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Then the Futt and the Dthragoons
In squadthrons and platoons,
With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore; And they bate the rattatoo,
But the Peelers came in view,
And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore.
You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,
To ogle ye by
Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l!
He made of de girls, dis O'Toole.
'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,
From any sthrong dthrink,
Was it whisky or Drogheda ale;
This Larry would swallow a pail.
Oh, many a night at the bowl,
With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl;
Where there's dthrink of the best,
And so let us give his old sowl
For 'twas he made the noggin to rowl.
THE ROSE OF FLORA.
Sent by a Young Gentleman of Quality to Miss Br-dy, of Castle Brady.
On Brady's tower there grows a flower,
At Castle Brady there lives a lady,
(And how I love her no one knows); Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora Presents her with this blooming rose.
"O Lady Nora," says the goddess Flora,
Can projuice a treasure that's half so fair!"
What cheek is redder? sure roses fed her!
That darkly glistens with gentle jew !
The lily's nature is not surely whiter
Than Nora's neck is,—and her arrums too.
"Come, gentle Nora," says the goddess Flora,
Who spends his lifetime in heavy sighs,—
If rhyme and raisin you'd choose likewise."
THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE.
ON reading of the general indignation occasioned in Ireland by the appointment of a Scotch Professor to one of HER MAJESTY'S Godless Colleges, MASTER MOLLOY MOLONY, brother of THADDEUS MOLONY, ESQ., of the Temple, a youth only fifteen years of age, dashed off the following spirited lines :
As I think of the insult that's done to this nation,
I look round me counthree, renowned by exparience,
I gaze round the world in its utmost diminsion;
What, Erin beloved, is thy fetal condition?
What shame in aych boosom must rankle and burrun,
On the logic of Saxons there's little reliance,
And, rather from Saxons than gather its rules,
And spit on his chair as he taught in the schools!
O false SIR JOHN KANE! is it thus that you praych me?
I think all your Queen's Universitees Bosh;
And if you've no neetive Professor to taych me,
I scawurn to be learned by the Saxon M'Cosн.
There's WISEMAN and CHUME, and His Grace the Lord Primate, That sinds round the box, and the world will subscribe;
'Tis they'll build a College that's fit for our climate,
And taych me the saycrets I burn to imboibe!
'Tis there as a Student of Science I'll enther,
Fair Fountain of Knowledge, of Joy, and Contint! SAINT PATHRICK'S Sweet Statue shall stand in the centher, And wink his dear oi every day during Lint.
And good DOCTOR NEWMAN, that praycher unwary, 'Tis he shall preside the Academee School,
And quit the gay robe of ST. PHILIP of Neri,
To wield the soft rod of ST. LAWRENCE O'TOOLE!
THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X.
THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN.
AN igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek
I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak,
Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see,
Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin of she.
This Mary was pore and in misery once,
And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce.
And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three.
Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks,
"Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill;
Will you just step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" "That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she; And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be.