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Arrah, what could he mean, ma'm? or what would you advise me to? Must my corduroys to Molly go? troth, I'm bother'd what to do!

I can't afford to lose both my heart and my breeches too,

Yet what need I care, when I've only to die!

Oh! the left side of my carcass is as
weak as water-gruel, maʼm—
The devil a bit upon my bones, since
Molly's proved so cruel, ma'm,

I wish I had a carabine, I'd go and fight a duel, ma'm!

Sure, it's better far to kill myself than stay here to die.

I'm hot and determined as a live salamander, ma'm!

Wont you come to my wake, when I go my long meander, ma'm?

Oh! I'll feel myself as valiant as the famous Alexander, ma'm,

When I hear yiz crying round me, "Arrah, why did you die?"



"THE night is fresh and clear, love, The birds are in their bowers, And the holy light

Of the moon falls bright
On the beautiful sleeping flowers.
Oh! Nora, are you waking?
Or don't you hear me spaking?
You know my heart is breaking

For the love of you, Nora dear.
Ah! why don't you speak, mavrone?
Sure I think that you're made of stone,
Just like Venus of old

All so white and so cold, But no morsel of flesh or bone.

"There's not a soul astir, love, No sound falls on the ear,

But that rogue of a breeze
That's whispering the trees

Till they tremble all through with fear. Ah! them happy flowers that's creeping To your window where you're sleeping, Sure they're not chid for peeping

At your beauties, my Nora dear. You've the heart of a Turk, by my sowl, To leave me perched here like an owl;

"Tis treatment too bad, For a true-hearted lad, To be sarved like a desolate fowl.

"You know the vow you made, love—
You know we fixed the day;
And here I'm now;
To claim that vow,
And carry my bride away;
So, Nora, don't be staying
For weeping, or for praying-
There's danger in delaying-

Sure maybe I'd change my mind:
For you know I'm a bit of a rake,
And a trifle might tempt me to break-
Faix, but for your blue eye,
I've a notion to try

What a sort of ould maid you'd make."

"Oh! Dermot, win me not, love, To be your bride to-night; How could I bear

A mother's tear,

A father's scorn and slight?
So, Dermot, cease your sueing—
Don't work your Nora's ruin,
"Twould be my sore undoing,

If you're found at my window, dear."

"Ah! for shame with your foolish alarms

Just drop into your own Dermot's arms: Don't mind looking at all

For your cloak or your shawlThey were made but to smother your charms."

And now a dark cloud rising
Across the moon is cast,
The lattice opes,
And anxious hopes

Make Dermot's heart beat fast:
And soon a form entrancing,-
With arms and fair neck glancing,-
Half shrinking, half advancing,

Steps light on the lattice sill; When a terrible arm in the air Clutched the head of the lover all bare, And a voice, with a scoff, Cried as Dermot made off, "Wont you leave us lock of yo e hair?"



AIR-"Huish the cat from under the table.”


'AH, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that


Your neat little foot will be weary from spinning;

Come trip down with me to the sycamore tree,

Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning.

The sun is gone down, but the full bar

vest moon

Shines sweetly and cool on the dewwhitened valley;

While all the air rings with the soft, loving things,

Each little bird sings in the greenshaded alley."

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while,

Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing;

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