PART VIII HUMOR LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS I LATELY lived in quiet ease, Love is like a dizziness; To tell my feats this single week Wad mak a daft-like diary, O! I wear my stockings white an' blue, Ae morning, by the dawn o' day, I wrought that morning out an' out, Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget, The dear, the lovely blinkin o't Has pierced me through an' through the heart, An' plagues me wi' the prinkling o't. 267 I tried to sing, I tried to pray, I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o 't, Nae man can tell what pains I prove, Love is like a dizziness; It winna let a poor body Gang about his biziness! O! JAMES HOGG. GLUGGITY GLUG A JOLLY fat friar loved liquor good store, He mounted his horse in the night at the door, "Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to remorse, Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, Which went gluggity, gluggity - glug — glug — glug." The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, 'T was the friar's road home, straight and level; But, when spurred, a horse follows his nose, not his tail, So he scampered due north like a devil. "This new mode of docking," the friar then said, And 't is cheap, for he never can eat off his head, Which goes gluggity, gluggity - glug — glug — glug.” The steed made a stop — in a pond he had got, Quoth the friar, ""T is strange headless horses should trot, Turning round to see whence this phenomenon rose, Quoth he, "The head's found, for I'm under his nose Which goes gluggity, gluggity — glug - glug —glug." GEORGE COLMAN. RORY O'MORE YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn,- "With your tricks, I don't know, in troth, what I'm about; And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? 'Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " don't think of the like, "Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground." "Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so!" 66 Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you 've tazed me enough; Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste." Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light, 66 And he kissed her sweet lips,- don't you think he was right? SAMUEL LOVER. |