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A man who married sixteen wives, for Poly-gamy's

arrested ; A boy has swallow'd nine clasp knives, and all of them

digested ; A cat has hatch'd young ducklings two, each one

frisks and capers; They're both alive—it must be true, because 'tis in

the papers.

A lady, o'er fond of a glass (you must not think it

fustian), Has met her death so sad, alas ! by brandy's hot

cornbustion ; It burnt her vitals thro' and thro', she melted into

vapours, And ne'er seen since—it must be true, because 'tis in

the papers.

A man,

A lady in the South of France, who'd been some five

year's married, Was taken in a sort of trance, and coffin'd down and

buried, In six months' time she came to life, and from the

grave's sad vapours She walk'd away-it must be true, because 'tis in the papers.

last week, down in the west, inclined to be a glutton, He ate near half a bullock dress'd, and six raw legs of

mutton Drank porter, gallons twenty-two, which washed down

all the capers, In just an hour-it must be true, because 'twas in the

papers. Sweet Miss A., of ninety-eight, with Mr. B., of

eighty, llave enter'd holy wedlock's state, with both their

purses weighty ;

A son's already come to view, at which the old man

capers, Depend upon't, it must be true, because 'tis in the

papers,

Some fishermen lave lately seen, as lately they were

roaming, Four mermaids, handsome, sweet, and clean, their

ha'r so tidy combing; They let them have a nearer view, to see their frisks

and capers, Then they dived-it must be true, because 'tis in the

papers. Thus every day, nay, every hour, shows p'ainly what

the news is, And whether it be sweet or sour, inforins us and

amises; Then let us give our best thanks to those who tell

their capers, And ev'ry day so thankful view the facts in all the

papers.

THE OULD BOG TOLE. Tux pig is in the mire, and the cow is on the grass, And a man without a woman is no better than an ass; My mother likes the ducks, and the ducks like the

drake, And sweet Judy Flanagan I'd die for her sake. My Judy she's as fair as the flower on the lea, She's neat and complete from the neck to the knee; We met t'o ler night our hearts to condole, And I sat Judy down by the ould Boy Hole. Singing-Cu-hla mavourneen, will you marry me? Arrah, cushla mavourneen, wil you marry me? Arrals, cushla mavourneen, will you marry me? Would you fancy the bouncing young Barney Magee ? 'Then Judy she blushell, and hung down her lead, Saying, Barney, you blackguard, I'd like to get

ned; But they say you're so rough, ünd you are such a

rake"“Don't believe it,” says I, “ for it's a la niistake ; To kcep you genteel I'll work at my ir:ule, l'll handle tho shovel, the hook, and the spade; The turf to procure which is better than coil, And I'll work to my knees in the ould boy Hole.

Singing, Cus!ıla mavourveen, &c. " Arrahı, give me your hand, and consent just at once, Suru it's not every day you will get such a chance ; When the priest wakes us one, how happy I'll be With the beautiful, dutiful, Mistress Magee ! Tho' the meal should be scarce we'll have praties

enough, And if you should long for more delicate stuff, I'll take out the ould rod which my granıtather stole, And I'll go fish for eels in the ould Boy Hole.

Singing, Cushla mavourneen, &c. “Fino chillren we'll have, for we must mind that, They'll be Derby and Barney, and Kitty and Pat; They'll be Judy so meek, and Mary so bluff"“O stop! stop !"she cried,“lave you not got enough!"

'I have not," said I, sure I'll riot be content Tiil you bring home as many as there's days in the

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Lent;

How the neighbours will stare when we go for a

stroll, When we all promenade rounıl the ould Dog Hole.”

Singing, Cushla mavourueen, &c. "By the tokey !" says she, “I can scarcely refuse, For Burney the blarney you know how to use; You bave otbered my heart with the picture you've

dritwn, If I thought I could trust you, the job might be done!"

"Holy murder !" says I,“ do you doubt what I say? If I thought 'twould convince you, I'd swa:c ha's a

day; • Oh no," she replied, "it's of no uso at all," Thon she whispered consent by the oult Boy Holo,

“ Then giie me a kiss, my joy and delight!"
“Be aizy you blackguard, until it's all right;
Sure, after we're wed, we may kiss and condole,
And fish for the eels in the culd Boy Hole.''

YES, KIND SIR, AND THANK YOU

TOO.
The ruidy morn blink'd o'er the brae,

As blithe I ganged to milk my kine,
When near the winding bourn of Tay,

Wi' bouny gait ani iwa black e-n,
A Highland lad sac kind me tent,
Saying, “Sonsy las-, how'st a'wi'

you !
Shall I your pail tak o'er the bent ?"'

'Twas, “ Yes, kind sir, and I thank you too." Again he mel, me i' the e'en,

As I was linkan o'er the lee,
To join ihe dance upon the green,

And suid, “Blithe lass, I'se gang wi' thee."
Sae biaw he looked i th' highland gear,

His tirtin plaid, and bonnet blue,
My heart straight whisper'd in my ear,

Say ye«, kiud sir, and I thank you too."
We danced until the gleaming minon

Gave notice that 'twas time to part;
I thought the reel was o'er too soon,

For an! the lad had stol'n my heart.
He saw me hame across the plain,

Then kissed sae sweet, I vow 'tis true,
That when he asked to kiss again,

'Twas, “ Yes, kind sir, and I thank you too."

Grown bauld, he pressed to stay the night,

Then griped me close unto his breast
“Howt lad! my mither sair would flyte,

Gin that I grant wi’out the priest :
Gang first 'fore him, gif ye be leel,

I ken right what I then maun do;
For ask to kiss me when you will,

'Twill be, 'Yes, love, and I thank you too.'»

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FAITH, I'LL AWA' TO THE BRIDAL.

[Air—"Hie awa' to the Bridal.”-PLANCILE.]
Faith, I'll awa' to the bridal,

For there will be tippling there ;
For my lady's a-going to be married,

To whom I don't know, and don't care.
But I know we shall all be as frisky

And tipsy as pipers, goori lack ;
And so that there's pleniy of whisky,
She may marry the devil for Mac.

So, faith, I'll awa' to the bridal, &c.

I once left the bottle for Cupid,

And bade an adieu to my glass ;
I simpered and sighed, and looked stupid,

And courted a cherry-cheek'd lass.
She turn'd out a jilt-'twere a lie should I

Say, that it gave me no rain ;
For sorrowing made me so dry, that I
Took to my bottle again.

So, faith, I'll awa' to the bridal, &c.

They say there's five reasors for drinking,

But more, I'm sure, may be got ;
For I nev':r could find, to my thinking,

A reasun why people should not.

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