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Och! a sweet Irish girl is the darling

for me:

For she's pretty,

She's witty.

She's hoaxing,

And coaxing,
She's smiling,

Beguiling to see, to see:

She rattles,

She prattles,

She dances,

And prances,

Och! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me.

Now, some girls they are little, and and some they are tall,

Och, others are big, sure, and others are small;

And some that are teazing, are bandy, I tell ;

Still none can please me, or can coax me so well,

As the dear Irish girl, so charming to see; Och! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me:

For she's pretty, &c

MICKEY FREE'S LAMENT

Then, fare ye well, ould Erin dear;
To part-my heart does ache well.
From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear,
I'll never see your equal.

And, though to foreign parts we're bound,

Where cannibals may ate us,

We'll ne'er forget the holy ground
Of poteen and potatoes.

Meddirederoo aroo, aroo, &c.

When good St. Patrick banished frogs,
And shook, them from his garment,
He never thought we'd go abroad,
To live upon such varmint;

Nor quit the land where whiskey

grew,

To wear King George's button,
Take vinegar for mountain dew,
And toads for mountain mutton.

Meddirederoo aroo, aroo," &c

RORY O'MORE.

YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen

Bawn:

He was bold as a hawk, and she as

as the dawn;

soft

He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,

And he thought the best way to do that was to teaze.

"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry,

Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her

eye:

"With your tricks, I don't know, in troth, what I'm about,

Faith, you've teazed till I've put on my cloak inside out."

"Oh, jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way

You've thrated my heart for this many a day :

And 'tis plazed that I am; and why not, to be sure?

For it's all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, “don't think of the like,

For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike:

The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound."

"Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground."

"Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go:

Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so!"

"O" says Rory,

delighted to hear,

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that same I'm

For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

Oh! jewel, keep dhraming that same till you die,

And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie;

And 'tis plazed that I am; and why not to be sure?

Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed me enough,

And I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff,

And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,

So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."

Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,

So soft and so white, without freckle or speck;

And he look'd in her eyes, that were beaming with light,

And he kiss'd her sweet lips-Don't you think he was right?

"Now, Rory, leave off, sir-you'll hug

me no more;

That's eight times to-day that you've kiss'd me to before."

"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,

For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More.

MOLLY CAREW

OCH hone! and what will I do?

Sure me love is all crost
Like a bud in the frost ;

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