Page:Lass o' Gowrie.pdf/7

 With my head in my hand I advanc’d, And stood on one knee to greet her, My heart like pony, joy, pranc’d, Because that I happen’d to meet her. And it’s musha grab, &c.

She tipt me a Kilmainham leer, Nor pitied my love-sick disaster, But bade me be seeking elswhere, Because she was mate for my master. And it’s musha grab, &c.

Since, Katty, you mane to be cruel, Bad luck to myself,'then, says I, On a tree to extinguish love’s feul, I’ll hang myself, honey, to dry. And it’s musha grab, &c.

But fait all my blarney wont do, She longs, perhaps, to see me a-kicking; But stop—I’ll be damn’d if I do, I’m not such a soft-pated chicken, No more I’ll sing what will become of me, Musha grab what will I do, But get Judy at church to make one of me, And Katty in turn may look blue.