Song V. A REAL IRISH “FLY NOT YET.”
[_]
[Tune—Lillibullero. Time, four o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts.]
1
Hark! hark! from below,
The rascally row
Of watchmen, in chorus, bawling “Four!”
But spite of their noise,
My rollocking boys!
We'll stay till we've emptied one bottle more.
Chorus.
Bumpers—bumpers—flowing bumpers!
Bumper your glasses high up to the brim!
And he who is talking
A word about walking,
Out of the window at once with him!
2
Our whiskey is good,
As ever yet stood,
Steaming on table from glass or pot:
It came from a still,
Snug under a hill,
Where the eye of the gauger saw it not.
Bumpers, &c.
3
Then why should we run
Away from the sun—
Here's to his health, my own elegant men!
We drank to his rest
Last night in the west,
And we'll welcome him now that he wakes again.
Bumpers, &c.
4
And here we shall stop,
Until every drop,
That charges our bottles, is gone, clean gone;
And then, sallying out,
We'll leather the rout,
Who've dared to remind us how time has run.
Bumpers, &c.
