For thim genteels There's plenty to indulge 'em : From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium. There's cabs on stands And shandthrydanns; There's waggons from New York here; There's Lapland sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And jaunting cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Deloighted I survey 'em ; In this sublime Musayum! Look, here's a fan There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow. There's German flutes, Marocky boots, And Naples macaronies; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay; Polonia her polonies. There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns, And gingerbread and jewels. O MOLONY'S LAMENT TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons, And read what the peepers report? They're goan to recal the Liftinant, And shut up the Castle and Coort! Our desolate counthry of Oireland They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy, And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy; 'Twas he was our proide and our joy! And will we no longer behould him, I liked for to see the young haroes, All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix, And winking the girls in the cyars, Like Mars, A smokin' their poipes and cigyars. Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies, And there'll be an abondance of croyin' That the last of the Oirish Liftinints Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. God save The Queen-she should betther behave. And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, From Doblin's sad city departs ? It's thus that ould Erin complains! There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy, 'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail; She bought it of Misthress O'Grady, Eight shillings a yard tabinet, But now that the Coort is concluded, Bedad, that she wears the old set. There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, They'd choose the expense to ashume. There's Alderman Toad and his lady, 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, Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, O Meery, with ois of the blue ! |