8 LIFE IN IRELAND 



Och, Phelim ! besides you 're in debt, and you know it, 



Ten hogs and a teaster to widow Magee, 

 And she 'd soon nip you up, if I were to blow it, 



You haven't one shilling to pay it but three. 



To my kill me now, arrah do, wid your cold water now, 

 Water's a drink only fit for a whale, 



Boney got beat 'at the poor game of Water-loo, 

 Whiskey had brought him off clean as a nail. 



Is it me you disparge? said Phelim, you Devil ! 



A tight Dublin boy, and so handsomely cast. 

 And you, fait and trot ! the curst spirit of evil ! 



Ould waddling Peg Shambles the sport of Belfnst ; 

 A short leg and a shorter, a head with one eye in 't, 



A mouth with no teeth, that you better might bawl, 

 A nose cocking up to behold your eye squint. 



And a hump on your back like the big Linen Hall. 



To my kill me now, arrah do, wid your cold water now 



Water 's a drink only fit for a whale, 

 Boney got beat at the poor game of Water-loo, 



Whiskey had brought him off" clean as a nail. 



Och, Phelim ! the father of all my sweet childer, 



Hold still and I '11 see what the purse can afford ; 

 Wid a naggin I '11 trate you, but only be milder, 



And abuse not the beautiful works of the Lord. 

 Och, Musha ! my jewel, what I down wid a naggin? 



Said Phelim, and squeez'd her old bones to his heart, 

 Och, isn't it for ever of Peggy I 'm bragging? 



Thy naggin I '11 drink tho' it hold but a quart. 



To my kill me now, arrah do, wid your cold water now, 



Water 's a drink only fit for a M'hale, 

 Boney got beat at the poor game of Water-loo, 



Whiskey had brought him off clean as a nail. 



