90 IRISH Wash down the root from the horns that o'erflow; Shake your She!lelaghs, boys*. Screeching drunk, scream your joys! Whack for O'$he4ighnashene !--tooley whagg he! ONE BOTTLE MORE. AsSiST me, ye lads, who have hearts void of guile, To sing in the praises of old Ireland's isle, Where true hospitality opens the door, And friendship detains us for one bottle more: O?e bottle more, arrah, one bottle more, And friendship detains us for one b?ttle more. Old England your taunts on our country forbear; With our bulls and our brogues we are true andsincere; For if but one bottle remains in our store: We have generous hearts to give that bottle more. That bottle more, &c. At Candy's, in Church-street, I'll sing of 'a set ' Of six Irish blades who together had met: Four bottles a-piece made us call,for a score, And nothing remained but one bottle more. One bottle .more, Our bill belong paid, we were loth to depart, For friendship had grappled.each man by the heart, Where the least touch, you know, makes an Irishman roar, And the whack from shi?elah brought six bottles more. Sir bottles more, &c. Slow Phoebus had shone through our window so bright, Quite happy to view his ble?t children of light: I?o we parted with hearts neither sorry nor sore, Resolving next night to drink twelve bottles'more. - Twelve !?ottles more,
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