Page:The Universal Songster and Museum of Mirth.djvu/116

Rh Again, by sweet confession blest,
 * I drank each melting sigh.

Dost thou, Kathleen, my loss deplore,
 * And lone on Erin's emerald shore,

In memory trace the love I bore;
 * On all our transports dwell?

Can I forget the fatal day
 * That call'd me from thy arms away,

When nought was loft me but to say
 * 'Farewell, my love—farewell!'

's my name, I'm comical boy,
 * A tight little lad at Shelaly;

St. Paddy wid whiskey he suckled me, joy,
 * Among the sweet bogs of Kelaly!

The world I began with the prospect so fair, My dad was worth nothing, and I was his heir; So all my estate was a heart free from care,
 * And a tight little twig of Shelaly.

"Turn captain," cried dad, "and if kilt in de strife,
 * Success and long life to Shelaly!

Your fortune is made all the rest of your life,
 * As sure as there's bogs in Kelaly."

But thinks I, spite of what fame and glory bequeath, How conceited I'd look in a fine laurel wreath, Wid my head in my mouth to stand picking my teeth,
 * Wid a tight little twig of Shqlaly.

Yet firmly both Ireland and England I'll aid,
 * The lands of oak stiek and Shelaly;

For now these two sisters are man and wife made,
 * As sure as there's bogs in Kelaly.