Alfred Perceval Graves.

Songs of Irish wit and humour online

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Or your mercer maliciously make an appeal



LARRY O'GAFF. 305

Look sad, and say, " Sir, your account shall be paid,
Now my uncle is dead, and my fortune is made ; "
Then order some mourning proceedings are stay'd
And black 's genteel wearing,' says Larry O'Gaff.

Says Larry, ' Love all men except an attorney :
The ladies without an exception at all ;

But beware of a widow on love's mazy journey
For mostly they've seven small children that squall :

And then from those eyes that love's glances have
darted,

They sometimes rain showers and sham broken-
hearted :

Deploring the loss of " the dear man departed" ;
Oh ! them widows are sarpints !' says Larry O'Gaff.

* But if with some charming young creature you'd run

away,

Court her fat mother a middle-aged dame
While her daughter, up stairs, is then packing like fun

away
A small change of clothes, before changing her

name;
Mamma smiles resistance but yields in amaze :

You rush for a licence to save all delays ;
But go round the corner with Miss in a chaise,
And then, " Heigh for Gretna ! '" says Larry O'Gaff

x



306 LARRY O'GAFF.



' Your wife is cut off with a shilling/ says Larry ;

But Providence spares her an old maiden aunt,
Who hates all the brazen young women who marry,

Tho' she, all her life, has been grieving she can't.
Round her you must flatter, and wheedle, and twist ;

Let her snub you in company, cheat you at whist
But you'll win the odd trick when the Legacy list

Shows her will all in favour of Larry O'Gaff.' \

LOVER.



PADDY O'RAFTHER.



ADDY, in want of a dinner one day,
Credit all gone, and no money to pay,
Stole from a priest a fat pullet, they say,
And went to confession just afther ;

* Your riv'rince,' says Paddy, ' I stole this fat hen.'

* What, what ! ' says the priest, ' at your ould thricks

again ?

Faith, you'd rather be staalin' than sayin' amen,
Paddy O'Rafther ! '

* Sure, you wouldn't be angry,' says Pat, ' if you knew
That the best of intintions I had in my view

For I stole it to make it a present to you,

And you can absolve me afther.'
c Do you think,' says the priest, ' I'd partake of your

theft?

Of your seven small senses you must be bereft
You're the biggest blackguard that I know, right and

left,

Paddy O'Rafther ! '



308 PADDY O'RAFTHER.

1 Then what shall I do with the pullet,' say Pat,
' If your riv'rince won't take it ? By this and by that
I don't know no more than a dog or a cat
What your riv'rince would have me be afther.'

* Why, then,' says his rev'rence, ' you sin-blinded owl,
Give back to the man that you stole from his fowl :
For if you do not 'twill be worse for your sowl,

Paddy O'Rafther.'

Says Paddy, ' I ask'd him to take it 'tis thrue
As this minit I'm talkin', your riv'rince, to you ;
But he wouldn't resaive it so what can I do ? '

Says Paddy, nigh choken with laughter.
'By my throth,' says .the priest, 'but the case is ab-

sthruse ;

If he won't take his hen, why the man is a goose :
'Tis not the first time my advice was no use,
Paddy O'Rafther.'

* But, for sake of your sowl, I would sthrongly advise
To some one in want you would give your supplies
Some widow, or orphan, with tears in their eyes ;

And then you may come to me afther.'
So Paddy went off to the brisk widow Hoy,
And the pullet between them was eaten with joy,
And, says she, ' 'pon my word you're the cleverest boy,
Paddy O'Rafther ! '



PADDY O'RAFTHER. 309



Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day,
And told him the fowl he had given away
To a poor lonely widow, in want and dismay,

The loss of her spouse weeping afther.
' Well now,' says the priest, ' I'll absolve you, my lad,
For repentantly making the best of the bad,
In feeding the hungry and cheering the sad,
Paddy O'Rafther ! '

LOVER.




THE ANATOMY OF THE OYSTER.

F all the conchiferous shell-fish
The oyster is surely the king :
Arrah, Mick, call the people who sell fish,

And tell them a dozen to bring.
For it's I that intind to demonstrate

The creature's phenomena strange :
Its functions to set every one straight,
And exhibit their structure and range
In sweet rhyme !

Now, boys, I beseech, be attentive
On this Carlingford fasten your eyes,

As I spread it before you so pensive,
Its gape opened wide with surprise.

See that small purple spot in the centre,
That's its heart, which is all on the move ;



THE ANATOMY OF THE OYSTER. 311

For though looking as deep as a Mentor,
It is tenderly beating with love
All the while.

Like a Chesterfield pea-coat, its liver,

Of fusty brown Petersham made,
It folds round its stomach to give a

Supply of fresh bile when there's need ;
And though we, when we swallow our oyster,

Like it raw and by cooks undefiled,
The creature itself is much choicer,

Preferring its condiments biled
It's so nice.

The fringes that circle its body,

Which epicures think should be cleared,
Are the animal's lungs for, 'tis odd, he,

Like a foreigner, breathes through his beard!
And among all its memorabilia,

Than this structure there's none half so queer,
Though Sharpey may say they are cilia,

A wiser contrivance to ' speer '
Let him try !

Now, these are the facts in the history

Of an oyster, I'd on you impress ;
I've sarved them up plain without mystery

To cook them would just make a mess.



3 I2 THE ANATOMY OF THE OYSTER.



So now, boys, we'll fetch in the whisky,
Since the water is hot on the hob,

Whilst we stir up our native so frisky
By sticking a knife in his gob,
Dear ould fish !

EDWARD FORBES.

[The above song was sung by the author at a morning
entertainment given by Lord Mountcashel at Mount Rivers,
Fermoy, to the British Association, August, 1843.]




ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.

\ T. PATRICK was a gentleman, and came of

decent people ;
In Dublin town he built a church and on 't he

put a steeple ;

His father was O'Houlihan, his mother was a lady,
His uncle was O'Shaughnessy, and his aunt a
Widow Grady.

Then success to bold St. Patrick's fist,

He was a saint so clever,
He gave the snakes and toads a twist,
And banished them for ever !

Oh ! Feltrim Hill is very high, so is the Hill of Howth,

too,
But there's a hill that is hard by, much higher than

them both too ;



3 H -ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.



'Twas on the top of this high hill St. Patrick preached

a sarmin,
He made the frogs skip thro' the bogs, and banished

all the varmin !

Success, &c.

There's not a mile in Ireland's Isle where the dirty

varmin musters ;
Where'er he put his dear fore-foot, he murdered them

in clusters :
The toads went hop, the frogs went pop, slap-haste

into the water,
And the snakes committed suicide to save themselves

from slaughter.

Success, &c.

Nine hundred thousand vipers blue he charmed with

sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloe, in soups and second

courses ;
When blind-worms crawling on the grass disgusted

the whole nation,
He gave them a rise, and opened their eyes to a sense

of their situation.

Success, &c.



ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 315



Oh, then, should I be so fortunate as to get back to

Munster,
Sure I'll be bound that from that ground I ne'er

again will once stir ;
'Twas there St. Patrick planted turf, and plenty of

the praties,
With pigs galore, machree asthore ! and buttermilk

and ladies !

Success, &c.

No wonder that we Irish lads should be so free and

frisky,
Since St. Patrick taught us first the knack of drinking

of good whisky ;
'Twas he that brew'd the best of malt, and understood

distilling,
For his mother she kept a shebeen shop in the town

of Inniskillen !

Oh, success, &c.



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Online LibraryAlfred Perceval GravesSongs of Irish wit and humour → online text (page 9 of 9)