4
The sowls all cry as the groom struts by,
Oh cushlamachree, thou art lost to me!
The jolly boy, the darling boy,
The ladies' toy, the widow's joy,
Long sword girted, nate short skirted,
Head crop'd, whiskers chop'd,
Captain Carey!
O sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy!
White feather'd, boot-leather'd Paddy Carey.
———
THE SPRIG OF SHILELAH AND SHAMROCK SO GREEN.
Tune— The Black Joke.
O LOVE is the soul of a neat Irishman,
He loves all the lovely, loves all that he can,
With his sprig of shilelah and shamrock so green.
His heart is good humour'd, 'tis honest and sound,
No malice or hatred is there to be found;
He courts and he marries, he drinks and he fights,
For love, all for love, for in that he delights,
With his sprig of shilelah and shamrock so green.
Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair,
An Irishman all in his glory was there,
With his sprig of shilelah and shamrock so green.
His clothes spruce and span new, without e'er a speck,
A new Barcelona ty'd round his nate neck,
He goes to a tent and he spends his half crown,
He meets with a friend and for love knocks him down,
With his sprig of shilelah and shamrock so green.
