« PredošláPokračovať »
ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. Saint Patrick was a gentleman, and cam o' dacent
people, He built a church in Dublin town, and upon it
put a steeple; His mother was a Callaghan, his father was a
Brady, His sister was an O'Huolin, and his brother an
O'Grady. CHORUS.-Noh! noh! poh! noh! Success attend St. Patrick's fist, for he's the da
cent saint 0, He gave the bugs and toads a twist, he's a beauty
without paint O! The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the
hill of Howtb, soo; But I know of a hill that's twice as high, and
taller than them both, too; 'Twas on the top of that high mount where St,
Patrick preach'd his sarmint, He made the frogs jump through the bogs, and be banish'd all the varmint.
Noh! noh! &c. No wonder that we Irish boys should be so gay
and frisky, For St. Patrick taught the happy kpack of drink
ing of the whiskey. 'Twas be that brew'd the best o' malt, and un
derstood distilling, For his motber kept a sheeban shop, in the town of Inniskillons
Noh! noh 1 &os
Then should I be so fortunate as to go back
Munster, Och! I'll be bound that from that ground, agai
I ne'er once would stir, 'Twas there S. Patrick planted turf, and plent
of the praties, With pigs golore, agrath m'stere, and butter mill and ladies.
Noh! poh! &c
THE BAY OF BISCAY O'.
The rain a deluge showers;
By the lightning's vivid powers !
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Our op'ning timbers creak;
None stop the dreadful leak!
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Broke through the hazy sky;
Each heav'd a bitter sigb;
The dismal wreck to view,
In the Bay of Biscay 0!
Her pitchy seams are rent;
Its boundless mercy sent!
From the Bay of Biscay 01
TOM BOWLING. Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of her crew : No more he'll hear the tempest bowling,
For death has brought him too. His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft ;
And now he's gone aloft.
His virtues were so rare;
His Poll was kind and fair:
Ah! many's the time and oft:
For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When he who all commands,
Shall give (to call life's crew together)
The word to pipe all hands. Thus death who kings and 'ars dispatches,
In vain Tom's life bas doff'd; For his body's under batches,
His soul has gone aloft.
AWAY WITH MELANCHOLY.
Nor doleful changes ring,
When time is on the wing ;
Gay smiling moments bring,
To wear long hanging sleeves;
And all of them were thieves.
The first he was an Irishman,
The second was a Scot ;
And all were knaves I wot.
The Scot lov d ale called blue. tap,
And made his mouth a mouse trap. Usquebaugh burnt the Irishman's throat,
The Scot was drown'd in ale, The Welchman bad like to have been chok'd
by a mouse, And he pulled it out by the tail.
THE GALLANT SEAMEN. Ye gentlemen of England,
That live at home at ease, Ah! little do you think upon
The dangers of the seas.
And they will plainly show,
When the stormy wiuds, &c.
When England is at war With any foreign nation,
We tear not wound dor scar; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em
Our valour for to know,