 | The Five Notions |  |
59
SAINT PATRICK, LOQUITUR
(March 1900)
Och, what ye tell me
'Tis as sweet for hearing
As the babblingest burn
That iver run;
For I do rimimber
How, in me hurry,
Whin I boxed thim snakes
I left out one!
'Tis as sweet for hearing
As the babblingest burn
That iver run;
For I do rimimber
How, in me hurry,
Whin I boxed thim snakes
I left out one!
An awful divvle
Wid a sting like murder,
An' a hiss like whirlwinds,
An' a eye like hell,
That would go on his belly
Throughout all Ireland,
An' nowhere he wint
Might the folks be well.
Wid a sting like murder,
An' a hiss like whirlwinds,
An' a eye like hell,
That would go on his belly
Throughout all Ireland,
An' nowhere he wint
Might the folks be well.
60
They've tried to catch him,
They've tried to kill him,
They've tried to scotch him
F'r cinturies.
An' at last when they chased him
Out o' sight (wid the polis)
He grinned an' said,
“I'm still here, if ye please!”
They've tried to kill him,
They've tried to scotch him
F'r cinturies.
An' at last when they chased him
Out o' sight (wid the polis)
He grinned an' said,
“I'm still here, if ye please!”
Says the Queen: “I'll get him,
Wid some Irish Guards, now,
An' a bit o' shamrock
Hung over me door”;
An' begob, she's done it
All in a minute—
Why did no person
Thry the same before?
Wid some Irish Guards, now,
An' a bit o' shamrock
Hung over me door”;
An' begob, she's done it
All in a minute—
Why did no person
Thry the same before?
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