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Soft and funnily,
Quite an Adonis was Captain Mulligan.
Soft she cried to brave O'Mulligan;
"O, you jewel!
Shoulders rising over his ears,
Face just like the moon in full again,
Legs in shape like a tailor's sheers,
You ne'er saw the fellow of Captain Mulligan-
She was a Venus to Captain Mulligan.
"O, Sweet Kitty
Lost he cried, the brave O'Mulligan";
"O. Sweet Kitty;
Married, how they altered their tune;
Love, once fierce, faith! soon grew cold again; When they'd pass'd the sweet honey moon,
She blacken'd the eye of hrave Captain Mulligan.
Scolding, fighting him,
"The devil go with you," then Mrs. Mulligan 'Faith, I knew it,
I should rue it!"
So he cried, poor Captain Mulligan;
"You are my gruel,
THE POST CAPTAIN.
When Steerwell heard me first impart,
Resolv'd to gain a valiant name,
For bold adventures eager,
When first a cabin boy on board the Fame,
To hand top-ga'nt sails next he learned
Where shoals made skilful veterans fear;
Which mark'd him for promotion. And none to the pilot e'er answer'd like he, When he gave the command, hard a port, helm alee,
Luff, boys luff, keep her near,
Clear the buoy, make the pier,
None to the pilot e'er answer'd like he,
When he gave the command in the pool, or at sea, Hard a port, helm a lee.
For valour, skill, and worth renown'd;
And now with fame and fortune crown'd,
Who, should our injur'd country bleed,
KITTY OF COLERAINE.
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me, she stumbled, the pitcher it
And all the sweet butter-milk water'd the plain.
Oh! what shall I do now? 'twas looking at you ||
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again ; 'Twas the pride of my dairy, O, Barney M'Leary You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine. I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, That such a misfortune should give her such pain,
A kiss then I gave her, and before I did leave her,
THE LAD THAT I LOVE.
How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain,
And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove,
And sweet is the breeze that blows over the moun
Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love.
With lilies and roses,
With sweet blooming posies;
It was down in the vale where the sweet Torze
Its murm'ring stream ripples through the dark
I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding, To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love. Then I'll weave, &c.
Could worth and beauty shake my faith,
The friend of my affection lies.
O, could I, from my sorrowing heart,
You soon would charm that heart I love.
And Hope sunk with her anchor there!
THE DEATH OF NELSON.
O'er Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd,
Whose leaves are watered by a nation's tears.
'Twas in Trafalgar's bay,