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(Believe me I tell you no fable,)
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;
How the snakes, in a manner most antic,
And trundled them into th' Atlantic.
The people of Ireland determine;
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!
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.
With uproarious jollity.
When you go c
courting a neat or a dainty lass, Don't you be sighing, or
- 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.
you rogue, you rapparee ! Arrah, have at her like Paddy O'Rafferty.
Oh you, &c.
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.
there. Says they,“ The whole Ma- bo ny fac-tion, We'll ba-nish 'em
out clear and clean ;” But it ne- ver was yet in their breeches, their
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,
3. There's broken-nosed Bat from the mountain- last week he burst out of the jail
, And Murty the beautifult Tory, who'd scorn in a row to turn tail; Bloody Bill will be there like a darling, and Jerry, och ! let him alone, For giving his blackthorn a flourish, or lifting a lump of a stone.
4. And Tim, who served in the militia, his bayonet has stuck on a pole; Foxy Dick has his scythe in good order, a reat sort of tool on the whole ; A cudgel, I see, is your weapon, and never I knew it to fail, 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, We'll quit in the utmost of splendour, and down to Peg Slattery's go; In gallons we'll wash down the battle, and drink to the next merry day, When must'ring again in a body, we all shall go leathering away.
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 voçe äga 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
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.
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,
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 church Tchorus-I think it is a prettier way.
# Beating the watch, is a pleasant and usual finale to a social party in this metropoMis. 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.