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ASSIST me, ye lads, who have hearts void of

To sing out the praises of ould Ireland's

Where true hospitality opens the door,
And friendship detains us for one bottle

Did you ever know an Irishman from any danger flinch?
In fighting, too, he'd rather die than give his foe an inch;
Among the bravest in the world are the sons of Erin's green isle,
Sure, the Iron Duke of Wellington was a native of the soil;
And didn't he badly whip the French on the plains of Waterloo?
Which plainly showed to the whole world what Irishmen can do.

Old Ireland's had her actors, and authors not a few,
And things of wit and humor the Irish all can do.


Old England, your taunts on our country forbear;

Old Ireland had her warriors who fought both true and brave,
Pat's assisted every nation on the land and on the wave;
And poets, too, she's had, yes, many and many a score,
Where can you find much brighter stars than Lover or Tom



One bottle more, arrah, one bottle more;
And friendship detains us for one bottle

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Of six Irish blades who together had met; Four bottles apiece made us call for our score,

For nothing remained but just one bottle

Did you ne'er hear of Sheridan or of lamented Catherine Hays?
Did you ne'er see fun in Irish songs, or laugh at Irish plays?
Old Ireland's had her statesmen, their fame the wide world rings,
She's likewise had musicians to tune her old harp's strings!
Not all Irish girls are beautiful, but then they're always true,
And, for faith and generosity, the Irish girls will do.

And then, too, in the present war between the North and the

Let no dirty slur on Irish ever escape your mouth;

Sure, did you ne'er hear tell of the 69th who bravely fought at
Bull Run?


One bottle more, etc.

Our bill being brought we were loath to depart,

For friendship had grappled each man by
the heart,

Where the least touch, you know, makes
an Irishman roar,
bottles more.

And Meagher, of the seven days' fight, that was in front of Rich-

With General Shields who fought so brave for the flag, red, white
and blue.

And anything like a bayonet charge the Irish boys can do.

And the whack from shillalah brought six
One bottle more, etc.

Swift Phoebus now shone through our window so bright,

Quite happy to view his glad children of light;

So we parted with hearts neither sorry nor

sore, Resolving next night to drink twelve bottles

Twelve bottles more, etc

Then, why slur upon the Irish? why are they treated so?
What is it you have against them? is what I want to know;
Sure, they work for all they get, and that you can't deny!
Then, why insult them with the words: No Irish need apply?
If you want to find their principles go search the wide world


And you'll find all things that's noble the Irish folks can do.



O'RYAN was a man of might

Whin Ireland was a nation,
But poachin' was his heart's delight
And constant occupation.
He had an ould militia gun,

And sartin sure his aim was;
He gave the keepers many a run
And wouldn't mind the game laws.

St. Pathrick wunst was passin' by
O'Ryan's little houldin',

And, as the saint felt wake and dhry,
He thought he'd enther bould in.
"O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick!

To praich at Thurles I'm goin',
So let me have a rasher quick,

And a dhrop of Innishowen."

THE POACHER.-Continued.
"No rasher will I cook for you,
While betther is to spare, sir,
But here's a jug of mountain dew,

And there's a rattlin' hare, sir."
St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet,
And, says he, "Good luck attind you,
And, when you're in your windin' sheet,
It's up to heaven I'll sind you."
O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff--

Them tidin's is thransportin';
Bet may I ax your saintship if

There's any kind of sportin'?" St. Patrick said, "A lion's there,

Two bears, a bull, and cancer""Bedad," says Mick, "the huntin's rare; St. Fatrick, I'm your man, sir." So, to conclude my song aright,

For fear I'd tire your patience, You'll see O'Ryan any night

Amid the constellations.

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COME all you tender Christians, I hope you will draw near,
And likewise pay attention to those few lines I have here;
For the murder of Mr. Swanton I am condemned to die
On the twelfth day of November, upon the gallows high.

My name is James Rodgers-the same I never denied,
Which leaves my aged parents in sorrow for to cry;
It's little they ever thought, all in my youth and bloom,
I came into New York to meet my fatal doom.

My parents reared me tenderly, as you can plainly see,
And constantly good advice they used to give to me;
They told me to shun night-walking and all bad company,
Or State's prison or the scaffold would be the doom for me.

In bad houses and liquor I used to take delight,
And constantly my companions they used me there invite;
They all persuaded me the use of knives were free,

I might commit a murder, and hanged I would not be.

Upon the fatal night, as you may plainly see,
My companions advised me to go and have a spree;
My passion got the best of me, as you may plainly know,
I drew the fatal knife, and it proved my overthrow.

Mr. Swanton and his wife were passing through the street,
And in my drunken passion I chanced them for to meet;
They surely did not injure me the same I'll ne'er deny,
But Satan being so near to me, I could not pass them by.

I staggered up against them, and then he turned around, And demanded if the sidewalk had not enough of ground; It's then I drew the fatal knife and stabbed him to the heart, Which leaves the loving wife from her husband for to part.

To Woodbridge then I quickly fled, thinking to escape,
But the hand of Providence was before me-indeed I was too late;
There I was taken prisoner and fetched unto my doom,
To die upon the gallows all in my youthful bloom.

My trial came on quickly, and condemned I was to die,
My companions and associates they were standing by;
I told them to take warning by that my humble fate,
To shun night-walking and bad company ere it be too late.

Farewell, my aged father! I ne'er will see you more,
And my broken-hearted mother, my loss you do deplore;
My sisters and brothers, to you I bid adieu,
Upon this fatal forenoon I have to part with you.

The morning of my execution was most heart-rending for to see,
My sister came from Jersey to take the last farewell of me;
She flew into my arms and bitterly did cry,

Saying: "My dear and loving brother, this day you are to die!"

Thanks to the Sheriff for his kindness to me,

Also my noble counselor who thought to get me free;
And likewise my faithful clergy who brought my mind to bear,
For now I die a true penitent, I solemnly declare.

My life is now ended-from this world I must part,
For the murder of Mr. Swanton I am sorry to the heart;
Let each wild and vicious youth a warning take by me.
To be ruled by their parents and shun bad company.

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I AM a rambling hero, by love I am ensnared;

Near to the town of Bollinglass there dwells a comely maid; She's fairer than Diana bright, she's free from earthly pride, She's a lovely maid-her dwelling place lies near the tan-yard side.

I stood in meditation, I viewed her o'er and o'er,

I thought she was Aurora bright, descending down so low;

"No, no, kind sir, I'm a country girl," she modestly replied,


'I labor daily for my bread down by the tan-yard side."

Her golden hair, in ringlets rare, hangs o'er her snowy neck,
The killing glances of her eyes would save a ship from wreck,
Her two brown, sparkling eyes, and her teeth like ivory white,
Would make a man become her slave down by the tan-yard side.

For twelve long months we courted, till at length we did agree
For to acquaint her parents and married we would be;
Till at length her cruel father to me he proved unkind,
Which makes me sail across the seas and leave my true love

Farewell, my aged parents, and to you I bid adieu;
I'm crossing the main ocean, dear, for the sake of you;
But if ever I return again, I will make you my bride,
And I'll roll you in my arms down by the tan-yard side.


WHEN I was young and in my prime, my age just twenty-one,
I acted as a servant unto a gentleman;

I served him true and honest, and very well, it's known,
But in cruelty he banished me from Erin's lovely home.

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