Massacre of Glencoe (5)/New Song

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NEW SONG:

Draw near, Sons of Erin, I'll sing you a Song,
The Shilelah's my theme, and I will not be long:
And if with attention you'll honour the tune,
To the words you're as welcome as the roses in June.

Chorus.

Then let us be frisky, and tipple the whisky,
Success to the land of true friendship and joys,
No country whatever is able to sever
The Shamrock, the Rose, and the Thistle, my boys.

To the land of potatoes I mean no offence,
Where Shilelah first sprouted, its pride and defence

By friendship 'twas planted, it flourish'd and grew,
And the fame of the sapling is known the world thro'.
⁠Then let us, &c.

The Shilelah's an Irishman's joy and delight,
His companion by day, his protection by night;
And though rough in appearance, you all must allow
Tis mighty engaging when seen in a row.
⁠Then let us, &c.

That thief of the world, Bonaparte, declares
He'd fain be at the head, ‘Sir, of Irish affairs;
But 'bout righting our wrongs, should a foreigner prate,
We'll let our Shilelah's come pap on his pate.
⁠Then let us, &c.

The French gasconaders have oft made a boast,
They would England invade by the tight Irish coast,
Should they dare from your shamrock to rifle one sprig,
Then shew the blackguards you can handle the twig
⁠Then let us, &c.

Let a bumper, ye Sons of Hibernia, go round,
And the toast I propose; in your hearts will be found—

Here’s the land of Shilelah, and long may the sod
By the firm foot of true loyal friendship be trod.
⁠Then let us, &c.