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(Believe me I tell you no fable,)
And then planted it full on the table.
And they all took a hawl at the stingo,
But I've nought in my larder but mutton,
Except an unchristian-like glutton."
tell me is nothing but gammon;
How the snakes, in a manner most antic,
And trundled them into th' Atlantic.
The people of Ireland determine;
As you'd meet from Fair Head to Kilcrumper,
Yet here goes his health in a bumper !
He might by art magic replenish;
Because all the liquor is out!
LAMENT OF A CONNAUGHT RANGER.
Air.-Lamentation over Sir Dan. ith the melancholy expression of days gone by.
I wish to St Patrick we had a new war, I'd not care who 'twas
with, nor what it was for; With the French, or the Yankees, or,
better again, With the yellow mulattoes of Lisbon or Spain.
When abroad and at home we had sport and content-
With uproarious jollity.
you go courting a neat or a dainty lass, Don't you be sighing, er
rea - dy to faint, a-las! Little she'd care for such pluckless philandering,
Sir T. Picton, who commanded the 4th division in the Peninsular War. It chiefly composed of Irishmen, and was called the “ fighting division,”
from its conser activity in engaging. The Connaught Rangers, (the 88th,) was one regiment of stre most dashing brigade ; and many a saying of Sir T's. is treasured up by there, fer was a great favourite from his gallant habits.
+ A common phrase among the Irish soldiery for charging with the bayonet.
And to Old Nick she would send you a-wandering. But, you thief, you
rogue, you rapperee, Arrah, have at her like Paddy O'Raf-fer-ty.
you be sighing or ready to faint, alas !
you thief, you rogue, you rapparee !
Oh you, &c.
JERRY MAHONY, arrah, my jewel, Come let us be off to the
fair, For the Donovans, all in their glory, Most certainly mean to be
out clear and clean;". But it ne - ver was yet in their breeches, their's
bull - a - boo words to maintain.
There's Corney, the bandy-legg'd tailor, a boy of the true sort of stuff,
Fly not yet.”
-Lillibullero. Time, four o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts. ] Solo.
Hark! hark ! from be-low, The ras- cal - ly row Of watchmen in cho-rus * De voce ăça Videndi Valck. ad Eurip. Hipp. p. 306. Herm. ad Vig. p. 708. Heind. ad Plat. Crat. p. 19. Græcique Grammatici passim. C.I.B. + Tory, in Ireland, is a kind of pet name.“ Oh! you Tory," is the same as,
“Oh! you rogue,” used sportively. If a man wishes to call another a rogue seriously, he calls him, Whig--the terms being convertible.
| loitering by my strip of land in the
lics. Blotted, and corrected, as above.
THE HOP GROUND.
sure he called them sonnets, though I hand you (1) four sonnets about Thomson and Bloomfield, who divide Hops, by desire of Mr (rabbit it, their poems by the four quarters of the I almost popt out his name,) but you year,don't call theirs by any such name) are to call him R. or Mr R. or else no- but, bless my heart ! to call them a
thing at all, just as you like to take full account of all that is done with us to your choice. They were writ to plea- from spring to winter is a fine take-in.
sure me, for I was tired to death of I civilly pointed out to him, that there finding your authors of poems, and was a world of hop-work left out, but epics, and ballads, and cantos, and got nothing but a flea in the ear by it,
acrostics, and sketches, and operas, and for he mumbled something, that “ a more lyrics, and other sorts of verses, of which few discriminating marks were suffi
I don't know one from t'other, not I, eient for the purposes of poetry.” A though my daughters read a mort of word in your ear,-friend R. has a them to me. I was tired, I say, of find- very good opinion of himself; try to ing the poets always harping upon the make him hear reason, and he'll turn same old story. Hundreds and hun- as stunt as a mule, and you may as dreds
constantly go sowing and mow- well endeavour to make a hop-plant sing, and reaping, and threshing into curl round the pole, from right to left,
verse; but not a soul, as I ever heard (which, you know, it never will do) tell, (2) ever came into our hop-grounds as get him to alter a word in his ver
to sing a song about them—and why ses, when he draws up and y has should'nt they, just as well? My girls all right as it is. Now you'll see that
have got a good many poems and pock- he ha'n't said a syllable about putting et-books, and among'em there's Thom- plenty of compost on the land, though son's Seasons, and Burns the Plough. I should like to know what sort of man's
poems, (which are very badly plants he'd get without it. Not a word spelt,) and Bloomfield's Farmer's Boy'; about becking the earth well--not a so I made 'em look 'em all well over, direction about the time for fixing the to see if there was anything about hop- poles; for, d’ye think we set on our planting anywhere in them, but not a fellows to work, when we first see a word about it turned up. Indeed, I cloud and a rain-bow in spring-time, don't remember hearing a hist on the as he seems to reckon that we do? subject when the girls have been read. Then who'd guess that in summer we i ing their books out loud to me of an pay women to tie fast the runners to evening ; but then at those times I am the poles at three different heights ? apt to take a nap, for the regular sound 'Ad whip it, now I know what a son. of poetry is very composing. So I net is, if I didn't think his poetship, plucked up spirit one day, and asked Mr R., would be offended, I would a certain person (never mind who try if I couldn't make something of he is a shy cock-set down, R.--that this “ discriminating mark” myself
. must serve instead of a name)—well
, Is this anything in the right style ? I asked him once, when I saw him At first they stoop, and those who can't
well bend Parkside grounds, whether he couldn't
Get a sad crick o' the back. But at midmake a rhyme or two on the hop-pick
height ing. He rather caught at the hint, and
The tie is easier made, they stand upsaid he'd give it a thought, and at last But for the third, 'tis needful to ascend
right. brought (3) these four sonnets (I am
A pair of steps, the bines so high extend. some VARIATIONs in the M.S. letter, noticed by a critical printer's devil , with a few NOTES,
by the same claw.
“ I hand you four pockets of hops, per order of”--the words in ita(2) Mr A. is wrong. - Chr. Smart wrote a didactic poem, entitled the Hop-garden. (3) Here the words “ Nos. 14, as per bill of parcels," were dashed out.
• We subjoin