Turn your 'orse from Kabul Town
(Blow the bugle, draw the sword);
'Im an' 'alf my troop is down:
Down and drownded by the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul River,

Ford o' Kabul River in the dark;

For the river's low an' fallin', an' it ain't no use a-callin'

By the ford o' Kabul River in the dark.

KILLALOE.

Oh! I happened to get born
At the time they cut the corn,
Quite contagious to the town of Killaloe,
Where to tache us they'd a schame,
And a French Mossoo he came

To insthruct us in the game of "Parley voo."
I've one father, that I swear,

But he said I had a père,

And he sthruck me, when I said it wasn't throo: And the Irish for a jint,

And the French for half-a-pint,

Faix! we larnt it in the school at Killaloe.

You may talk of Bony party,

You may talk about écarté,

Or any other party, and commong voo portey voo?"

We larnt to sing it aisy,

That song the " Marshall lazy,"

"Boolong -"Toulong "—the "Continong," we larnt at Killaloe.

"Mais oui," Mossoo would cry;

Well, of course, you may," says I;

Non,"-" No, I know," says I, in some surprise,
When a boy straight up from Clare
Heard his mother called a mère,

He gave Mossoo his fist between the eyes.
Says Mossoo, with much alarm,

Go and call for Johnny darmes ! "

There's no such name," says I, "about the

place."

"Comment?

he made reply;

"Come on yerself," says I,

And I scattered all the faytures of his face.
You may talk, &c.

Oh! boys, there was the fun,—
You should see him when 'twas done,
His eyeballs one by one did disappear,
And a doctor from the south

Took some days to find his mouth,
Which had somehow got concealed behind his

ear.

Then he swore an awful oath

He'd have law agin us both,

And then he'd lave both Limerick and Clare;
For he found it wouldn't do

To tache French in Killaloe,
Unless he'd got a face or two to spare.
You may talk, &c.

To the Magistrate he wint,
And a lot o' time he spint;

Says the Magistrate, "Begorra, I'm perplexed;
For a fellow who, you see,

Spells whiskey O.D.V.

You can never tell what he'll be up to next.
Then nothing more was said,

And Mossoo went home to bed,
And mixed no more with Killaloe affairs.
And the papers of the place

Said the foreign tacher's face

Was closed" for alterations and repairs."
You may talk, &c.

KING WILLOW.

Words taken by the Author's permission from the
Harrow School Songs.

Willow the King is a monarch grand!
Three in a row his courtiers stand;
Every day when the sun shines bright,
The doors of his palace are painted white;
And all the company bow their backs
To the king with his collar of cobbler's wax.
So ho! ho! ho! may the courtiers sing,
Honour and life to Willow the King.

Willow, King Willow, thy guard hold tight,
Trouble is coming before the night:
Hopping and galloping, short and strong,
Comes the Leathery Duke along;
And down the palaces tumble fast
When once the Leathery Duke gets past.
So ho! &c.

"Who is this," King Willow he swore,

Hops like that to a gentleman's door? "Who's afraid of a Duke like him? 'Fiddlededee! says the monarch slim: What do you say, my courtiers three? And the courtiers all said, "Fiddlededee! So ho! &c.

Willow the King stepped forward bold
Three good feet from his castle hold;
Willow the King stepped back so light,
Skirmished gay to the left and right:

But the Duke rushed by with a leap and a fling; 'Bless my soul!" says Willow the King.

Crash the palaces, sad to see;

Crash and tumble the courtiers three!
Each one lays, in his fear and dread,
Down on the grass his respected head;
Each one kicks, as he downward goes,
Up in the air his respected toes..

So ho! &c.

But the Leathery Duke he jumped so high,
Jumped till he almost touched the sky;

"A fig for King Willow," he boasting said,

O Carry this gentleman off to bed!"

So they carried him off with his courtiers three,
And put him to bed in the green baize tree.
So ho! &c.

"What of the Duke?

"

you ask anon,

Where has his Leathery Highness gone?' O he is filled with air inside

Either it's air or else it's pride

And he swells and swells as tight as a drum, And they kick him about till Christmas come. So ho ho ho! may his courtiers sing, Honour and life to Willow the King.