To the Fiddler says Dermot McFigg,

6

"If you'll please to play Sheela na gig,' We'll shake a loose toe

While you humor the bow.

To be sure you must warm the wig
Of McFigg,

While he's dancing a neat Irish jig!"

But says Katty, the darling, says she,
"If you'll only just listen to me,
It's myself that will show

Billy can't be your foe,

Tho' he fought for his Cousin, that's me,"
Says she,

"For sure Billy's related to me!

"For my own cousin-german, Ann Wilde, Stood for Biddy Mulrooney's first child, And Biddy's stepson,

Sure he married Bess Dunn,

Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild

A child

As ever at mother's breast smiled.

"And maybe you don't know Jane Brown, Who served goat's whey in sweet Dundrum town. 'Twas her uncle's half-brother

That married my mother,

And bought me this new yellow gown,

To go down,

When the marriage was held in Miltown!"

"By the Powers, then," says Dermot, "'tis plain, Like a son of that rapscallion Cain,

My best friend I've kilt,

Tho' no blood it is spilt,

And devil a harm did I mean,

That's plain,

But by me he'll be ne'er kilt again!

Then the Meal-man forgave him the blow,
That laid him a-sprawling so low,

And being quite gay,

Asked them both to the play,

But Katty, being bashful, said "No,"

"No!

"No!"

Yet he treated them all to the show!

B

GEORGE OGLE
(1742-1814)

BANISH SORROW

ANISH sorrow, grief's a folly,

Thought, unbend thy wrinkled brow; Hence dull care and melancholy,

Mirth and wine invite us now. Bacchus empties all his treasure ; Comus gives us mirth and.song; Follow, follow, follow, follow, Follow, follow pleasure

Let us join the jovial throng.

Youth soon flies, 'tis but a season;
Time is ever on the wing;
Let's the present moment seize on,
Who knows what the next may bring?

All our days by mirth we measure;
Other wisdom we despise ;
Follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow pleasure

To be happy's to be wise.

Why should therefore care perplex us?
Why should we not merry be?

While we're here, there's nought to vex us,
Drinking sets from cares all free ;

Let's have drinking without measure;

Let's have mirth while time we have ; Follow, follow, follow, follow,

Follow, follow pleasure

There's no drinking in the grave.

MAILLIGH⚫MO STOIR

S down by Banna's banks I strayed,

A One evening in May,

The little birds, in blithest notes,

Made vocal every spray;

They sung their little notes of love,
They sung them o'er and o'er,

Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, mo cailín og,
'Si Mailligh mo stoir.1

The daisy pied, and all the sweets
The dawn of Nature yields -
The primrose pale, and violet blue,
Lay scattered o'er the fields;
Such fragrance in the bosom lies
Of her whom I adore.

Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, etc.

I laid me down upon a bank,
Bewailing my sad fate,

That doomed me thus the slave of love
And cruel Molly's hate;

How can she break the honest heart

That wears her in its core?

Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, etc.

1 Gramachree, ma colleen oge, Molly asthore-"The love of my heart, my dear young girl is Molly, my treasure.”

You said you loved me, Molly dear !
Ah? why did I believe !

Yet who could think such tender words
Were meant but to deceive?

That love was all I asked on earth

Nay, Heaven could give no more. Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, etc.

O had I all the flocks that graze
On yonder yellow hill,

Or lowed for me the numerous herds
That yon green pasture fill

With her I love I'd gladly share
My kine and fleecy store.
Ah! Grádh mo chroidho, etc.

Two turtle-doves, above my head,
Sat courting on a bough;
I envied them their happiness,
To see them bill and coo.

Such fondness once for me was shown,
But now, alas! 'tis o'er.

Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, etc.

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear!
Thy loss I e'er shall moan;

Whilst life remains in my poor heart,
'Twill beat for thee alone :

Though thou art false, may Heaven on thee

Its choicest blessings pour.

Ah! Grádh mo chroídhe, mo cailín og, 'Si Mailligh mo stoir.