 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
I'M A RANTING ROVING BLADE.
THE GUIDE'S SONG.
I'm a ranting roving blade
Of never a thing was I ever afraid,
I'm a gintleman born and I scorn a thrade,
And I'd be a rich man if my debts was paid.
Of never a thing was I ever afraid,
I'm a gintleman born and I scorn a thrade,
And I'd be a rich man if my debts was paid.
156
But my debts is worth something, this truth they instil,
That pride makes us fall all against our will;
It was pride that broke me—I was happy until
I was ruin'd all out by my tailor's bill.
That pride makes us fall all against our will;
It was pride that broke me—I was happy until
I was ruin'd all out by my tailor's bill.
I'm the finest guide that ever you see,
I know ev'ry place of curosity,
From Ballinafad unto Tanderagee,
And if you're for sport come along wid me!
I know ev'ry place of curosity,
From Ballinafad unto Tanderagee,
And if you're for sport come along wid me!
For I'll lade you sportin' round about,
We've wild ducks, and widgeon, and snipe, and throut,
And I know where they are and what they're about,
And when they're not at home then I'm sure they're out.
We've wild ducks, and widgeon, and snipe, and throut,
And I know where they are and what they're about,
And when they're not at home then I'm sure they're out.
The miles in this country much longer be,
But that is a savin' of time, you see,
For two of our miles is aiqual to three,
Which shortens the road in a great degree.
But that is a savin' of time, you see,
For two of our miles is aiqual to three,
Which shortens the road in a great degree.
And the roads in this place is so plenty, we say,
That you've nothing to do but to find your way;
If your hurry's not great and you've time to delay
You can go the short cut—that's the longest way.
That you've nothing to do but to find your way;
If your hurry's not great and you've time to delay
You can go the short cut—that's the longest way.
And I'll show you good dhrinkin', too,
For I know the place where the whisky grew,
A bottle is good when it's not too new,
And I'm fond of one—but I dote on two.
For I know the place where the whisky grew,
A bottle is good when it's not too new,
And I'm fond of one—but I dote on two.
157
Thruth is scarce when liars is near,
But squeelin' is plenty when pigs you shear,
And mutton is high when cows is dear,
And rint it is scarce four times a year.
But squeelin' is plenty when pigs you shear,
And mutton is high when cows is dear,
And rint it is scarce four times a year.
Such a counthry for growin' you ne'er did behowld,
We grow rich when we're poor, we grow hot when we're cowld,
And the girls they know bashfulness makes us grow bowld,
We grow young when we like but we never grow owld.
We grow rich when we're poor, we grow hot when we're cowld,
And the girls they know bashfulness makes us grow bowld,
We grow young when we like but we never grow owld.
And the sivin small sinses grows natural here,
For pratees has eyes and can see quite clear,
And the kittles is singin' with scaldin' tears,
And the corn-fields is listenin' with all their ears.
For pratees has eyes and can see quite clear,
And the kittles is singin' with scaldin' tears,
And the corn-fields is listenin' with all their ears.
But along with sivin sinses we have one more,
Of which I forgot to tell you before,
It is nonsense spontaneously gracin' our shore,
And I'll tell you the rest when I think of more.
Of which I forgot to tell you before,
It is nonsense spontaneously gracin' our shore,
And I'll tell you the rest when I think of more.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |