Fie, for shame on your meanness—I'll not be a fool—
I must have my sons sent to England to school—
I'll have none of your brogue—they must speak with an accent,
If all Ballysassenagh were set at a rack rent.
See the Blacks and the Browns—sure my heart it annoys
To see those young fellows look down on our boys;
And why? I'm convinced it's for no better reason,
Than that they were at college in England last season."
Thus I argued and fought—above all did I use
Such a tone that I quite beat him out of his views;
So now I'm all tears, and confusion, and racket,
Preparing the boys for the very next packet.
This being the case, Deb., I'm sure you'll excuse
All mistakes in my hurry to tell you the news;
But whatever my feelings, my fuss, or my fidget,
I am always the self-same, affectionate,
ENGLISH AND IRISH EYES.
Air—"Jock of Hazeldeen."
The world's wealth should not buy, lady,
My heart for thee to wear,
For in your Saxon eye, lady,
There's something all may share;
And though the glances strike, lady,
From out your orbs of fire,
There's nothing there to like, lady,
Though much there's to admire.
They look too much around, lady—
All restless is their mien—
Though there one truth I've found, lady,
