7
Says Dermot to Pat we the owner will bilk-
To-night we'll be merry and frisky;
I know it as well as my own mother's milk,
Dear joy, 'tis a barrel of whisky.
Says Pat, I'll soon broach it, O fortunate lot!
(Now Pat you must know, was no joker,)
I'll go to Tom Murphy, who lives in the cot,
And borrow his kitchen hot pocker.
’Twas said, and 'twas done-the barrel was bor'd
(No Bacchanals ever felt prouder,)
When Paddy found out a small error on board,
The whisky, alas! was gunpowder.
With sudden explosion, he flew o'er the ocean,
And high in air, sported a leg;
Yet instinct prevails when philosophy fails,
So he kept a tight hold of the keg.
But Dermet bawl'd out, with a terrible shout,
I'm not to be chous'd, Mr. Wiseman,
If you do not come down I'll run into the town
And, by St. Patrick, I'll tell the exciseman.
MEG O' THE MILL.
O ken ye wha Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
An' ken ye wha Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley miller.
