For my own cousin-jarmin, Anne Wild,
Stood for Biddy Mulrooney's first child,
And Biddy's step-son,

Sure he married Bess Dunn,

Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild a child
As ever at mother's breast smiled.

"And maybe you don't know Jane Brown,
Who served goats' whey when in Dundrum's sweet
town,

'Twas her uncle's half-brother
That married my mother,

And bought me this new yellow gown, to go
down,

When the marriage was held in Miltown."

"By the powers!" then says Dermot, "'tis plain, Like the son of that rapscallion Cain,

My best friend I have kilt,

Though no blood there is spilt,

And the devil a harm did I mane, that's plain,
But by me he'll be ne'er kilt again."

Then the mealman forgave him the blow,
That laid him a sprawling so low,

And being quite gay,

Ask'd them both to the play,

But Katty, being bashful, said, “No, no, no,"
Yet he treated them all to the show.

THE NODDY DRIVER.

CHARLES DIBDIN

the Younger.

[Tune-"Paddy O'Carroll."

I'M Larry O'Lash'em, was born in Killarney,
Myself drove a noddy in Dublin sweet town,

And I got fares enough, case I tipp'd the folks blarney, But myself was knock'd up, case I knock'd a man down;

So to London I drove to avoid the disaster,
There to drive hackney-coaches engag'd for the
pelf,

And honestly out of my fares paid my master
Two-thirds, and kept only one-half for myself.

And sing high gee, wo, here we go, merry and
frisky;

O' Lash'em's the boy for to tip the long trot. I took up a buck, and 'cause 'twas the fashion, He got in the box, and made me mount inside, So as I didn't much like to put him in a passion,

Thinks I, while I'm walking I may as well ride; But I couldn't help laughing, to think how the hinder

Wheels after the fore cnes most furiously paid,

When a wheel broke its leg, spilt the coach out of window,

And my head and the pavement at nut-cracking play'd.

And sing, hi gee, wo, &c.

I next drove a couple one morn to get married,

The bride was turn'd sixty, the bridegroom a score; For the sake of her money the courtship he carried, But repented his bargain just at the church-door. "Devil burn me," says I, "tis a pity, I'm thinking," Allur'd by the rhino, myself intercedes,

And got married-soon after she died of hard drinking, And left me a widow forlorn in my weeds.

And sing, hi gee, wo, &c.

After fingering the cash which I got by my marriage,
I drank success to all kind of misfortunes I'd made,
And brought me a fine bran new second-hand carriage,
Became my own Jarvis, and drove a good trade;
And my coach and my horses, in case of invasion,
I'll lend to the troops, and I'll join in the strife;
And if I am kilt in defence of the nation,

'Twill make me a hero the rest of my life.

And sing, hi gee, wo, &c.

K

GILES SCROGGINS.

[CHARLES DIBDIN the Younger.]

GILES SOROGGINS courted Molly Brown,
Fol de riddle lol di, fol de riddle dee,

The fairest wench in all the town,

Fol de riddle, &c.

He bought her a ring with posey true,
"If you loves I as I loves you,
No knife can cut our loves in two."

Fol de riddle, &c.

But scissors cut as well as knives,

Fol de riddle, &c.

And quite unsartin's all our lives,

Fol de riddle, &c.

The day they were to have been wed,
Fate's scissors cut poor Giles's thread,
So they could not be mar-ri-ed,

Fol de riddle, &c.

Fol de riddle, &c.

Poor Molly laid her down to weep,

And cried herself quite fast asleep,

Fol de riddle, &c.

When standing all by the bed-post,

A figure tall her sight engross'd,

And it cried, "I bees Giles Scroggins' ghost."

Fol de riddle, &c.

The ghost it said all solemnly,

Fol de riddle, &c.

"Oh Molly, you must go with me,"

Fol de riddle, &c.

"All to the grave your love to cool!"
She says, "I am not dead, you fool!"
Says the ghost, says he, "Vy, that's no rule."
Fol de riddle, &c.

The ghost he seized her all so grim,

All for to go along with him,

Fol de riddle, &c.

Fol de riddle, &c. "Come, come," said he, "ere morning's beam;" "I vont," she said, and she scream'd a scream: Then she awoke, and found she'd dream'd a dream. Fol de riddle, &c.

""TIS A FOLLY TO TALK OF LIFE'S TROUBLES."

[Air-"Irish Historian."]

"TIS a folly to talk of life's troubles,
There are always two sides of the way,
And if one is in shade the chance doubles,
That the other is cheerful and gay.
We know it looks sad to be sighing,

Yet there's good in it, wisdom decides,
For the man who with grief thinks he's dying,
With laughter will ne'er crack his sides.
'Tis a folly to talk of life's troubles,

There are always two sides of the way
And if one is in shade the chance doubles,
That the other is cheerful and gay!

To be without hands, tho' no blessing,
That's some good-as economy proves-
Tho' awkward we find it when dressing,

We can ne'er be in want of new gloves.
The man without legs, tho' queer talking,

He'll ne'er break his shins, it is plain;
And the man who's no feet to go walking,
Won't be troubled with chilblains again.
'Tis a folly, &c., &c.

If a man all his teeth chance to lack,
He is sure they can give him no pain;

If a man has no coat to his back,

Why, he's sure it won't spoil with the rain.

If a man has no money to mind,

He may save the expense of a purse;

And if a man's perfectly blind,

Why, he's sure his sight cannot grow worse. 'Tis a folly, &c., &c.

If a man has but one shirt at most,

He's no trouble to think which he'll use;
And a man who's as deaf as a post,

Why, he'll never hear unwelcome news.
If light-headed, why, still you are right,

For there's comfort to think it's not madness;
And the man that gets drunk day and night,
Why, it's clear he can't feel sober sadness.

'Tis a folly, &c., &c.

If but little your own you can call,

It's quite certain that much you can't pay;
And if you've got nothing at all,

Why you're sure they can take none away.
Strange stories may find new upholders,
But one thing you'll grant, which is that,
If a man's got no head on his shoulders,
He won't care a pin for a hat!

'Tis a folly, &c., &c.

THE SEASON OF THE YEAR.

The extra verses by W.

T. MONCRIEFF.

V.}

[Air-"Old Country Melody."

WHEN I was boon apprentice,

In vamous Zomerzetshire,

Lauks! I zerved my meester truly,

For nearly zeven long year;

Until I took to powching,

Az you zhall quickly heer;

Oh, 'twas ma delight, in a zhiny night,

In the zeazon o' the year.

Oh, 'twas ma delight, &c.