I'm the finest guide you ever did see

I know ev'ry place of curosity

From Thig-á-na Vauragh to Donaghadee ;
And if you're for sport come along wid me.

I'll lade you sporting round about

We've wild ducks and widgeon, and snipe and throut;

And I know where they are and what they're about, And if they're not at home, then I'm sure they're out.

The miles in this counthry much longer be-
But that is a saving of time d'you see,
For two of our miles is aiqual to three,
Which shortens the road in a great degree.

And the roads in this place is so plenty, we say
That you've nothing to do but to find your way;
If you're hurry's not great, and you've time to delay,
You can go the short cut that's the longest way.

And I'll show you heaps of good drinkin' too,
For I know the place where the whiskey grew;
A bottle is good when it's not too new,
And I'm fond of one, but I'd die for two.

Thruth is scarce when liars is near,

But squealing is plenty when pigs you hear,
And mutton is high when cows is dear,
And rint it is scarce four times a-year.

Such a country for growing you ne'er did behowld, We grow rich when we're poor, we grow hot when we're cowld;

And the girls they know bashfulness makes us grow bowld;

We grow young when we like, but we never grow owld,

And the sivin small sinses grows natural here,
For praties has eyes, and can see quite clear;
And the kittles is singing with scalding tears,
And the corn-fields is listening with all their cars.
But along with sivin sinses we have one more --
Of which I forgot for to tell you before-
'Tis nonsense, spontaneously gracing our shore,
And I'll tell you the rest when I think of more.

A CELEBRATED THREE PART

MEDLEY.

PART FIRST.

THE Nightingale Club in a village was held,
At the sign of the Cabbage and Shears,

Where the singers, no doubt, would have greatly excell'd,

But for want of

Four-and-twenty fiddlers all in a row,
Four-and-twenty fiddlers-

Peaceful slumb'ring

At the town of nate Clogheen,
Where-

The graces they were culling posies,
And found-

The finest ram, sir, that ever was fed on hay:
This ram was fat behind, sir,

This ram was fat before,

This ram was

A flaxen-headed cow-boy, as simple as may be,
And next, a merry plough-boy, that whistled-
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,

And a merry old soul was he;

He call'd for

The lass of Patie's mill, so bonny, blithe, and gay,
And in spite of all my skill, she stole―

A bold dragoon, with his

O dear, what can the matter be?

Dear, dear, what can the matter be?

For of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives with-

Robin Adair.

What made the ball so fine?

What made the assembly shine?
Oh! it was-

The rum old Commodore,

The batter'd old Commodore,
For the bullets and the gout
Have so knock'd his hull about,
That he'll never more be fit for--
The Maid of Lodi, who sweetly sung--
Call again to-morrow: call again to-morrow;
Can't you, can't you call again to-morrow?

PART SECOND.

A master I have, and I am his man,

And he'll get

Galloping dreary dun,

A regiment of Irish dragoons, and they were quartered

In a mouldering cave, the abode of Despair,

Britannia sat weeping her loss,

She mourn'd for her Wolfe, and exclaimed in despair"Twas in the good ship Rover,

I sail'd the world around,
And for ten years and over,
I ne'er touch'd—

Roy's wite of Aldivalloch,
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch;
Wot ye how she cheated me-

In the Bay of Biscay 0

Cease, rude Borcas, blustering railer,
List ye landsmen all to me.

Messmates hear a brother sailor,
Sing-

Oh, hush thee, my darling, the hour will soon come,

When thy sleep shall be broken by

The wood-pecker tapping the hollow beach tree.
The wood-pecker tapping-

Poor Sally's wooden-ware,

Who all for money barters,

Her cottons, tapes, her top-knots rare,
Her bodkins, lace, and-

Paddy Shannon high-mounted on his trotting little pony,

Set off on a journey from Leather-lane to Bow,

To ogle Widow Wilkins, who he courted for her money,

And tugging at his bridle, cry-
Don't I look spruce on my Neddy,
In spite of his kicking and prancing,
Gee ho, gee ho, and stand steady,
Mr. Neddy, I'm not fond of dancing-

When absent from her my soul holds most dear,
What a medley, what a medley of—

Old chairs to mend

A very good song, and very well sung,
Jolly companions every one-

Thus the Nightingale Club nightly kept up their clamour,

And were nightly knock'd down by the president's hammer,

Were nightly knock'd down, &c.

PART THIRD

Your pardon, kind gentlefolks, pray,

I'm called once more to roar out a song, sir,
And when a lad's call'd on they say-

Come bustle, neighbour Prig,

Clap on your hat and wig;

In our Sunday clothes so gaily,
Together we will range the fields-
When the wolf in nightly prowl,
Bays the moon with-

Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you,

Your bed shall be,

On that spot in ancient lore oft named,
Where-

Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown,

Ri fol, &c.

The fairest maid in all the town,

Fol lol, &c.

If she loved me as I loved she

On this cold flinty rock I would lay down my head, And sweetly I'll sing

Bound 'prentice to a waterman, I learn'd a bit to row,

But, bless your heart, I always was so gay,

That to treat

An old woman in Yorkshire, in Yorkshire she did dwell,

She loved

Billy Taylor, a brisk young fellow,
Full of mirth and full of glee,

And thus his mind he did discover-
To a frog who would a wooing go,

Heigh ho! says Rowley,

Whether his mother would let him or no, with his

Here's a health to all good lasses,

Here's a health to all good lasses,

Here's a health to-
Our noble Queen, &c.

THE LITTLE FARTHING RUSHLIGHT.

SIR SOLOMON SIMONS, when he first did wed,

Blushed black as a crow, his lady did blush light; The clock it struck twelve, they were both tucked in bed,

In the chimney a rushlight-a little farthing rushlight. Fal de diddle de, a little farthing rushlight.