And when the Coort was tired of spoort, Where lashins of good dhrink there was. At ten before the ball-room door, He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd, The noble Chair,* stud at the stair, O fair the girls, and rich the curls, And bright the oys, you saw there, was; This Gineral great, then tuck his sate, 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. 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 Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all, And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife; I wondther how he could stuff her in. Yes, Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls, 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 ; 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; And Mitchil of Belfast, 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 muffins and the crumpets, 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 That 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. With rage But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry 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, But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar 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, These ruffin democrats themselves did lower; 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. |