6
And as I came over the harvest to rape,
Och, there was no harvest for Darby M.Shane.
What a comfort it was that my patience was proof,
When I met with a coach without ever a roof.
Full of ladies who titter'd at Darby M Shane;
I wanted to go to St. Giles's that day,
So I axed the coachman to shew me the way,
And offer'd to trate him—but sharp was the word,
The man on the coach-box I found was a Lord;
There was fine botheration for Darby M.Shane.
In a shop full of pictures I stopp'd for to stare,
When a thief pick'd my pocket, and faith he took care
To lave not a copper for Darby M Shane.
But a beautiful crature to soften my grief,
Tell in love with my person it was my belief;
But when she found out that my cash was all flown,
Och hone! to be sure how she alter'd her tone,
And swore like a trooper at Darby M.Shane.
Then a gentleman meeting a lady so gay,
He wish'd her good morning at four in the day;
O that can't be grammar, said Darby M Shane.
Talk of blunders in Ireland, its only a hum.
When such plenty are found, if to England you
come;
English bulls too you'll find; but in troth to be
brief,
They're not half so good as your English roast beef,
Oh, that don't offend Mr. Darby M.Shane.
But tho' English fashions we don't understand,