 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
MARCH!
March, March! Why the de'il don't you march
Faster than other months out of your order?
You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the east,
And high-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border;
Now, our umbrellas spread, flutter above our head,
And will not stand to our arms in good order;
While, flapping and tearing, they set a man swearing,
Round the corner, where blasts blow away half the border!
Faster than other months out of your order?
You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the east,
And high-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border;
Now, our umbrellas spread, flutter above our head,
And will not stand to our arms in good order;
While, flapping and tearing, they set a man swearing,
Round the corner, where blasts blow away half the border!
March, March! I'm ready to faint,
That Saint Patrick had not his nativity's casting;
I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad
Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting;
But as it was his fate, Irishmen emulate
Doing what doom or St. Paddy may order;
And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for their right,
They'll stick to their flag while a thread's in its border.
That Saint Patrick had not his nativity's casting;
I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad
Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting;
But as it was his fate, Irishmen emulate
Doing what doom or St. Paddy may order;
And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for their right,
They'll stick to their flag while a thread's in its border.
109
March, March! Have you no feeling
E'en for the fair sex who make us knock under?
You cold-blooded divil, you're far more uncivil
Than summer himself with his terrible thunder!
Every day we meet ladies down Regent street,
Holding their handkerchiefs up in good order;
But, do all that we can, the most merciful man
Must see the blue noses peep over the border.
E'en for the fair sex who make us knock under?
You cold-blooded divil, you're far more uncivil
Than summer himself with his terrible thunder!
Every day we meet ladies down Regent street,
Holding their handkerchiefs up in good order;
But, do all that we can, the most merciful man
Must see the blue noses peep over the border.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |