42 LIFE IN IRELAND 



'Tis at ihe Black Rock, where all parties combine 

 To tipple the whiskey or generous wine 

 Through the day, and as night settles dark on the scene, 

 Mirth ends with shillelagh, and wigs on the green. 



The Judge and the jury together are met. 



And the Bench and the Box are Hail Paddy, well met ! 



Bereft of all state, Laiv's dictators are seen 



To join laivless sport without wigs on the green. 



Good Lord ! how delightful the racket and noise 

 Kick'd up in a shindy by Liberty Boys, 

 And the lads of the Coal Quay in contact are seen 

 To knock liberty down, and lay wigs on the green. 



Here the buck of the Castle casts off all his frowns, 

 And stops as he comes from the Glen of the Downs, 

 Dispenses at once with his aspect serene, 

 When obliged to be off — from his wig on the green. 



May the Sons of Hibernia, who hither resort, 



Find pleasure more pure than that in a court, 



And when age keeps their trotters behind the fire-screen, 



May they bless the Black Rock and its wigs on the green. 



' I say, Mr. Shake-in-the-wind ! ' roared Grammachree 

 to a running footman, ' this wine is no better than 

 blackberry juice, or Spanish liquorice sweetened with 

 mustard.' 'Arrah, your soul to the Devil!' retorted 

 the spalpeen, vexed to hear the honour of his master's 

 cellar impeached, ' you 've lost the palate of your jowl ; 

 my master kapes the best materials for making port 

 wine, than any manufacturer of black drop in Dublin.' 

 This was a settler; it was no use contradicting one 

 whom you could not convince, and as the black drop 

 had penetrated the upper story of all the three, argu- 

 ment was out of the question, and assertion neither of 

 our heroes approved of. 



