On the face of this earth 'tis the most curous place, I swears black and blue, by the nose on my face, "Tis the sweetest of any that ever was seen; Och! it's there you will see both the hedgehog and whale,

And the latter continually flapping his tail,

Just to raise up a breeze for the fowls of the air,
As the eagle, the jackass, or goslings so fair,

While they sing round the cabins of darling Neddeen! There stone houses all are weather-slated with mud, And the praties, and women, and whisky is good,

And the latter small hardware, they call it poteen. Small blame to them keeping no lamps there at night, Because of the girls, whose eyes show them light; You may talk of your lamps, that is all lit with gas, Och give me the black eye of a sweet colleen das, Such as light up the cabins in darling Neddeen!

There the geese run about thro' the most of the street Ready roasted, inviting the people they meet

To eat, lord an' squire, cabbogue and spalpeen;
From the cows they gets whisky, the ganders give milk,
And their best woollen blankets is all made of silk;
Their purly young girls they never grows old,
And the sun never set there last winter, I'm told,
But stay'd lighting the pipes of the boys of Neddeen!

Oh! if I kept singing till this time next year,
Not half of the beautiful beauties you'd hear,

From the Skelligs down west to the great Noersheen; There the sea's great broad bottom is covered with grass, Where many a young mermaid's seen washing her glass; An' great elephant teeth are turn'd up in the bogs, Some charmed into saw-dust, some changed into logs, Or converted to toothpicks in darling Neddeen!

Long life to the marquis, I'm glad he's gone down
To his own little city, a far sweeter town

Than Bandon, Dunmanway, or Ballyporeen;

Long life to his honour, 'till after he's dead
May nothing that's teazing e'er run in his head;
May he give to each tenant a long building lease;
May their praties, an' butter, an' childer increase,
'Till Dublin looks smaller than darling Neddeen !

THE MEMBER FOR DOUBLIN';

OR,

TWO SWEETHEARTS AT A TIME.

JAMES BRUTON.]

[Composed by CLEMENT WHITE.

I'VE often Garrick seen, two goddesses between, But he don't know where to lean; and that is just like me!

Two maids my heart is troublin', to boilin' point I'm bubblin',

A member, then, for Doublin', I think that I may be! That swan must be a rum thing, wid two necks from him growin';

Well, like him I am something-a goose!—I'm three heads showin'.

Och! I am all forlorn, now!

By two girls am I toru, now!
Before I had been born, now,
I wish that I had died!

But you do not often see a handsome man like me Wid such a fine degree of head, and back, and

calves;

When first I met the eyes of the girls, I was a prize! For each, with glad surprise, immediately cried "Halves!"

I'm puzzled like the cow, sir, from which stack I shall

eat;

Or like that tripe-shop mouser, the where to have the Och! I am all, &c.

meat!

That single-blessedness is welcome, I can guess,
But double" brings distress, from August unto
June;

Och! by the pipe of Moses, beside me are two roses,
And beauty each discloses, and I'm the stick be-

tune!

It makes a man feel shy, sir, at Cupid's game to play,

For I'm a sort of twicer, as boys at buttons say. Och! I am all, &c.

Like Janus, he who wore a pair of heads of yore, My gaze they stand before, and with their arts entice;

Enough sweet one enjoys, but too much of it cloys, For sure it soon destroys what else might have been nice.

We know 'tis pleasant weather when sheds the sun its

light,

But sun and moon together both shining-is too Och! I am all, &c.

bright.

A double-bladed knife, or two-edged sword means

strife,

And plenty is one wife, and one we often rue; "Than one, two heads are better;" bedad! seen on a letter,

Enough quite is one fetter to wear instead of two! Wont I be dying neither! no physic can repair, Though I'm inclin'd to ether, for either's always there. Och! I am all, &c.

SMALILOU.

[MERRY.]

THERE was an Irish lad

Who loved a cloister'd nun,
And it made him very sad,

For what was to be done?

He thought it a big shame,

A most confounded sin,
That she could not get out,

And he could not get in:

Yet he went every day, as he could do no more –
Yet he went every day unto the convent door;
And he sung sweetly,
Smalilou, smalilou, smalilou !
And he sung sweetly,

Smalilou, gra-ma-chree, and Paddy-whack.

To catch a glimpse of her

He play'd a thousand tricks;

The belts he tried to stir,

And he gave the walls some kicks;
He stamp'd and rav'd, and sigh'd and pray'd,
And many times he swore

The divil twist the iron bolts!

The divil burn the door!

Yet he went every day, he made it quite a rule-
Yet he went every day-and look'd very like a fool-—
Though he sung sweetly, &c.

One morn she left her bed,
Because she could not sleep,

And to the window sped

To take a little peep:

And what did she do then?

I'm sure you'll think it right-
She bade the honest lad good day,
She bade the nuns good night:
Tenderly she listen'd to all he had to say,
Then jump'd into his arms, and so they run away!
And they sung sweetly,

Smalilou, smalilou, smalilou !

And they sung sweetly,

Smalilou, gra-ma-chree, and Paddy-whack.

BECAUSE 'TIS IN THE PAPERS.

THOMAS HUDSON.]

Tune-"Good Morning to your
Nightcap."

OH! what a blessing 'tis that we, whate'er our rank

or station,

Can daily by the papers see the news of all the nation.

On every coming day we view enough to cure the vapours;

And all we read we know is true, because 'tis in the papers.

The editors are all exact, with novelty supply us, Kindly scrape up every fact to amuse and edify us; Such feelings fine and nice they show, spurning falsehood's capers;

And all they say we know is true, because 'tis in the papers.

The advertising doctors' bills on blessings closely border,

For taking only two small pills will cure ev'ry disorder;

Infallible and simple, too, they cure all nervous vapours:

And all their powers must be true, because 'tis in the papers.

A captain of a Yankee ship (I think his name is Larpent)

Saw plainly on a recent trip the monstrous large sea sarpent;

The passengers and frighten'd crew were at the monster gapers,

'Twas five miles long-it must be true, because 'twas in the papers.