And when the Coort was tired of spoort,

I'd lave you, boys, to think there was, A nate buffet before them set,

Where lashins of good dhrink there was.

At ten before the ball-room door,

His moighty Excellency was,
He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd,

So gorgeous and immense he was.
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute,

Into the door-way followed him ; And 0 the noise, of the blackguard boys,

As they hurrood and hollowed him

The noble Chair,* stud at the stair,

And bade the dthrums to thump; and he Did thus evince, to that Black Prince,

The welcome of his Company.
O fair the girls, and rich the curls,

And bright the oys, you saw 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,

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,

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 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,

And pretty girls, was spoorting there; And some beside (the rogues !) I spied,

Behind the windies, coorting there. . 0, there's one I know, bedad would show

As beautiful as any there,
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 onsay singly 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 carnon and with thunder on our city bore,

Our fortitude and valliance

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 Paris,
That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor;

And to welcome his returrn

From pilgrimages furren,
We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore.

Then we summoned to our board

Young Meagher of the sword : '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 ;

And with ornamints and banners

(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 CongoMitchil 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 ;

They smashed the lovely windies

(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 ;

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 honourable gintlemin, they cursed and swore :

And Mitchil of Belfast,

'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.