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'Tis just beginning to rain,

So I'll get under cover;
To-morrow I'll come again,
And be your constant lover.
Only say

You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;

Don't say nay,

Charming Judy Callaghan.

Francis Sylvester Mahony [1804-1866]

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From the minister down

To the Clerk of the Crown,

All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone!

All were courting the Widow Malone.

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Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare,

How quare!

It's little for blushing they care

Down there

Put his arm round her waist,

Took ten kisses at laste

"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,

My own;

"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!"

And the widow they all thought so shy,

My eye!

For why?

Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh

But, "Lucius," says she,

"Since you've now made so free,
You may marry your Molly Malone,
Ohone!

You may marry your Molly Malone."
There's a moral contained in my song,

Not wrong;

And, one comfort, it's not very long,

If for widows you die,

Learn to kiss, not to sigh,

But strong:

For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,

Ohone!

Oh! they're very like Mistress Malone!

Charles James Lever [1806-1872]

WIDOW MACHREE

From "Handy Andy"

WIDOW MACHREE, it's no wonder you frown,

Och hone! Widow Machree,

Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

How altered your air,

With that close cap you wear—

'Tis destroying your hair

Which should be flowing free;

Be no longer a churl

Of its black silken curl,

Och hone! Widow Machree!

Widow Machree, now the summer is come,

Och hone! Widow Machree,

When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum?

* Och hone! Widow Machree.

See, the birds go in pairs,

And the rabbits and hares,

Why, even the bears

Now in couples agree;

And the mute little fish,

Though they can't spake, they wish,—
Och hone! Widow Machrce.

Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone! Widow Machree,

To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

Sure the shovel and tongs

To each other belongs,

And the kettle sings songs

Full of family glee;

While alone with your cup,

Like a hermit, you sup,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone! Widow Machree,

But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld?'

Och hone! Widow Machree.

With such sins on your head

Sure your peace would be fled,

Could you sleep in your

bed

Without thinking to see

Some ghost or some sprite,

That would wake you each night,

Crying, "Och hone! Widow Machree"?

Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,

Och hone! Widow Machree,

And, with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me,
Och hone! Widow Machree.

You'd have me to desire

Then to stir up the fire,

And sure Hope is no liar
In whispering to me,

That the ghosts would depart,
When you'd me near your heart,

Och hone! Widow Machree!

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

THE PEACEABLE RACE

"WHO says that the Irish are fighters be birth?" Says little Dan Crone.

"Faix, there's not a more peaceable race on th' earth, If ye l'ave 'em alone.

"Tim O'Toole? Well, I grant ye now, there is a lad
That's beset wid the curse o' pugnacity bad,
But he's jisht th' ixciption that's provin' the rule;
An' what else could ye ask from a lad like O'Toole?
Shure, he's sich a big mountain o' muscle and bone,
Sizin' up to the heft o' some siventeen stone,
That he fair aggravates iv'ry other bould buck
To be wishful to thump him a little for luck,
An' to prove that there's others as clever as him.

Now, I ask ye, suppose ye was sturdy as Tim,

Don't ye think 'twould be right ye should take a delight In defindin' yer title an' testin' yer might?"

Says little Dan Crone.

"Is it me? Arrah! now it is jokin' ye are.

But I bid ye be careful an' not go too far.

Shure, it's true I'm no more nor the height o' yer waist, But there's many a bigger has sampled a taste

O' the knuckles that's bunched in this little ould fisht. Where's the dog wouldn't fight whin his tail gets a twisht?

Do I hunt fur the throuble? Mayhap, now, it's thrue

Upon certain occasions that's jisht what I do.

Shure, how else would they know-I'm that stunted an' small

I'd the heart of a man in me body at all?"

Says little Dan Crone.

"Well, thin, keep yer opinion. 'Tis little it's worth," Says little Dan Crone.

"Faix, we're jisht the most peaceable race on the earth, If ye l'ave us alone."

Thomas Augustin Daly [1871

THE RECRUIT

SEZ Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:

"Bedad, yer a bad 'un!

Now turn out yer toes!
Yer belt is unhookit,

Yer cap is on crookit,

Ye may not be dhrunk,
But, be jabers, ye look it!

Wan-two!

Wan-two!

Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through!

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Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:

"A saint it ud sadden

To dhrill such a mug!

Eyes front!-ye baboon, ye!

Chin up!-ye gossoon, ye!

Ye've jaws like a goat

Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!

Wan-two!
Wan--two!

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