Page:Belfast maid's lamentation for the loss of her sweetheart.pdf/6

 

S'T my country you'd know, I'm an Iriſhman born,

And they chriſten'd me Paddy O Blarney,

In hay-making time I ſtept over one morn,

All the way from the Lakes of Kilkarney:

Turn'd my hand to whatever came in my way,

To be ſure while the ſun ſhin'd I didn't make hay.

Well then, you know the wives and daughters

of the farmers won't, well they won't,

Have plenty of cauſe to remember the day,

When firſt they ſaw Paddy O Blarney.

Then what does I do, the next calling I ſeeks,

Ah! the world for the Lakes of Kilkarney,

I cry mack'rel alive, that were caught for three weeks,

Ah! let alone Paddy O Blarney:

Then freſh gather'd ſtrawberries ſo found & ſo ſweet,

With juſt half a dozen a top fit to eat.

Ah, madam, you need not examine them; bleſs

your two good looking eyes; they are full to

the bottom, paper and all — "Well, I'll

truſt to you, I dare fay you won't cheat me,"

So I coaxes her up, and her calf makes her cheat,

Ah! ſait, let alone Paddy Blarney.

Next I turn'd to a chairman and got a good job,

Ah! the world for the Lakes of Kilkarney;

I harangued at a famous election the mob,

Ah ! let alone Paddy O Blarney;

The to ſee how his honour and I did cajole,

He knock'd down his fats with words, and I mine

with my pole.