This page has been validated.
( 7 )
With my head in my hand I advanc’d,
And stood on one knee to greet her,
My heart like pony, joy, pranc’d,
Because that I happen’d to meet her.
And it’s musha grab, &c.
She tipt me a Kilmainham leer,
Nor pitied my love-sick disaster,
But bade me be seeking elswhere,
Because she was mate for my master.
And it’s musha grab, &c.
Since, Katty, you mane to be cruel,
Bad luck to myself,'then, says I,
On a tree to extinguish love’s feul,
I’ll hang myself, honey, to dry.
And it’s musha grab, &c.
But fait all my blarney wont do,
She longs, perhaps, to see me a-kicking;
But stop—I’ll be damn’d if I do,
I’m not such a soft-pated chicken,
No more I’ll sing what will become of me,
Musha grab what will I do,
But get Judy at church to make one of me,
And Katty in turn may look blue.
