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 ays Paddy, “ Few play this music, can you play?” Says I, “ I can’t tell, for I never did try;” He told me that he had a charm, To make his pipes prettily speak. Then squeezed a bag under his arm. And sweetly they set up a squeak: With a farala, larallo loo, och ! honey how he handled the drone! And then such a sweet music he blew, ’twould have melted the heart of a stone.

' our pipes,’ said I, ‘ Paddy, so nately come over me, Naked I’ll wander wherever it blows And if my father should try to recover me. Sure it won’t be by describing my clothes. The music I hear now, takes hold of my ear now. And leads me all over the world by the nose. So I follow’d his bagpipe so sweet. And sung, as I leap’d like a frog, Adieu to my family seat. So pleasantly placed in a bog. With my farala, laralla, loo, how sweetly he handled the drone! And then such sweet music he blew, ’twould have melted the heart of a stone.

Full five years I follow’d him, nothing could sunder us. Till he one morning had taken a sup. And slipp’d from a bridge in a river just under us, Souse to the bottom, just like a blind pup. I roar’d out, and bawl’d out, and lustily call’d out, ‘ O Paddy, my dear, don’t you mean to come up?’