O, was I but so fortunate

As to be back in Munster,

'Tis I'd be bound that from that ground
I never more would once stir.
For there St. Patrick planted turf,
And plenty of the praties,

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.
Begor! this fête all balls does bate,
At which I've worn a pump, and I
Must here relate the splendthor great
Of th' Oriental Company.

These men of sinse dispoised expinse,
To fête these black Achilleses.

"We'll show the blacks," says they, "Almack's,
And take the rooms at Willis's."

With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls,

They hung the rooms of Willis up,
And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls
With roses and with lilies up.

And Jullien's band it tuck its stand

So sweetly in the middle there,

And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes,
And violins did fiddle there.

And when the Coort was tired of spoort,
I'd lave you, boys, to think there was
A nate buffet before them set,

Where lashins of good dhrink there was!

At ten before the ball-room door,
His moighty Excellency was;

He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd,
So gorgeous and immense he was.
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute,
Into the doorway followed him;
And O the noise of the blackguard boys,
As they hurrood and hollowed him!

The noble Chair stud at the stair,

And bade the dthrums to thump; and he
Did thus evince, to that Black Prince,
The welcome of his Company.

O fair the girls, and rich the curls,

And bright the oys, you saw there, was;
And fixed each oye ye there could spoi,
On Gineral Jung Bahawther was!

This Gineral great then tuck his sate,
With all the other ginerals,
(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat,
All bleezed with precious minerals);
And as he there, with princely air,
Recloinin on his cushion was,
All round about his royal chair,

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 Baroness Rehausen there,

And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar
Well, in her robes of gauze in there.
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first
When only Mr. Pips he was),

And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool,
That after supper tipsy was.

There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all,
And Lords Killeen and Dufferin,
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife,--

I wondther how he could stuff her in.

There was Lord Belfast, that by me passed,
And seemed to ask how should I
go there?
And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay,
And the Marchioness of Sligo there.

Yes, Jukes and Earls, and diamonds and pearls,
And pretty girls, was spoorting there;
And some beside (the rogues!) I spied,
Behind the windies, coorting there.
O, there's one I know, bedad, would show
As beautiful as any there;

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!
Kape me from sich all the days of me life!
Sure, but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is,
Niver at all to be gettin' a wife.

Say the old bachelor, gloomy an' sad enough,
Placin' his tay-kettle over the firc;

Soon it tips over-Saint Patrick! he's mad enough,
If he were prisent, to fight with the squire!

Now, like a pig in a mortar-bed wallowin',
Say the old bachelor kneading his dough;
Troth, if his bread he could ate without swallowin',
How it would favor his palate, ye know!

He looks for the platter-Grimalkin is scourin' it!
Sure, at a baste like that, swearin''s no sin;
His dishcloth is missing; the pigs are devourin' it-
Thunder and turf! what a pickle he's in!

When his male's over, the table's left sittin' so;
Dishes, take care of yourselves, if ye can;
Divil a drop of hot water will visit ye,—-
Och, let him alone for a baste of a man!

Pots, dishes, pans, an' such grasy commodities,
Ashes and praty-skins, kiver the floor;
His cupboard's a storehouse of comical oddities,
Sich as had niver been neighbors before.

Late in the night, when he goes to bed shiverin',
Niver a bit is the bed made at all;

He crapes like a terrapin under the kiverin';-
Bad luck to the pictur of Bachelor's Hall!
John Finley [1796-1866]

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.