THE HERO OF BALLINACRAZY. WHEN I lived in sweet Ballinacrazy, dear, First I married Miss Dolly O'Daisy, dear, Then to fat Miss Malone, weighing seventeen stone; Then I married Miss Dorothy Taisy, dear, Her left leg was good, but its fellow was wood, Then I married her sister, Miss Taisy, dear, Then I picked up rich old Mother Hazy, dear, But some drops that he gave, dropt her into her grave, Then says I to old Father O'Mazy, dear, "Don't my weddings and funerals plase ye, dear?" "Oh!" says he, "you blackguard, betwixt church and churchyard, Sure, you never will let me be aisy, dear." Oh, ladies, I live but to plase ye, dear, I'll marry you all, lean, fat, short, and tall, One after the other to plase ye, dear. The name of the author of this lively lyric is unknown to fame. What a capacity for matrimony he invests his hero with! Such a fellow must have died of enlargement of the heart. Moore, in one of his early lyrics, says "I'm going to toast ev'ry nymph of my soul to you. And, on my soul, I'm in love with them all!" But the Ballinacrazy lad goes far beyond-he marries them all. Colman, in "Bluebeard," makes Ibrahim say, "Praise be to the wholesome law of Mahomet, which stinted a Turk to four at a time:" Ballinacrazy outdoes Constantinople and the Grand Signior. This fellow was not on the best terms with his wives either; matrimony, with him, seems to have been a sort of domestic "war of succession." He appears somewhat in the predicament of that man brought up before the magistrate on a charge of polygamy, who, when asked by his worship what could have induced him to marry so many women, replied that "he was looking for a good one, and didn't find her after all." THE MAN FOR GALWAY. CHARLES Lever. To drink a toast, A proctor roast, Or bailiff, as the case is; To kiss your wife, Or take your life At ten or fifteen paces; To keep game cocks, to hunt the fox, The King of Oude Is mighty proud, With debts, &c. And so were onest the Caysars; Would make them stare, Av he had them with the Blazers.* To the divil I fling ould Runjeet Sing, Ye think the Blakes Are no 66 great shakes;" ; With debts, &c. They're all his blood relations; At the grim Chinese, For they come from the Phenaycians. So fill to the brim, and here's to him With debts, &c. *This generally implies the arbitrement of the "duello," blazers being a figurative term for pistols; but in the present case, if I remember rightly, the Blazers allude to a very break-neck pack of hounds, so called. LEAVE US A LOCK OF YOUR HAIR. J. F. WALLER, LL.D. Air, "The Low-backed Car." "THE night is fresh and clear, love, Of the moon falls bright For the love of you, Nora dear. All so white and so cold, But no morsel of flesh or bone. "There's not a soul astir, love, Till they tremble all through with fear. Ah! them happy flowers that's creeping To your window where you're sleeping, Sure they're not chid for peeping At your beauties, my Nora dear. You've the heart of a Turk, by my soul, To leave me perched here like an owl; 'Tis treatment too bad, For a true-hearted lad, To be sarved like a desolate fowl. "Oh! Dermot, win me not, love, To be your bride to-night: How could I bear A mother's tear, A father's scorn and slight? If you're found at my window, dear." For your cloak or shawl They were made but to smother your charms." And now a dark cloud rising Across the moon is cast, And anxious hopes Make Dermot's heart beat fast: With arms and fair neck glancing,— Cried, as Dermot made off, "WON'T YOU LEAVE US A LOCK OF YOUR HAIR?" A SUP OF GOOD WHISKEY. A SUP of good whiskey will make you glad; If you drink to excess, it will close up your eyes: Yet father and mother, And sister and brother, They all take a sup in their turn. Some preachers will tell you that whiskey is bad; In spite of this pother, Will all take a sup in their turn. Some doctors will tell you, 'twill hurt your health; The justice will say, 'twill reduce your wealth; Physicians and lawyers both do agree, When your money's all gone, they can get no fee. Yet surgeon and doctor, And lawyer and proctor, Will all take a sup in their turn. If a soldier is drunk on his duty found, And likewise His Honour, Will all take a sup in their turn. The Turks who arrived from the Porte sublime, And even Mahomet, They all take a sup in their turn. The Quakers will bid you from drink abstain, And Solomon's lady, Will all take a sup in their turn. The Germans do say they can drink the most, Will drink till he's mellow, And take off his glass in his turn. |