3
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child,
—Wiser men than me's beguil’d;
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we gree,
I care na by how few may see;
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggot's meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
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
