And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, Whin the Coort of imparial splindor From Doblin's sad city departs? And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers, When the deuce of a Coort there remains? And where'll be the bucks and the ladies, But now that the quality's goin, I warnt that the aiting will stop, And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble The devil a bite or a dthrop, Or chop; And the butcher may shut up his shop. Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, And his Lordship, the dear honest man, And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy, And Corry, the bould Connellan, And little Lord Hyde and the childthren, And the Chewter and Governess tu; To hire the Coort-shuits and the And the servants are packing their thrains? There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy 'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, boxes, Oh, murther, but what shall I due Without you? O Meery, with ois of the blue! For her dthress, and her flounce, MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF and her tail; THE BALL. GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSA- O WILL ye choose to hear the news, To the Navpaulase Ambassador. At which I've worn a pump, and I Must here relate the splendthor great Of th' Oriental Company. These men of sinse dispoised expinse, To fête these black Achilleses. "We'll show the blacks," says they, "Almack's, And take the rooms at Willis's." With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, They hung the rooms of Willis up, And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls, With roses and with lilies up. And Jullien's band it tuck its stand, So sweetly in the middle there, was; And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, On Gineral Jung Bahawther, was! This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, (Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat, All bleezed with precious minerals ;) And as he there, with princely air, Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was. O Pat, such girls,such Jukes,and Earls, ⚫ James Matheson, Esq., to whom, and the Board of Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Molony, late stoker on board the "Iberia," the "Lady Mary Wood," the "Tagus," and the Oriental steamships, humbly dedicate this production of my grateful muse. Ministher and his lady there, And I reckonized, 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, When only Mr. Pips he was), 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 wondtherhow he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, And seemed to ask how should I go When William, Duke of Schumbug, Our fortitude and valiance To respict the galliant Irish upon 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 But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry Reprisints this darling Limerick, this With rage and imulation in their ten years or more: O the Saxons can't endure To see him on the flure, black hearts' core; And they hired a gang of ruffins To interrupt the muffins, And thrimble at the Cicero from Shan- And the fragrance of the Congo on the non shore! This valliant son of Mars Had been to visit Par's, Shannon shore. When full of tay and cake, O'Brine began to spake; That land of Revolution, that grows But juice a one could hear him, for a the tricolor ; And to welcome his returrn From pilgrimages furren, sudden roar Of a ragamuffin rout Began to yell and shout, We invited him to tay on the Shan- And frighten the propriety of Shan non shore. Then we summoned to our board Young Meagher of the sword: non shore. As Sinith O'Brine harangued, They batthered and they banged: "Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Tim Doolan's doors and windies down These patriots so bould, We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doo- These ruffin democrats themselves did lan's store; And with ornamints and banners (As becomes gintale good manners) We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore lower; Tin kettles, rotten eggs, 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 honorable gintlemin, they cursed and swore : And Mitchil of Belfast, 'Twas he that looked aghast, 'Twas he was the boy didn't fail, When they roasted him in effigy by This Larry would swallow a pail. 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. Oh, many a night at the bowl, Where's there's dthrink of the best, 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, It is the loveliest flower that blows, 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, "I've many a rich and bright parterre ; In Brady's towers there's seven more flowers, But you're the fairest lady there : Not all the county, nor Ireland's bounty, Can projuice a treasure that's half so fair!" What cheek is redder? sure roses fed her! Her hair is maregolds, and her eye of blew. Beneath her eyelid, is like the vi’let, That darkly glistens with gentle jew! The lily's nature is not surely whiter Than Nora's neck is, and her arrums too. |