Moorland Johnny/The potatoe merchant

THE POTATOE MERCHANT

My Father was once a great merchant,
As any in Ireland was found,
But saith he could ne’er save a shilling,
Tho' tatoes he sold by the pound.
So, says he to my mother, one night,
To England suppose you and I go,
And the very same day, by moonlight,
They took leave of the county of Sligo.
Sing de ral, lal de ral la, fal lal, &c.

That the land is all cover’d with water.
’Twixt England and Ireland, you'll own;
And single misfortunes, they say,
To Irishmen ne’er come alone;
So my father, poor man ! was first drown’d
Then shipwreck’d in sailing from Cork,
But my mother,—she got safe to land,
And a whiskey-shop open’d in York.
Fal de ral, &c.

Just a year after father was dead, ———
One night, about five in the morn,
An odd accident happen’d to me,
For 'twas then that myself was first born;
All this, I've been told by my mammy,
(And surely she’d not tell me wrong,)
But I don’t remember nought of it,
'Caze it happen’d when I were quite young.
Fal de ral, &c.

On the very same day, the next year,
(For so ran the story of mother,)
The same accident happen’d again,
But not to me then, that were brother;
So ’twas settled by old father Luke,
Who dissolv’d all our family sins,
As we both were born on the same day,
that we sartinly must have been twins.
Fal de ral, &c.

'Twas agreed I should not go to school,
As learning I never should want,
'Nor would they e’en teach me to read,
For my genus they said it would cramp:
Now this genus of mine,——— where it lay,———
Do but listen a while, and you’ll hear———
'Twas in drawing—not landscapes and pictures;
No—mine was for drawing of beer.
Fal de ral, &c.

Some with only one genus are blest,
But I it appears had got two,
Far when I had drawn off some beer,
I’d a genus for drinking it too:
At last I was drawn up to town,
Without in my pocket a farden,
But since I’ve earn’d many a crown,
By the shop here, in sweet Common Garden,
Fal de ral, &c.

Now the end of my song’s drawing near,
I'll tell ye———but that’s nothing new,———
Now all my ambition’s to try,
And do what I can to draw you:
In which if I do but succeed
And my efforts beguile you of pain,
I entreat you’ll not wait to be ask'd,
To come often and see me again
Fal de ral, &c.