THE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED.1 The night before Larry was stretched, When a boy was condemned to the squeezer, To help a poor friend to a sneezer, The boys they came crowding in fast, They drew all their stools round about him, To get a fat bit for themselves." "I'm sorry, dear Larry," says I, I'd as lieve it had been my own station." "For the neckcloth I'll be forced to put on "And I'll be cut up like a pie, And my nob from my body be parted." Is all that Jack Ketch dares to give you; Then mind not such trifles a feck, For why should the likes of them grieve you? And now, boys, come tip us the deck." The cards being called for, they played, Till Larry found one of them cheated; 1The authorship of this extraordinary piece of poetic ribaldry has been much discussed, but has never been discovered. It is written in Dublin slang of the end of the eighteenth century. A dart at his napper he made I'll scuttle your nob with my daddle! And leave you your claret to drink." Then the clergy came in with his book, "Oh, the hemp will be soon round my throttle And choke my poor windpipe to death. "Though sure it's the best way to die, Your journey is shorter to Heaven: And makes his poor soul melancholy, So moving these last words he spoke, Nor changed till he come to "King William "— When he came to the nubbling chit, He was tucked up so neat and so pretty, And at darky we waked him in clover, And sent him to take a ground sweat. ON THE COLLEEN BAWN.1 In the gold vale of Limerick, The cheeks that make the red rose pale, Although she seldom speaks to me, Her hands are whiter than the snow And softer than the creamy foam, To leave old Ireland far behind But that I've seen a low suitor Which keeps me near to guard my dear, My darling Colleen Bawn. Her beauty very far excels All other females fine; She is far brighter than the sun That does upon us shine; Each night she does disturb my rest, I cannot sleep till dawn, 1 This is from a bunch of Dublin street ballads of the nineteenth century, but its date of composition is of course uncertain. Still wishing her to be my bride, The women of Limerick take the sway PROTESTANT BOYS. AN ORANGE SONG. Tell me, my friends, why are we met here? O no! 't is the cause Of King-Freedom-and Laws, Ever faithful and true, Our King shall support, and Sedition affright. Great spirit of William! from Heaven look down, From Papist or Frenchman ne'er to retire. Who dare to assail our Sovereign's throne? Will be faithful and true, And Protestant loyalty ever be shown. In that loyalty proud let us ever remain, Bound together in Truth and Religion's pure band; Nor Honor's fair cause with foul Bigotry stain, Since in Courage and Justice supported we stand. So Heaven shall smile On our emerald isle, And lead us to conquest again and again; Our brotherly love: We hate them as masters-we love them as men. By the deeds of their fathers to glory inspired, The soul-stirring music of glory they 'll sing; In the chorus will join, And the welkin re-echo with "God save the King." THE RAKES OF MALLOW. Beauing, belling, dancing, drinking, Live the rakes of Mallow. Spending faster than it comes, Live the rakes of Mallow. One time nought but claret drinking, To raise the sinking funds when sinking, Live the rakes of Mallow. When at home with dadda dying, Still for Mallow water crying; But where there's good claret plying, Live the rakes of Mallow. Living short but merry lives; Having sweethearts, but no wives, Live the rakes of Mallow. 1 Sinking, cursing extravagantly-i.e. damning you to hell and sinking you lower. |