PADDY THE BOOK AGENT
Air
LARRY O'GAFF
——————
The sun rose in splendor one foine summer morning
That marked me first effort at selling a book.
It's rays with soft beauty the landscape adorning
Sint thramps to seek bliss in some cool shady nook.
But no such rethrate the hot moments beguiling
Afforded relief to poor Pathrick O'Reilly,
Who canvassed that day epidermis parboiling
In air that would stifle a Florida cook.
I ambled along wid me pack on me shoulder,
And prayed for a cloud to o'ershadow me path:
Says I to meself, if it doesn't grow cowlder
Poor Pat you'll be afther sure milting to death.
I entered a town an' the first house I came to
Looked much loike O'Grady's, I intered the same to,
And called for the misthress, though troth half ashamed to,
An' sat for a moment to catch at me breath.
Be the council o' Cork I was not long awaiting,
The misthress appeared, looking black as a rook.
"The devil ye are wid yer impertince satin,
Yerself in me kitchen," she said wid a look.
Says I, "How is your rheumatiz, Mrs. O'Grady?"
And then quite politely I asked, "Can ye rade ye
Ould hathen, if not be me troth ye are nady;
Ye want to be afther sure buyin' a book."
She looked quite intint at aich bould handsome fature,
And warm as it was, I could see that she shook.
"O'll tache ye a lesson," she scramed, "Ye vile crature,
Ye cross twixt an ape an' a Bowery street crook!"
She jumped at me troat thin an' would you belave me,
As quick as a wink through the dure did she have me,
And howled as I struck—will her tones ever lave me?—
"The divil fly off wid yerself an' yer book."
I left a square inch of me cheek at O'Grady's,
An' limped wid the rest to the house just fornint.
A winch in the dureway was paling some praties,
Who watched me approach wid a quizzical squint.
Says I wid the best of me Chesterfield graces,
"Good day me fair maid, ain't it hotter than blazes,"
An' coaxingly swate I did ask, "If ye plaze, Miss,
To ordher a piece av me illigant print!"
Thank God for his gifts! this colleen was a daisy,
Who flashed me a glance from her eyes of deep blue;
And smiling so swately said, "Pathrick, go aisy,
I see ye were born where the blarney stone grew."
"O yes, I was born in ould Ireland, God bless ye,
The compliment sure makes me long to caress ye,
And now be me troth I am timpted to press ye
To take all me books an' the book agent too!"
We published the bans then to tell Oi'm not minding,
Our lips did the printing as ach wint to press—
The type was O. K. and O. K. was the binding,
The sthrongest av bonds are two hearts that caress.
The saints be adored for the joys they were sending—
The angels be bless'd on our nuptials attending—
For nothing can aquel in loife till its ending
The gift of a mate loike the wan I possess!
I am now one Lumberjack.