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Now, if you are sleepin', dear Molly,

Oh, don't let me waken you, dear;
Some tindher memorial I'll lave you,
To just let you know I was here.
So I'll throw a big stone at the windy,
And if any glass I should brake,
"Tis for love all the panes I am takin’—
What wouldn't I smash for your sake?

Weirasthru!
Phillilew!

But I'm kilt-
May the quilt

Lie light on your beautiful form
When the weather is hot,
But, my love, when 'tis not,
May it rowl you up cosey and warm!

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May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt,

That a ghost may him haunt in the dark of the night. May his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh, May his goat fly away like an old paper kite; May his duck never quack, may his goose be turned black And pull down his stack with her long yellow beak. May the scurvy and itch never part from the britch

Of the wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake!

May his rooster ne'er crow, may his bellows not blow,

Nor potatoes to grow-may he never have noneMay his cradle not rock, may his chest have no lock,

May his wife have no frock for to shade her backbone. That the bugs and the fleas may this wicked wretch tease,

And a piercing north breeze make him tremble and shake. May a four years' old bug build a nest in the lug

Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

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But the only good news I have to diffuse,

Is of Peter Hughs and Paddy McCade,

And crooked Ned Manson, and big-nosed Bob Hanson,
Each one had a grandson of my beautiful drake.
Oh! my bird he has dozens of nephews and cousins,
And one I must have, or my heart it will break.
To keep my mind easy, or else I'll run crazy,
And so ends the song of my beautiful drake.

THE IRISH GIRL.

ONE evening, as I strayed down the river's side,
Looking all around me an Irish girl I spied;

So red and rosy were her cheeks, and yellow was her hair,
And costly were the robes which my Irish girl did wear.
Her shoes of Spanish leather were bound round with spangles gay,
The tears came down her crystal eyes, and she began to say:
Ochone, and alas! asthore areen machree,
Why should you go and leave me, and slight your own Molly?
The first time that I saw my love, I was sick and very bad,
All the request I asked was that she might tie my head;
I asked her if one as bad as me could ever mend again,
For love's a sore disorder-did you ever feel the pain?
My love she'll not come nigh me for all the moan I make,
Nor neither will she pity me if my poor heart should break;
But was I of some noble blood and she of low degree,
She would hear my lamentation and come and pity me.

My only love is fairer than the lilies that do grow,
She has a voice that's clearer than any winds that blow;
She's the promise of this country, like Venus in the air,
And let her go where'er she will, she's my joy and only dear.
Be it so, or be it not, of her I take my chance,
The first time that I saw my love she struck me in a trance;
Her ruby lips and sparkling eyes have so bewitched me,
That were I king of Ireland, queen of it she should be.

THE LAKES OF COLD FINN.

Ir was early one morning young William had rose,
Straightway to his comrades' bed-chamber he goes,
Saying: Comrades, royal comrades, let nobody know,
For it's a fine morning and a-bathing we'll go.

So they walked right along till they came to Long Lane,
And the first that they met was the keeper of the game;
He advised them for sorrow to turn back again,
For their doom was to die on a watery main.

So young William stepped off and swam the lake 'round,
He swam 'round the island, but not the right ground,
Saying: Comrades, royal comrades, don't you venture in,
For there's depth in false water, in the lakes of Cold Finn.

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