Volume Ii Part 66 (2/2)

Since 'tis all for good luck,” says bold Rory O'More.

”Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough, Sure I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; And I've made myself, drinkin' your health, quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste.”

Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck, And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light, And he kissed her sweet lips;--don't you think he was right?

”Now, Rory, leave off, sir: you'll hug me no more; That's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before.”

”Then here goes another,” says he, ”to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O'More.

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

ASK AND HAVE

”Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother, Sweet Mary,” says I; ”Oh, don't talk to my mother,” says Mary, Beginning to cry: ”For my mother says men are deceivers, And never, I know, will consent; She says girls in a hurry to marry, At leisure repent.”

”Then, suppose I would talk to your father, Sweet Mary,” says I; ”Oh, don't talk to my father,” says Mary, Beginning to cry: ”For my father he loves me so dearly, He'll never consent I should go-- If you talk to my father,” says Mary, ”He'll surely say, 'No.'”

”Then how shall I get you, my jewel?

Sweet Mary,” says I; ”If your father and mother's so cruel, Most surely I'll die!”

”Oh, never say die, dear,” says Mary; ”A way now to save you I see; Since my parents are both so contrary-- You'd better ask me!”

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

KITTY OF COLERAINE

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping, With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled, And all the sweet b.u.t.termilk watered the plain.

”Oh! what shall I do now--'twas looking at you, now; Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again!

'Twas the pride of my dairy! Oh! Barney MacCleary, You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine.”

I sat down beside her and gently did chide her, That such a misfortune should give her such pain; A kiss then I gave her, and, ere I did leave her, She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again.

'Twas hay-making season--I can't tell the reason-- Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain; For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.

Charles Dawson Shanly [1811-1875]

THE PLAIDIE

Upon ane stormy Sunday, Coming adoon the lane, Were a score of bonnie la.s.sies-- And the sweetest I maintain, Was Caddie, That I took un'neath my plaidie, To s.h.i.+eld her from the rain.

She said the daisies blushed For the kiss that I had ta'en; I wadna hae thought the la.s.sie Wad sae of a kiss complain; ”Now, laddie!

I winna stay under your plaidie, If I gang hame in the rain!”

But, on an after Sunday, When cloud there was not ane, This self-same winsome la.s.sie (We chanced to meet in the lane) Said, ”Laddie, Why dinna ye wear your plaidie?

Wha kens but it may rain?”

Charles Sibley [? ]

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