Molony’s Lament
O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons,
And read what the peepers report?
They're goan to recal the Liftinant,
And shut up the Castle and Coort!
Our desolate counthry of Oireland,
They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy,
And now having murdthered our counthry,
They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy;
'Twas he was our proide and our joy!
And will we no longer behould him,
Surrounding his carriage in throngs,
As he weaves his cocked-hat from the windies,
And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs?
I liked for to see the young haroes,
All shoining with sthripes and with stars,
A horsing about in the Phaynix,
And winking the girls in the cyars,
Like Mars,
A smokin' their poipes and cigyars.
Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies,
Your beautiful oilids you'll ope,
And there'll be an abondance of croyin'
From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope,
When they read of this news in the peepers,
Acrass the Atlantical wave,
That the last of the Oirish Liftinints
Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. God save
The Queen—she should betther behave.
And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet,
And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts,
Whin the Coort of imparial splindor
From Doblin's sad city departs?
And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers,
When the deuce of a Coort there remains?
And where'll be the bucks and the ladies,
To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains?
In sthrains,
It's thus that ould Erin complains!
There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy
'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail,
And she wanted a plinty of popplin,
For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail;
She bought it of Misthress O'Grady,
Eight shillings a yard tabinet,
But now that the Coort is concluded,
The divvle a yard will she get; I bet,
Bedad, that she wears the old set.
There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary,
They'd daylings at Madam O'Riggs';
Each year at the dthrawing-room sayson,
They mounted the neatest of wigs.
When Spring, with its buds and its dasies,
Comes out in her beauty and bloom,
Thim tu'll never think of new jasies,
Becase there is no dthrawing-room,
For whom
They'd choose the expense to ashume.
There's Alderman Toad and his lady,
'Twas they gave the Clart and the Poort,
And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters,
To feast the Lord Liftinint's Coort.
But now that the quality's goin,
I warnt that the aiting will stop,
And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble
The devil a bite or a dthrop,
Or chop;
And the butcher may shut up his shop.
Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin,
And his Lordship, the dear honest man,
And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy,
And Corry, the bould Connellan,
And little Lord Hyde and the childthren,
And the Chewter and Governess tu;
And the servants are packing their boxes,—
Oh, murther, but what shall I due
Without you?
O Meery, with ois of the blue!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Mr. Molony’s Account Of The Ball
O will ye choose to hear the news,
Bedad I cannot pass it o'er:
I'll tell you all about the Ball
To the Naypaulase Ambassador.
Begor! this fete all balls does bate
At which I've worn a pump, and I
Must here relate the splendthor great
Of th' Oriental Company.
These men of sinse dispoised expinse,
To fete these black Achilleses.
'We'll show the blacks,' says they, 'Almack's,
And take the rooms at Willis's.'
With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls,
They hung the rooms of Willis up,
And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls,
With roses and with lilies up.
And Jullien's band it tuck its stand,
So sweetly in the middle there,
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes,
And violins did fiddle there.
And when the Coort was tired of spoort,
I'd lave you, boys, to think there was
A nate buffet before them set,
Where lashins of good dhrink there was.
At ten before the ball-room door,
His moighty Excellincy was,
He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd,
So gorgeous and immense he was.
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute,
Into the door-way followed him;
And O the noise of the blackguard boys,
As they hurrood and hollowed him!
The noble Chair* stud at the stair,
And bade the dthrums to thump; and he
Did thus evince, to that Black Prince,
The welcome of his Company.
O fair the girls, and rich the curls,
And bright the oys you saw there, was;
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi,
On Gineral Jung Bahawther, was!
This Gineral great then tuck his sate,
With all the other ginerals,
(Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat,
All bleezed with precious minerals
And as he there, with princely air,
Recloinin on his cushion was,
All round about his royal chair
The squeezin and the pushin was.
O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls,
Such fashion and nobilitee!
Just think of Tim, and fancy him
Amidst the hoigh gentilitee!
There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese
Ministher and his lady there,
And I reckonized, with much surprise,
Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there;
There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like Juno,
And Baroness Rehausen there,
And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar
Well, in her robes of gauze in there.
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first,
When only Mr. Pips he was),
And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool,
That after supper tipsy was.
There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all,
And Lords Killeen and Dufferin,
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife:
I wondther how he could stuff her in.
There was Lord Belfast, that by me past,
And seemed to ask how should I go there?
And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A Hay,
And the Marchioness of Sligo there.
Yes, Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls,
And pretty girls, was sporting there;
And some beside (the rogues!) I spied,
Behind the windies, coorting there.
O there's one I know, bedad would show
As beautiful as any there,
And I'd like to hear the pipers blow,
And shake a fut with Fanny there!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Mr. Barney Maguire's Account of The Coronation
Och! the Coronation! what celebration
For emulation can with it compare?
When to Westminster the Royal Spinster,
And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair!
'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen
Making a skrimmage at half after four,
And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys,
All standing round before the Abbey door.
Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning
Themselves adorning, all by the candle light,
With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies,
And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright.
And then approaches five hundred coaches,
With Giniral Dullbeak.-- Och! 'twas mighty fine
To see how asy bould Corporal Casey,
With his swoord drawn, prancing, made them kape the line.
Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,
All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes,
Opening the massy doors to the bould Ambassydors,
The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews;
'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy
All jew'ls from jasey to his di'mond boots,
With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer,
The famale heiress, Miss Anjâ-ly Coutts.
And Wellington walking with his swoord drawn, talking
To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame;
And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey,
(They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name,)
Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading
The Queen, the darling, to her Royal chair,
And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of Pell-Mello,
The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair.
Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russians,
In fine laced jackets with their goulden cuffs,
And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians,
And Everythingarians all in furs and muffs.
Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker,
All in the Gallery you might persave,
But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a fishing,
Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave.
There was Baron Alten himself exalting,
And Prince Von Swartzenburg, and many more,
Och! I'd be bother'd, and entirely smother'd
To tell the half of 'em was to the fore;
With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and dresses,
And Aldermanesses, and the Boord of Works;
But Mehemet Ali said, quite gintaly,
'I'd be proud to see the likes among the Turks!'
Then the Queen, Heaven bless her! och! they did dress her
In her purple garaments, and her goulden Crown;
Like Venus or Hebe, or the Queen of Sheby,
With eight young Ladies houlding up her gown.
Sure 'twas grand to see her, also for to he-ar
The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow,
And Sir George Smart! Oh! he play'd a Consarto,
With his four-and-twenty fidlers all on a row!
Then the Lord Archbishop held a goulden dish up,
For to resave her bounty and great wealth,
Saying 'Plase your Glory, great Queen Vict-ory!
Ye'll give the Clargy lave to dhrink your health!'
Then his Riverence, retrating, discoorsed the mating,
'Boys! Here's your Queen! deny it if you can!
And if any bould traitour, or infarior craythur,
Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man!'
Then the Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing,
'Heaven send your Majesty a glorious reign!'
And Sir Claudius Hunter he did confront her,
All in his scarlet gown and goulden chain.
The great Lord May'r, too, sat in his chair too,
But mighty sarious, looking fit to cry,
For the Earl of Surrey, all in his hurry
Throwing the thirteens, hit him in his eye.
Then there was preaching, and good store of speeching,
With Dukes and Marquises on bended knee;
And they did splash her with raal Macasshur,
And the Queen said, 'Ah! then, thank ye all for me!'--
Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing,
And sweet trombones with their silver tones,
But Lord Rolle was rolling;--' twas mighty consoling
To think his Lordship did not break his bones.
Then the crames and the custards, and the beef and mustard,
All on the tombstones like a poultherer's shop,
With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats,
And wine, and nagus, and Imparial Pop!
There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels,
With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears,
Och! the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough,
The sly ould Divil, underneath the stairs.
Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wonder'd,
Crying, 'God save Victoria, our Royal Queen!'
Och! if myself should live to be a hundred,
Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen!
And now I've ended, what I pretended,
This narration splendid in swate poe-thry,
Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher,
Faith, it's meself that's getting mighty dhry
poem by Richard Harris Barham
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A Hungry Day
I MIND him well, he was a quare ould chap,
Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod;
He hired me wanst to help his harvest in-
The crops was fine that summer, praised be God!
He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,
Just landed in the emigration shed;
Meself was tyin' on their bits of clothes;
Their mother-rest her tender sowl!-was dead.
It's not meself can say of what she died:
But 'twas the year the praties felt the rain,
An' rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw
The breath of life was one long hungry pain.
If we wor haythens in a furrin land,
Not in a country grand in Christian pride,
Faith, then a man might have the face to say
'Twas of stharvation me poor Sheila died.
But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes-
They looked straight into Heaven-an' her ears
Wor deaf to the poor children's hungry cries,
He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw:
'She's gone!' he says, and drew a solemn frown;
'I fear, my man, she's dead.' 'Of what?' says I.
He coughed, and says, 'She's let her system down!'
'An' that's God's truth!' says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark;
An' in me hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burnin'spark.
'O by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright-the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat their fill.'
An' whin they spread the daisies thick an' white
Above her head that wanst lay on me breast,
I had no tears, but took the childher's hands,
An' says, 'We'll lave the mother to her rest.'
An' och! the sod was green that summer's day,
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.
An' all was quiet-on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lacked the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins wapin' turned away.
God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,
An' whin upon her increase His right hand
Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue
For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.
No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky.
No mines yawned on the hills so full an' rich;
A man whose praties failed had nought to do
But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch.
A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,
Whin, passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,
I saw the mark of Sheila's coffin in
The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.
I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;
Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' Mick an' me
Must lave the green ould sod an' look for food
In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'
An' so it chanced, whin landed on the sthreet,
Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay
Came there to hire a man to save his wheat,
An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.
'An' bring the girleen, Pat,' he says, an' looked
At Rosie, lanin' up agin me knee;
'The wife will be right plaised to see the child,
The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.
'We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!
As nice a farm as ever brogan trod.
A hundered acres-us as never owned
Land big enough to make a lark a sod.'
'Bedad,' says I, 'I heerd them over there
Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,
An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck
To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet.'
'Begorra, Pat,' says Dolan, 'may ould Nick
Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,
An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure
Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!'
'Och, thin,' says I, 'meself agrees to that!'
Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;
Says he, 'Kape up yer heart; I never kew
Since I come out a single hungry day.
'But thin I left the crowded city sthreets-
Th'are men galore to toil in thim an' die;
Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home
In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.
'I did that same; an' God be praised this day!
Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure;
An' in them years I never wanst have seen
A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure.'
I listened to ould Dolan's honest words:
That's twenty years ago this very spring,
An' Mick is married, an' me Rosie wears
A swateheart's little shinin' goulden ring.
'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look
At the green fields upon me own big farm;
An' God be praised! all men may have the same
That owns an axe an' has a strong right arm!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Larry O’Toole
You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,
Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole;
He had but one eye,
To ogle ye by—
Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l!
A fool
He made of de girls, dis O'Toole.
'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,
That tuck down pataties and mail;
He never would shrink
From any sthrong dthrink,
Was it whisky or Drogheda ale;
I'm bail
This Larry would swallow a pail.
Oh, many a night at the bowl,
With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl;
He's gone to his rest,
Where's there's dthrink of the best,
And so let us give his old sowl
A howl,
For 'twas he made the noggin to rowl.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Wayfaring Stranger
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
Travelin' through a world of woe
Ain't no sickness, toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which i go
I'm goin' there to see my father
Said he'd meet me when i come
I'm only goin' over jordan
I'm only goin' over home
I know dark clouds gonna gather 'round me
I know my way it'll be rough and steep
Yet beautiful fields lie just before me
Where god's redeemed did vigils keep
I'm goin' there to see my loved ones
Gone before me one by one
I'm only goin' over jordan
I'm only goin' over home
I'll soon be free from earthly trials
This body rests in the orchard's yard
I'll drop this cross of self-denial
And go singing home to god
I'm goin' there to see my savior
To dwell with him no more to roam
I'm only goin' over jordan
I'm only goin' over home
I'm only goin' over home
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goin Down To Rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio,
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Theres a place down rio town
Where everybody hangs around
And they all do the crazy thing
Dance a lot and love to sing
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
All right
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Take a trip down rio
Where I goin down there any day
Where the folks all have a ball
Just go down there for any all
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
All right, thats nice, Im going to rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Take a trip down rio where
Im goin down there any day
Where the folks all have a ball
Just go down knock on any door
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Goin down to rio, goin down to rio
Goin down to rio
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recreation
WE took our work, and went, you see,
To take an early cup of tea.
We did so now and then, to pay
The friendly debt, and so did they,
Not that our friendship burnt so bright
That all the world could see the light ;
'Twas of the ordinary genus,
And little love was lost between us
We loved, I think, about as true
As such near neighbours mostly do.
At first, we all were somewhat dry ;
Mamma felt cold, and so did I :
Indeed, that room, sit where you will,
Has draught enough to turn a mill.
'I hope you're warm,' says Mrs. G.
'O, quite so,' says mamma, says she ;
'I'll take my shawl off by and by.'--
'This room is always warm,' says I.
At last the tea came up, and so,
With that, our tongues began to go.
Now, in that house, you're sure of knowing
The smallest scrap of news that's going ;
We find it there the wisest way
To take some care of what we say.
--Says she, 'there's dreadful doings still
In that affair about the will ;
For now the folks in Brewer's Street
Don't speak to James's when they meet.
Poor Mrs. Sam sits all alone,
And frets herself to skin and bone.
For months she managed, she declares,
All the old gentleman's affairs ;
And always let him have his way,
And never left him night nor day ;
Waited and watched his every look,
And gave him every drop he took.
Dear Mrs. Sam, it was too bad !
He might have left her all he had.'
'Pray ma'am,' says I, 'has poor Miss A.
Been left as handsome as they say ?'
'My dear,' says she, ''tis no such thing,
She'd nothing but a mourning ring.
But is it not uncommon mean
To wear that rusty bombazeen !'
'She had,' says I, 'the very same
Three years ago, for--what's his name ?'--
'The Duke of Brunswick --very true,
And has not bought a thread of new,
I'm positive,' said Mrs. G.
So then we laughed, and drank our tea.
'So,' says mamma, 'I find it's true
What Captain P. intends to do ;
To hire that house, or else to buy--
'Close to the tan-yard, ma'am,' says I ;
'Upon my word it's very strange,
I wish they mayn't repent the change !'
'My dear,' says she, ''tis very well
You know, if they can bear the smell.'
'Miss E.' says I, 'is said to be
A sweet young woman, is not she ?'
'O, excellent ! I hear,' she cried ;
'O, truly so !' mamma replied.
'How old should you suppose her, pray ?
She's older than she looks, they say.'
'Really,' says I,' 'she seems to me
Not more than twenty-two or three.'
'O, then you're wrong,' says Mrs. G.
'Their upper servant told our Jane,
She'll not see twenty-nine again.'
'Indeed, so old ! I wonder why
She does not marry then,' says I ;
'So many thousands to bestow,
And such a beauty, too, you know.'
'A beauty ! O, my dear Miss B.
You must be joking now,' says she ;
'Her figure's rather pretty,'----' Ah !
That's what I say,' replied mamma.
'Miss F.' says I, 'I've understood,
Spends all her time in doing good :
The People say her coming down
Is quite a blessing to the town.'
At that our hostess fetched a sigh,
And shook her head ; and so, says I,
'It's very kind of her, I'm sure,
To be so generous to the poor.'
'No doubt,' says she, ''tis very true ;
Perhaps there may be reasons too :--
You know some people like to pass
For patrons with the lower class.'
And here I break my story's thread,
Just to remark, that what she said,
Although I took the other part,
Went like a cordial to my heart.
Some innuendos more had passed,
Till out the scandal came at last.
'Come then, I'll tell you something more,'
Says she,--' Eliza, shut the door.--
I would not trust a creature here,
For all the world, but you, my dear.
Perhaps it's false--I wish it may,
--But let it go no further, pray !'
'O,' says mamma, 'You need not fear,
We never mention what we hear.'
And so, we drew our chairs the nearer,
And whispering, lest the child should hear her,
She told a tale, at least too long
To be repeated in a song ;
We panting every breath between,
With curiosity and spleen.
And how we did enjoy the sport !
And echo every faint report,
And answer every candid doubt,
And turn her motives inside out,
And holes in all her virtues pick,
Till we were sated, almost sick.
--Thus having brought it to a close,
In great good-humour we arose.
Indeed, 'twas more than time to go,
Our boy had been an hour below.
So, warmly pressing Mrs. G.
To fix a day to come to tea,
We muffled up in cloak and plaid,
And trotted home behind the lad.
poem by Jane Taylor
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The Cab Horses' Story
Now, you wouldn't imagine, to look at me,
That I was a racehorse once.
I have done my mile in - let me see
No matter. I was no dunce.
But you'd not believe me if I told
Of gallops I did in days of old.
I was first in - ah, well! What's the good?
It hurts to recall those days
When I drew from men, as a proud horse should,
Nothing but words of praise:
Oh, the waving hats, and the cheering crowd!
How could a horse help being proud?
My owner was just as proud as I;
I was cuddled and petted and praised.
My fame was great and my price was high,
And every year 'twas raised.
Then I strained a sinew in ninety-nine,
And that's when started my swift decline.
I was turned to grass for a year or so;
Then dragged to an auction sale;
And a country sport gave me a go;
But how could I hope but fail?
'A crock,' said he. And I here began
To learn of the ways of cruel man.
A year I spent as a lady's hack
I was growing old and spent
But she said that the riding hurt her back;
So we parted; and I went
For a while - and it nearly broke my heart
Dragging a greasy butcher's cart.
Then my stifle went. And I, proud horse,
Son of the nobly born,
The haughty king of a city course,
Knew even a butcher's scorn!
So down the ladder I quickly ran;
Till I came to be owned by a bottle man.
And my bed was hard and my food was poor,
And my work was harder still
Dragging a cart from door to door
The slave of Bottle-oh Bill.
Till even he, for a few mean bob,
Sold me into this hateful job.
As I dozed and dreamed in the ranks one day,
Thinking of good days past,
I heard a voice that I knew cry, 'Hey!
Say, cabby, is this horse fast?'
And he looked at me in a way I know.
'Twas the man I'd loved in the long ago.
'Twas my dear, old master of ninety-nine,
And I waited, fair surprised.
But ne'er by a look and ne'er by sign
Did he show he recognised.
Then I heard his words ('twas my last hard knock):
'Why don't you pole-axe the poor old crock?'
And he turned aside to a low-bred mare
That was foaled on some cockie's farm,
And he drove away. What do I care?
I can come to no more harm.
In a knacker's yard I am worth at least
Some pence for a hungry lion's feast.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Whats Really Goin Wrong
Hahahah, (here it goes)
Good evening ladies and gentlemen,
Welcome to tonights presentation,
Its brought to you by us,
And its non-fiction
Everybody saw
The last movie we made,
And this one called whats really goin wrong
What is really, what is really goin wrong
Well what is really, what is really goin wrong
Sublime in the place livin up chickens creation
In 1996 to make you buy this cinematation,
This is what they, agree to show to you
Its not really the truth
But youll believe it through and through
What is really, what is really goin wrong
What is really, what is really goin wrong
(space aliens sounds)
What is really, what is really goin wrong
What is really goin wrong
(speed it up)
What is really, what is really goin wrong
What is really, (what is really), what is really, what is really goin wrong
(guitar solo)
What is really goin wrong
What is really, what is really goin wrong
song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle Of Limerick
Ye Genii of the nation,
Who look with veneration.
And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore;
Ye sons of General Jackson,
Who thrample on the Saxon,
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore,
When William, Duke of Schumbug,
A tyrant and a humbug,
With cannon and with thunder on our city bore,
Our fortitude and valiance
Insthructed his battalions
To respict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore.
Since that capitulation,
No city in this nation
So grand a reputation could boast before,
As Limerick prodigious,
That stands with quays and bridges,
And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore.
A chief of ancient line,
'Tis William Smith O'Brine
Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more:
O the Saxons can't endure
To see him on the flure,
And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore!
This valliant son of Mars
Had been to visit Par's,
That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor;
And to welcome his returrn
From pilgrimages furren,
We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore.
Then we summoned to our board
Young Meagher of the sword:
'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore;
And Mitchil of Belfast
We bade to our repast,
To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore.
Convaniently to hould
These patriots so bould,
We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store;
And with ornamints and banners
(As becomes gintale good manners)
We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore.
'Twould binifit your sowls,
To see the butthered rowls,
The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore,
And the muffins and the crumpets,
And the band of hearts and thrumpets,
To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore.
Sure the Imperor of Bohay
Would be proud to dthrink the tay
That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour;
And, since the days of Strongbow,
There never was such Congo—
Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it—by Shannon shore.
But Clarndon and Corry
Connellan beheld this sworry
With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core;
And they hired a gang of ruffins
To interrupt the muffins,
And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore.
When full of tay and cake,
O'Brine began to spake;
But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar
Of a ragamuffin rout
Began to yell and shout,
And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore.
As Smith O'Brine harangued,
They batthered and they banged:
Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore;
They smashed the lovely windies
(Hung with muslin from the Indies),
Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore.
With throwing of brickbats,
Drowned puppies and dead rats,
These ruffin democrats themselves did lower;
Tin kettles, rotten eggs,
Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs,
They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore.
O the girls began to scrame
And upset the milk and crame;
And the honorable gintlemin, they cursed and swore:
And Mitchil of Belfast,
'Twas he that looked aghast,
When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore.
O the lovely tay was spilt
On that day of Ireland's guilt;
Says Jack Mitchil, 'I am kilt! Boys, where's the back door?
'Tis a national disgrace:
Let me go and veil me face;'
And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore.
'Cut down the bloody horde!'
Says Meagher of the sword,
'This conduct would disgrace any blackamore;'
But the best use Tommy made
Of his famous battle blade
Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore.
Immortal Smith O'Brine
Was raging like a line;
'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar;
In his glory he arose,
And he rushed upon his foes,
But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore.
Then the Futt and the Dthragoons
In squadthrons and platoons,
With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore;
And they bate the rattatoo,
But the Peelers came in view,
And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Going To Acapulco
I'm going down to Rose Marie's
She never does me wrong.
She puts it to me plain as day
And gives it to me for a song.
It's a wicked life but what the hell
The stars ain't falling down.
I'm standing outside the Taj Mahal
I don't see no one around.
Goin' to Acapulco
Goin' on the run.
Goin' down to see fat gut
Goin' to have some fun.
Yeah
Goin' to have some fun.
Now, whenever I get up
And I ain't got what I see
I just make it down to Rose Marie's
'Bout a quarter after three.
There are worse ways of getting there
And I ain't complainin' none.
If the clouds don't drop and the train don't stop
I'm bound to meet the sun.
Goin' to Acapulco
Goin' on the run.
Goin' down to see some girl
Goin' to have some fun.
Yeah
Goin' to have some fun.
Now, if someone offers me a joke
I just say no thanks.
I try to tell it like it is
And keep away from pranks.
Well, sometime you know when the well breaks down
I just go pump on it some.
Rose Marie, she likes to go to big places
And just set there waitin' for me to come.
Goin' to Acapulco
Goin' on the run.
Goin' down to see some girl
Goin' to have some fun.
Yeah
Goin' to have some fun.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goin On
Oo oo oo ooo goin on
When in the mornin
I must arise
I look in the mirror
It couldnt be clearer
Somethin is gone from my eyes
Goin on
Goin on
Goin on
I know what is missin
cause since youve been gone
My mind keeps on reelin (mind keeps on reelin)
My heart keeps on feelin (heart keeps on feelin)
Why is my love goin on (goin on)
Goin on
Goin on
Goin on
I love you
I miss you
Things wont be the same till I kiss you
Im empty
Without you
My hearts full with my arms about you
Ooo ooo ooo ah ah ah
We said it was over
Were livin apart
We couldnt quite make it (couldnt quite make it)
But still I cant shake it (but still I cant shake it)
Our love still lives on in my heart (in my heart)
Goin on
Goin on
Goin on
I love you
Forever
Love wont be the same again ever (same again ever)
Without you (without you)
Im longing (Im longing)
You gave me a sense of belonging
Oo oo oo oo oo goin on
Why is my love goin on (goin on)
Goin on
Goin on
Goin on
I love you
I miss you
Im sorry
Forgive me (wont you forgive me)
Believe me (believe me)
My lover (my lover)
There never could be any other
Ooo oooo oooo goin on
Come be my
Redeemer
Awaken me beautiful dreamer (beautiful dreamer)
I love you (I love you)
I miss you (I miss you)
Things wont be the same till Im with you
Ahhhhhhhhhhh
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kenmare River
'Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry,
'Tis pretty to be in Ballindoon,
But 'tis prettier far in County Kerry
Coortin' under the bran' new moon,
Aroon, Aroon!
'Twas there by the bosom of blue Killarney
They came by the hundther' a-coortin' me;
Sure I was the one to give back their blarney,
An' merry was I to be fancy-free.
But niver a step in the lot was lighter,
An' divvle a boulder among the bhoys,
Than Phelim O'Shea, me dynamither,
Me illigant arthist in clock-work toys.
'Twas all for love he would bring his figgers
Of iminent statesmen, in toy machines,
An' hould me hand as he pulled the thriggers
An' scattered the thraytors to smithereens.
An' to see the Queen in her Crystial Pallus
Fly up to the roof, an' the windeys broke!
And all with divvle a trace of malus,—
But he was the bhoy that enjoyed his joke!
Then O, but his cheek would flush, an' 'Bridget,'
He 'd say, 'Will yez love me?' But I 'd be coy
And answer him, 'Arrah now, dear, don't fidget!'
Though at heart I loved him, me arthist bhoy!
One night we stood by the Kenmare river,
An' 'Bridget, creina, now whist,' said he,
'I'll be goin' to-night, an' may be for iver;
Open your arms at the last to me.'
'Twas there by the banks of the Kenmare river
He took in his hands me white, white face,
An' we kissed our first an' our last for iver—
For Phelim O'Shea is disparsed in space.
'Twas pretty to be by blue Killarney,
'Twas pretty to hear the linnets's call,
But whist! for I cannot attind their blarney,
Nor whistle in answer at all, at all.
For the voice that he swore 'ud out-call the linnet's
Is cracked intoirely, and out of chune,
Since the clock-work missed it by thirteen minutes
An' scattered me Phelim around the moon,
Aroon, Aroon!
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goin To Acapulco
Im going down to rose maries
She never does me wrong.
She puts it to me plain as day
And gives it to me for a song.
Its a wicked life but what the hell
The stars aint falling down.
Im standing outside the taj mahal
I dont see no one around.
Goin to acapulco
Goin on the run.
Goin down to see fat gut
Goin to have some fun.
Yeah goin to have some fun.
Now, whenever I get up
And I aint got what I see
I just make it down to rose maries
bout a quarter after three.
There are worse ways of getting there
And I aint complainin none.
If the clouds dont drop and the train dont stop
Im bound to meet the sun.
Goin to acapulco
Goin on the run.
Goin down to see some girl
Goin to have some fun.
Yeah goin to have some fun.
Now, if someone offers me a joke
I just say no thanks.
I try to tell it like it is
And keep away from pranks.
Well, sometime you know when the well breaks down
I just go pump on it some.
Rose marie, she likes to go to big places
And just set there waitin for me to come.
Goin to acapulco
Goin on the run.
Goin down to see some girl
Goin to have some fun.
Yeah goin to have some fun.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cripple Creek
1: well I married a wife in the month of june,
Married her up by the light of the moon.
We live down on cripple creek.
Weve been there about a week.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
2: now cripple creek girls about half-grown,
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone.
Roll my pants up to my knees,
Cross on cripple creek a-when I please.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
3: well Im goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Im a-goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
Chorus: Im a-goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Goin'
Well, I'm goin', I'm goin'
Goin' on a downhill slide.
I'm goin', I'm goin'
Goin' on a downhill slide.
Things feel so easy
I'm never gonna change my mind.
I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin'.
Well, ride me babe
Hang on to my hat
Ride me babe
Hang on to my hat
I'll howl like a wolf
Scream like an alley cat.
I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin'.
Don't wanna change my mind.
Don't wanna reel it in.
Don't wanna stop
this slidin' honey
That's the shape I'm in.
I'm goin', I'm goin'
on a downhill slide.
Things feels so easy
I'm never gonna change my mind.
I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin'.
Goin', goin',
goin', goin', goin'.
I'm goin' on a downhill slide.
Watch me now, watch me now.
Goin', goin',
goin', goin', goin'.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Been There Done That
I've seen the devil,
Stared him straight in the eyes.
Danced in his fire on my darkest nights.
Laid in his garden an' I drank his wine.
Slept with temptation to laugh at salvation:
It almost saved me alive.
Oh, I've been there done that, had my thrill:
Ain't goin' back again.
I was the life of every party,
It nearly did me in.
I was the baddest man you've ever seen,
Lord, I wrote the book on sin.
Yeah, I been down that road,
I ain't goin' back again.
I caused more damage than a hurricane.
I broke your heart an' didn't feel a thing. (I walked.)
Then walked away and cursed your name in vain. (Cursed your name.)
But with you as my witness,
You gave me forgiveness,
Now I've got a second chance.
Oh, I've been there done that, had my thrill:
Ain't goin' back again.
I was the life of every party,
It nearly did me in.
I was the baddest man that you've ever seen,
Lord, I wrote the book on sin.
Yeah, I been down that road.
He's knockin' at my door,
Ain't walkin' round here no more.
Been there, done that,
Ain't goin' back again, no!
Instrumental Break.
I was the baddest mother that you've ever seen,
Lord, I wrote the book on sin.
Been there, done that,
Ain't goin' back again.
I was the life of every party,
It nearly did me in.
I was the baddest man that you've ever seen,
Lord, I wrote the book on sin.
Yeah, I been down that road.
I ain't goin' back again,
Oh, no!
Been there, done that.
I was the life of the party, yeah.
(Been there, done that.)
To fade.
song performed by by Van Zant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im Goin On A Downhill Slide
Well, Im goin, Im goin
Goin on a downhill slide.
Im goin, Im goin
Goin on a downhill slide.
Things feel so easy
Im never gonna change my mind.
Im goin, Im goin, Im goin.
Well, ride me babe
Hang on to my hat
Ride me babe
Hang on to my hat
Ill howl like a wolf
Scream like an alley cat.
Im goin, Im goin, Im goin.
Dont wanna change my mind.
Dont wanna reel it in.
Dont wanna stop this slidin honey
Thats the shape Im in.
Im goin, Im goin on a downhill slide.
Things feels so easy
Im never gonna change my mind.
Im goin, Im goin, Im goin.
Goin, goin, goin, goin, goin.
Im goin on a downhill slide.
Watch me now, watch me now.
Goin, goin, goin, goin, goin.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Crystal Palace
With ganial foire
Thransfuse me loyre,
Ye sacred nympths of Pindus,
The whoile I sing
That wondthrous thing,
The Palace made o' windows!
Say, Paxton, truth,
Thou wondthrous youth,
What sthroke of art celistial,
What power was lint
You to invint
This combineetion cristial.
O would before
That Thomas Moore,
Likewoise the late Lord Boyron,
Thim aigles sthrong
Of godlike song,
Cast oi on that cast oiron!
And saw thim walls,
And glittering halls,
Thim rising slendther columns,
Which I poor pote,
Could not denote,
No, not in twinty vollums.
My Muse's words
Is like the bird's
That roosts beneath the panes there;
Her wing she spoils
'Gainst them bright toiles,
And cracks her silly brains there.
This Palace tall,
This Cristial Hall,
Which Imperors might covet,
Stands in High Park
Like Noah's Ark,
A rainbow bint above it.
The towers and fanes,
In other scaynes,
The fame of this will undo,
Saint Paul's big doom,
Saint Payther's Room,
And Dublin's proud Rotundo.
'Tis here that roams,
As well becomes
Her dignitee and stations,
Victoria Great,
And houlds in state
The Congress of the Nations.
Her subjects pours
From distant shores,
Her Injians and Canajians;
And also we,
Her kingdoms three,
Attind with our allagiance.
Here come likewise
Her bould allies,
Both Asian and Europian;
From East and West
They send their best
To fill her Coornucopean.
I seen (thank Grace!)
This wonthrous place
(His Noble Honor Misther
H. Cole it was
That gave the pass,
And let me see what is there).
With conscious proide
I stud insoide
And look'd the World's Great Fair in,
Until me sight
Was dazzled quite,
And couldn't see for staring.
There's holy saints
And window paints,
By Maydiayval Pugin;
Alhamborough Jones
Did paint the tones
Of yellow and gambouge in.
There's fountains there
And crosses fair;
There's water-gods with urrns:
There's organs three,
To play, d'ye see?
'God save the Queen,' by turrns.
There's Statues bright
Of marble white,
Of silver, and of copper;
And some in zinc,
And some, I think,
That isn't over proper.
There's staym Ingynes,
That stands in lines,
Enormous and amazing,
That squeal and snort
Like whales in sport,
Or elephants a-grazing.
There's carts and gigs,
And pins for pigs,
There's dibblers and there's harrows.
And ploughs like toys
For little boys,
And ilegant wheelbarrows.
For thim genteels
Who ride on wheels,
There's plenty to indulge 'em:
There's Droskys snug
From Paytersbug,
And vayhycles from Bulgium.
There's Cabs on Stands
And Shandthry danns;
There's Waggons from New York here;
There's Lapland Sleighs
Have cross'd the seas,
And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here.
Amazed I pass
From glass to glass,
Deloighted I survey 'em;
Fresh wondthers grows
Before me nose
In this sublime Musayum!
Look, here's a fan
From far Japan,
A sabre from Damasco:
There's shawls ye get
From far Thibet,
And cotton prints from Glasgow.
There's German flutes,
Marocky boots,
And Naples Macaronies;
Bohaymia
Has sent Bohay;
Polonia her polonies.
There's granite flints
That's quite imminse,
There's sacks of coals and fuels,
There's swords and guns,
And soap in tuns,
And Gingerbread and Jewels.
There's taypots there,
And cannons rare;
There's coffins fill'd with roses;
There's canvas tints,
Teeth insthrumints,
And shuits of clothes by MOSES.
There's lashins more
Of things in store,
But thim I don't remimber;
Nor could disclose
Did I compose
From May time to Novimber!
Ah, JUDY thru!
With eyes so blue,
That you were here to view it!
And could I screw
But tu pound tu,
'Tis I would thrait you to it!
So let us raise
Victoria's praise,
And Albert's proud condition,
That takes his ayse
As he surveys
This Cristial Exhibition.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gospel Changes
The Prodigal Son, he'd been away a while
he was working his way back home now
over many a ragged mile
When he finally crossed the river
and his father saw him near
there was a joyful sound, for all the world to hear
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Jesus, He did not doubt His gifts
though He knew that He had not long to live
He took care of the bus'ness
of teaching us how to fly
then He bowed His head and laid down to die
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Jerusalem I see you standing high
but if you lose your salvation
there'll be no tears left to cry
Now some men worship a Golden Calf
while others are bought and sold
and if we live like that brother we pay the toll
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down,
Still Goin' Down
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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