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O fair the girls, and rich the curls,
This Gineral great then tuck his sate,
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 gentilitee!
There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese
Ministher and his lady there,
And I reckonised, 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,
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 past,
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,
O, there's one I know, bedad would show
And I'd like to hear the pipers blow,
And shake a fut with Fanny there!
THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK.
YE Genii of the nation,
Who look with veneration,
And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore;
Ye sons of General Jackson,
Who thrample on the Saxon,
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore.
When William, Duke of Schumbug,
A tyrant and a humbug,
With cannon and with thunder on our city bore,
Insthructed his battalions
To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore.
Since that capitulation,
No city in this nation
So grand a reputation could boast before,
As Limerick prodigious,
That stands with quays and bridges,
And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore.
A chief of ancient line,
'Tis William Smith O'Brine
Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more: O the Saxons can't endure
To see him on the flure,
And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore !
This valliant son of Mars
Had been to visit Par's,
That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor;
From pilgrimages furren,
We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore.
Then we summoned to our board
'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore;
We bade to our repast,
To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore.
Convaniently to hould
These patriots so bould,
We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store;
(As becomes gintale good manners)
We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore.
'Twould binifit your sowls,
To see the butthered rowls,
The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore,
And the band of harps and thrumpets,
To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore.
Sure the Imperor of Bohay
Would be proud to dthrink the tay
Chat Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour; And, since the days of Strongbow,
There never was such Congo
Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it—by Shannon shore.
But Clarndon and Corry
Connellan beheld this sworry
With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core; And they hired a gang of ruffins
To interrupt the muffins,
And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore.
When full of tay and cake,
O'Brine began to spake ;
But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar
Of a ragamuffin rout
Began to yell and shout,
And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore.
As Smith O'Brine harangued,
They batthered and they banged:
Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore ;
(Hung with muslin from the Indies),
Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore.
With throwing of brickbats,
Drowned puppies and dead rats,
These ruffin democrats themselves did lower;
Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs,
They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore.
O the girls began to scrame
And upset the milk and crame;
And the honourable gintlemin, they cursed and swore:
'Twas he that looked aghast,
When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore.
O the lovely tay was spilt
On that day of Ireland's guilt;
Says Jack Mitchil, "I am kilt! Boys, where's the back door? 'Tis a national disgrace :
Let me go and veil me face;"
And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore.
"Cut down the bloody horde!"
Says Meagher of the sword,
"This conduct would disgrace any blackamore;"
But the best use Tommy made
Of his famous battle blade
Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore.
Immortal Smith O'Brine
Was raging like a line ;
Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar ; In his glory he arose,
And he rush'd upon his foes,
But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore.