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You'd have me to desire
Then to stir up the fire;
And sure Hope is no liar

In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart,
When you'd me near your heart,
Och hone! widow machree.


Он there's not a trade that's going
Worth showing,

Or knowing,

Like that from glory growing,
For a bowld sojer boy;

Where right or left we go,
Sure you know,
Friend or foe

Will have the hand or toe,
From a bowl sojer boy!
There's not a town we march thro',
But the ladies, looking arch thro'
The window-panes, will search thro❜
The ranks to find their joy!

While up the street,
Each girl you meet,
With look so sly,

Will cry.


My eye, Oh. isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy !


But when we get the route,

How the pout
And the shout

While to the right about
Goes the bowld sojer boy.
Oh, 'tis then that ladies fair
In despair
Tear their hair,
But the devil-a-one I care,"
Says the bowld sojer boy!
For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,
But chalk us up with joy:
We taste her tap,
We tear her cap-
"Oh, that's the chap
For me!"

Says she;

“Oh, isn't he a darling,the bowld sojer boy!"

"Then come along with me, Gramachree,

And you'll see,

How happy you will be

With your bowld sojer boy;

Faith! if you're up to fun,
With me run;

Twill be done

In the snapping of a gun,"
Says the bowld sojer boy.

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"And 'tis then that, without scandal,
Myself will proudly dandle
The little farthing candle

Of our mutual flame, my joy!
May his light shine,
As bright as mine,

Till in the line

He'll blaze,

And raise

The glory of his corps, like a bowld soje




MEET me by moonlight alone,
And I'll give you a lick of a flail,
Or a blow of a lump of a stone,

That will settle your nob I'll go bail; You must promise me sure to be there, For tho' dearly my whiskey I prize, I'd give a gallon for my share,

To blacken a tithe proctor's eyes;
Oh! meet me by moonlight alone,
Meet me by moonlight alone.

Daylight may do for the gay,

Ör them that does'nt wish to be free, But the night is the rale time of day,

For the boy that's ill-trated like me;

Oh! remember, be sure to be there!
For by St. Peter above that's our queen,
I'll break every bone in your head,
"Till your face isn't fit to be seen,
Meet by moonlight, &c.


OH, 'twas Dermot O'Nolan M'Figg,
That could properly handle a twig;
He went to the fair,

And kicked up a dust there,
In dancing the Donnybrook jig,

With his Oh! my blessing to Dermot M'Figg.

When he came to the midst of the fair,
He was all in a paugh of fresh air,
For the fair very soon,

Was as full as the moon,

Such mobs upon mobs as was there,
Oh, rare!
So more luck to sweet Donnybrook fair.

The souls they came pouring in fast,
To dance while the leather would last,
For the Thomas-street brogue
Was there in much vogue,

And oft with a brogue a joke passed, Quite fast, While the cash and the whiskey did last

But Dermot, his mind on love bent,
In search of his sweetheart he went,
Peeped in here and there,
As he walked through the fair,
And took a small drop in each tent as he


Och! on whiskey'd love he was bent.

And who should he spy in a jig,
With a meal man, so tall and so big,
But his own darling Kate,
So gay and so nate-

Faith, her partner he hit him a dig,

The pig,

He beat the meal out of his wig.

Then Dermot, with conquest elate,
Drew a stool near his beautiful Kate :
Arrah, Katty! says he,
My own cushlamachree!

Sure, the world for beauty, you beat,

Complete, So we'll just take a dance while we wait

The piper to keep him tune,
Struck up a gay lilt very soon,
Until an arch wag

Cut a hole in his bag,

And at once put an end to the tune,

Too soon, Och the music flew up to the moon.

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