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WRITTEN AND SUNG BY MR DIBDIN.
IS'T my country you'd know, I'm an Iriſhman born,
And they chriſten'd me Paddy O Blarney,
In hay-making time I ſtept over one morn,
All the way from the Lakes of Kilkarney:
Turn'd my hand to whatever came in my way,
To be ſure while the ſun ſhin'd I didn't make hay.
SPOKEN
Well then, you know the wives and daughters
of the farmers won't, well they won't,
Have plenty of cauſe to remember the day,
When firſt they ſaw Paddy O Blarney.
Then what does I do, the next calling I ſeeks,
Ah! the world for the Lakes of Kilkarney,
I cry mack'rel alive, that were caught for three weeks,
Ah! let alone Paddy O Blarney:
Then freſh gather'd ſtrawberries ſo found & ſo ſweet,
With juſt half a dozen a top fit to eat.
SPOKEN.
Ah, madam, you need not examine them; bleſs
your two good looking eyes; they are full to
the bottom, paper and all — "Well, I'll
truſt to you, I dare fay you won't cheat me,"
So I coaxes her up, and her calf makes her cheat,
Ah! ſait, let alone Paddy Blarney.
Next I turn'd to a chairman and got a good job,
Ah! the world for the Lakes of Kilkarney;
I harangued at a famous election the mob,
Ah ! let alone Paddy O Blarney;
The to ſee how his honour and I did cajole,
He knock'd down his fats with words, and I mine
with my pole.
