O, was I but so fortunate As to be back in Munster, 'Tis I'd be bound that from that ground With pigs galore, ma gra, ma 'store, And cabbages-and ladies! So, success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever; O, he gave the snakes and toads a twist And bothered them forever! Henry Bennett [1785- ? ] MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY O WILL ye choose to hear the news? Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er: I'll tell you all about the Ball To the Naypaulase Ambassador. These men of sinse dispoised expinse, "We'll show the blacks," says they, "Almack's, With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, They hung the rooms of Willis up, And Jullien's band it tuck its stand So sweetly in the middle there, And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes, And when the Coort was tired of spoort, Where lashins of good dhrink there was! At ten before the ball-room door, He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd, The noble Chair stud at the stair, And bade the dthrums to thump; and he O fair the girls, and rich the curls, And bright the oys, you saw there, was; This Gineral great then tuck his sate, The squeezin and the pushin was. O Pat, such girls, such Jukes and Earls, Such fashion and nobilitee! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the hoigh gentility! There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese Ministher and his lady there, And I reckonized, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there; There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like Juno, And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all, I wondther how he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me passed, Yes, Jukes and Earls, and diamonds and pearls, And I'd like to hear the pipers blow, And shake a fut with Fanny there! William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] BACHELOR'S HALL BACHELOR'S HALL! what a quare-lookin' place it is! Say the old bachelor, gloomy an' sad enough, Soon it tips over-Saint Patrick! he's mad enough, Now, like a pig in a mortar-bed wallowin', He looks for the platter-Grimalkin is scourin' it! When his male's over, the table's left sittin' so; Pots, dishes, pans, an' such grasy commodities, Late in the night, when he goes to bed shiverin', He crapes like a terrapin under the kiverin';- THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE 'Twas on a windy night, At two o'clock in the morning, An Irish lad so tight, All wind and weather scorning, At Judy Callaghan's door, Sitting upon the palings, His love-tale he did pour, And this was part of his wailings: Oh! list to what I say, Charms you've got like Venus; Own your love you may, There's but the wall between us.. You lie fast asleep Snug in bed and snoring; Round the house I creep, Your hard heart imploring. I've got a pig and a sow, I've got a sty to sleep 'em A calf and a brindled cow, And a cabin too, to keep 'em; Sunday hat and coat, An old gray mare to ride on, Saddle and bridle to boot, Which you may ride astride on. I've got an acre of ground, I've got it set with praties; I've got of 'baccy a pound, I've got some tea for the ladies; I've got the ring to wed, Some whiskey to make us gaily; I've got a feather bed And a handsome new shillelagh. You've got a charming eye, You've got some spelling and reading You've got, and so have I, A taste for genteel breeding; You're rich, and fair, and young, As everybody's knowing; You've got a decent tongue Whene'er 'tis set a-going. For a wife till death I am willing to take ye; But, och! I waste my breath, The devil himself can't wake ye. |