6
And as I came over the harvest to rape,
Och, there was no harvest for Darby M.Shane.
What a comfort it was that my patience was proof,
When I met with a coach without ever a roof.
Full of ladies who titter'd at Darby M Shane;
I wanted to go to St. Giles's that day,
So I axed the coachman to shew me the way,
And offer'd to trate him—but sharp was the word,
The man on the coach-box I found was a Lord;
There was fine botheration for Darby M.Shane.
In a shop full of pictures I stopp'd for to stare,
When a thief pick'd my pocket, and faith he took care
To lave not a copper for Darby M Shane.
But a beautiful crature to soften my grief,
Tell in love with my person it was my belief;
But when she found out that my cash was all flown,
Och hone! to be sure how she alter'd her tone,
And swore like a trooper at Darby M.Shane.
Then a gentleman meeting a lady so gay,
He wish'd her good morning at four in the day;
O that can't be grammar, said Darby M Shane.
Talk of blunders in Ireland, its only a hum.
When such plenty are found, if to England you
come;
English bulls too you'll find; but in troth to be
brief,
They're not half so good as your English roast beef,
Oh, that don't offend Mr. Darby M.Shane.
But tho' English fashions we don't understand,
While pace and good harmony reigns in this land
