But a teaf who was sea-sick kicked up such a riot,

Though I lay quite sea-sick and speechless, poor elf,

I could not help bawling, You spalpeen, be quiet;

Do you think that there's nobody dead but yourself!

Well, we got safe on shore, every son of his mother,

There I found an old friend, Mr. Paddy M'Gee;

Och, Dermot, says he, is it you or your brother?

Says I, I've a mighty great notion it's

me.

Then I told him the bull we had made of our journey,

But to bull making Irishmen always bear blame;

Says he, My good friend, though we've bulls in Hibernia,

They've cuckolds in England, and that's all the same.

mw

BREWER'S CHORUS.

To work ever ready,

With heart's light, steady,
The town to regale,—

Malt and hops now blending,
Thirsty souls befriending,
With our nut brown ale.
France has long been famous,
For her wines, no doubt;
We prefer, I'm thinking,
Ale or old brown stout.
Some are fond of water,
Tea and other slops;
Here's to merry England,
The land of malt and hops.

THE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED.

THE night before Larry was stretch'd The boys they all paid him a visit, And a bit in their sacks too they fetch'd,

They sweated their duds till they riz it:

For Larry was always the lad,

When a friend was condemn'd to

the squeezer,

But he'd fence all the tcgs that he had,

To help a poor friend to the sneezer, And moisten his gab 'fore he died. I'm sorry, now, Larry, says I, To see you in this situation;

'Pon my conscience, my lad, I don't lie,

I'd rather it had been my own sta tion.

Och hone! 'tis all over, says he,

For the neckcloth I'm forc'd to put

on,

And by this time to-morrow you'll see Your Larry will be dead as mutton, Bekays, why, my dear, my courage was good.

The boys they came crowding in fast, They drew all their stools round about him:

Six glims round his trap case were plac'd,

He couldn't be well wak'd without them.

I ax'd if he was fit for to die,

Without having duly repented? Says Larry that's all in my eye,

It's only what gownsmen invented, To get a fat bit for themselves.

The cards being call'd for, they play'd, 'Till Larry found one of them cheated;

He made a smart stroke at his head, (The boy being easily heated,) Oh! by the holy, you teaf,

I'll scuttle your nob with my daddle: You cheat me because I'm in grief, But soon I'll demolish your noddle, And leave you your claret to drink.

Then in came the priest with his book, He spoke him so smooth and so civil; Larry tipp'd him a Kilmainham look, And pitch'd his big wig to the devil. Then stooping a little his head,

To get a sweet drop of the bottle, And pitiful sighing, he said,

Oh! the hemp will be soon round my throttle,

And choke my poor windpipe to death.

So moving these last words he spoke,

We all vented our tears in a shower; For my part I thought my heart broke,

To see him cut down like a flower

On his travels we watch'd him next day;

Oh, the hangman, I thought I could
kill him,

Not one word poor Larry did say,
Nor chang'd he till he came to king
William,

Then, my dear, his color turned white.

When he came to the nubbing chit, He was tucked up so neat and so pretty;

The rumbler jogg'd off from his feet, And he died with his face to the city:

He kick'd too-but that was all pride, For soon you might see 'twas all

over;

Soon after the noose was untied,

And at darkee we wak'd him in clover,

And sent him to take a ground sweat