Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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PADDY IN A PUCKER. |
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156
PADDY IN A PUCKER.
'Twas business requir'd I'd from Dublin be straying,
I bargain'd the captain to sail pretty quick;
But just at the moment the anchor was weighing,
A spalpeen, he wanted to play me a trick.
Says he, “Paddy, go down stairs, and fetch me some beer now,”
Says I, “by my soul, you're monstraciously kind,
Then you'll sail away, and I'll look mighty queer now,
When I come up and see myself left all behind.”
I bargain'd the captain to sail pretty quick;
But just at the moment the anchor was weighing,
A spalpeen, he wanted to play me a trick.
Says he, “Paddy, go down stairs, and fetch me some beer now,”
Says I, “by my soul, you're monstraciously kind,
Then you'll sail away, and I'll look mighty queer now,
When I come up and see myself left all behind.”
Wid my palliluh! smalliluh! whilliluh! pilliluh!
Arrah, whack! boderation! and langolee!
Arrah, whack! boderation! and langolee!
A storm met the ship, and the waves did so dodge her,
Says the captain, “we'll sink, or be all cast away!”
Thinks I, “never mind, 'cause I'm only a lodger,
And my life is insur'd, so the office must pay.”
But a taef, who was sea-sick, kick'd up such a riot,
Tho' I lay with sickness quite speechless, poor elf!
I couldn't help bawling; “you spalpeen be quiet,
Do you think that there's nobody dead but yourself?”
Says the captain, “we'll sink, or be all cast away!”
Thinks I, “never mind, 'cause I'm only a lodger,
And my life is insur'd, so the office must pay.”
But a taef, who was sea-sick, kick'd up such a riot,
Tho' I lay with sickness quite speechless, poor elf!
I couldn't help bawling; “you spalpeen be quiet,
Do you think that there's nobody dead but yourself?”
Wid your palliluh! &c.
Well, we got safe on shore ev'ry son of his mother,
There I found an old friend, Mr. Paddy M`Gree.
“O, Dermot!” said he, “is it you or your brother?”
Says I, “I've a mighty great notion it's me.”
Then I tould him the bull we had made of our journey;
But for bull-making Irishmen always bear blame;
Says he, “My good friend, tho' we've bulls in Hibernia,
They've cuckolds in England, and that's all the same.”
There I found an old friend, Mr. Paddy M`Gree.
“O, Dermot!” said he, “is it you or your brother?”
Says I, “I've a mighty great notion it's me.”
Then I tould him the bull we had made of our journey;
But for bull-making Irishmen always bear blame;
Says he, “My good friend, tho' we've bulls in Hibernia,
They've cuckolds in England, and that's all the same.”
Wid their palliluh, &c.
157
But from all sorts of cuckoldom, Heav'n preserve us!
For John Bull and Paddy Bull's made man and wife;
And ev'ry brave fellow who's kilt in their service,
Is sure of a pension the rest of his life.
Then who in defence of a pair of such hearties,
Till he'd no legs to stand on would e'er run away?
Then a fig for French brags, and your great Buonapartes,
King George and the Union must carry the day.
For John Bull and Paddy Bull's made man and wife;
And ev'ry brave fellow who's kilt in their service,
Is sure of a pension the rest of his life.
Then who in defence of a pair of such hearties,
Till he'd no legs to stand on would e'er run away?
Then a fig for French brags, and your great Buonapartes,
King George and the Union must carry the day.
Wid, &c.
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