If you have learnt your letters, You'll give it up-you'll give it up? (Spoken.) Why are the letters of the alphabet (except the first three) like exiles? 'Cause they are beyond C. Another I don't lack man, The subject is a black man : D'ye give it up? D'ye give it up? d'ye give it up? (Spoken.) Why is a Tol lol, &c. short black man like a snow. Tol lol, &c. all? D'ye give it up? 'Cause he's not a-tall black. Here's another now quite handy, The subject is a dandy; Can you descry, and tell me why (Spoken.) Why is a dandy like a haunch of venison ? D'ye give it up? 'Cause he's a bit of a buck. A new one I've been picking, It is a little chicken; Tol lol, &c. I'll prove the while, when you shall smile, D'ye give it up? d'ye give it up? (Spoken.) Why are two persons smiling at each other like the wings of a chicken? D'ye give it up! 'Cause there's a merry thought between them. Tol lol, &c. Now my song is nearly ended, And if you're not offended, I'll take delight new ones to write, Till my subjects are all ended. You'll give 'em up! you'll give 'em up. (Spoken.) Why is my song like Hampton Court? D'ye give it up? 'Cause 'tis surrounded by puzzles! (Spoken.) Why is my song like a house without a roof? D'ye give it up? 'Cause 'tis capable of the greatest improvement! Tol lol, &c. MURROUGH O'MONAGHAN. [HARRY CAREY.] AT the side of the road, near the bridge of Drumcondra, Was Murrough O'Monaghan stationed to beg; He had brought from the war, as his share of the plunder, A crack on the crown and the loss of a leg. "Oagh, Murrough!" he'd cry, "musha nothing may harm you, What made you go fight for a soldier on sea? You fool, had you been a marine in the army, You'd now have a penshion and live on full pay. "But, now I'm a cripple, what argufies thinking? What signifies talking of doctors and pills? "When cold, in the winter, it warms you so hearty; Neither frost, snow, nor rain, any harm can do me- "Now, merry be Christmas! success to good neighbours, Here's a happy new year, and a great many too! With plenty of whisky to lighten their labours, May sweet luck attend every heart that is true!" Poor Murrough then joining his two hands together, High held up the glass, while he vented this prayer "May whisky, by sea or by land, in all weathers, Be never denied to the children of care!" And a squeeze of her pretty little fingers. She's your own. If a widow's in your string, Let your professions of love be warm; Then do not try, Oh no! you must court her by storm. You're sure to succeed by one trial; And be kiss'd In return by her, no widow will make a denial. Do this three days, She's your own. THE LAND OF SHILLELAH. If you'd travel the wide world all over, 'Tis there you'll see Ireland so famous, That was built before Adam was breech'd, There you'll see Ulster, and Munster, and Leinster, Connaught, and sweet Kilkenny likewise; I open'd these pair of black eyes? There you'll see my ancestors glorious, Our hearts are wise and full of brains, Drove out snakes and toads like a Hector, And never die when you're in bed, THE LAWYER IN LOVE. THOMAS HUDSON.] [Tune-"Captain Wattle." AT Chambers, in Gray's-inn, dwelt one Mr. Puddy, 'Till a widow (the front of whose house had a hatchment), With her cash and her charms made him have an At tachment; Love in his net this poor lawyer did draw : When Cupid commands-good bye to all Law. The widow was fair, had an eye which was as light |