Page:Five Irish comic songs.pdf/7

 You'll ne'er hear a murmur from Darby M.Shane.

May England ne'er want the brave boys of the sod,

To carry the musket, or carry the hod;

As for Ireland, where wholesome shilelah does grow,

There the devil himself in the shape of a foe,

Would get decently lather'd by Darby M Shane.

I was at home with my father and mother,

I bate the old couple and Thady my brother,

At larning I mane! for I handled my spade,

And nately I follow'd the turf-cutting trade.

But ould father Murphy, our parish director,

He now and then gave me a bit of a lecture,

“Arrah, Barney," said he, "you're a frolicksome elf,

But be a good boy, and take care of yourself.”

With your toorle lol, toorle lol, toorle lol loo.

Toorle lol, toorle lol, toorle lol, toorle lol loo.

My Judy I lov'd, and oft gave her a kiss,

"Tie, Barney," says she, but ne'er took it amiss.

One night I took leave, says I, Juddy I'm off;"

But heard, as I thought, in the closet a cough;

So I opened the door, and I star'd like a pig,

There stood ould father Murphy, without hat or wig!

"Arrah, father," says I, "you're a frolicksome elf,

But be a good boy, and take care of yourself.”

I was going, but ould father Murphy cried, "Stay!

We'll settle this matter, I'll tell you the way;