Page:Hark away.pdf/8

 One pinch of Irish blackguard,

I'll take to give me ease.

(Sneezes) tol de rol.

Now I’m quite drowsy growing,

For this very morn,

I rose when cock was crowing—

Excuse me if I yawn.

(Yawns) tol de rol.

I’m not in a cue for a frolic.

Can't my spirits keep,

Love, or the windy cholic,

'Tis that makes me weep.

(Cries) tol de rol.

I’m not in a mood for crying,

Care’s a silly calf,

It not to get fat you’re contriving,

The only way’s to laugh.

(Laughs) tol de rol.