chief now he's wet through with whiskey! Long life to the lady come from the salt seas! For what is so gay as a bag full of fleas! Long may your root every Irishman know! Long bid good luck to it; Whack for O'Shaughnashane!-tooley whagg ho! Ours is an esculent, lusty and lasting, No turnip, or other weak babe of the ground; Half Erin's inhabitants all the year round. Hogs, cows, or horses' dung, Still does the crest of O'Shaughnashane grow; Till the bogs quake again! Whack for O'Shaughnashane!—tooley whagg ho! Wash down the root from the horns that o'erflow; Whack for O'Shaughnashane!-tooley whagg ho! ASSIST me, ye lads, who have hearts void of guile, And friendship detains us for one bottle more: Old England your taunts on our country forbear; We have generous hearts to give that bottle more. That bottle more, &c. At Candy's, in Church-street, I'll sing of a set Our bill being paid, we were loth to depart, For friendship had grappled each man by the heart, Where the least touch, you know, makes an Irishman roar, And the whack from shilelah brought six bottles more. Slow Phoebus had shone through our window so bright, |