ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. Saint Patrick was a gentleman, and cam o' dacent people, He built a church in Dublin town, and upon it put a steeple ; His mother was a Callaghan, his father was a Brady, His sister was an O'Huolin, and his brother an O'Grady. CHORUS-Noh! noh! noh! noh! Success attend St. Patrick's fist, for he's the dacent saint 0, He gave the bugs and toads a twist, he's a beauty without paint O! The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the hill of Howth, soo; But I know of a hill that's twice as high, and taller than them both, too; 'Twas on the top of that high mount where St. Patrick preach'd his sarmint, He made the frogs jump through the bogs, and he banish'd all the varmint. Noh! noh! &c. No wonder that we Irish boys should be so gay and frisky, For St. Patrick taught the happy knack of drinking of the whiskey. 'Twas he that brew'd the best o' malt, and understood distilling, For his mother kept a sheeban shop, in the town of Inniskillen, Noh! noh! &o. Then should I be so fortunate as to go back Munster, Och! I'll be bound that from that ground, a I ne'er once would stir, 'Twas there St Patrick planted turf, and ple of the praties, With pigs golore, agrath m'stere, and butter and ladies. Noh! noh! &c THE BAY OF BISCAY O'. By the lightning's vivid powers! Till next day, there she lay, In the Bay of Biscay O! Now dashed upon the billow, In the Bay of Biscay O! At length the wished for morrow Each heav'd a bitter sigh; The dismal wreck to view, In the Bay of Biscay O! Her yielding timbers sever, A sail in sight appears, We hail her with three cheers! From the Bay of Biscay O! TOM BOWLING. Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare; His friends were many, and true hearted, And when he'd sing so blithe and jolly, Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, Shall give (to call life's crew together) Thus death who kings and ars dispatches, AWAY WITH MELANCHOLY. DUET. Away with melancholy, Nor doleful changes ring, But merrily let us sing, Fal la. For what's the use of sighing, Can we prevent its flying? Fal la. Come on ye rosy hours, Gay smiling moments bring, Fal la. WHEN ARTHUR. When Arthur first in court began, The first he was an Irishman, And all were knaves I wot. The Irishman he loved usquebaugh, Usquebaugh burnt the Irishman's throat, The Welchman had like to have been chok'd by a mouse, And he pulled it out by the tail. THE GALLANT SEAMEN. Ye gentlemen of England, If enemies oppose us, When England is at war With any foreign nation, We tear not wound nor scar; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em Our valour for to know, |