A SONG OF "UNITED IRELAND."
AIR:-"Killaloe."
Well, I'm glad that I was born
In the land the Sassenach scorn,
For its fondness for a first-class Phillaloo.
Faix! Home Rule's a purthy schame,
And on Thursday PARNELL came
To insthruct us how to floor the "Pathriot" crew.
I'd one Leader, that I swear,
Now there's siveral "in the air,"
And it sthrikes me I've a doubt which one is thrue;
But whin things are out of jint,
To decide the tickle pint,
Faith! there's nothing like a first-class Phillaloo!
Chorus.
Ye may talk about McCARTHY,
As a leader sane and hearthy,
For to lead the "Pathriot" parthy;
But ochone! and wirrasthrue!
It seems anything but aisy
(Ask DICK POWER and Misther DEASY)
To lead for long
A parthy strong
Widout a Phillaloo!
PARNELL wiped BODKIN's eye,
And of all his toype "made pie."
O'BRIEN telegraphed wid much surprise;
And brave DILLON "over there,"
Seemed disposed to tear his hair,
And TAY PAY inclined to pipe his pathriot eyes.
Said BODKIN, with alarm,
"This will do the paper harm,"
Said LEAMY, "I'm appointed to your place."
Thin on a float or dray
They the papers sint away,
And scatthered all the Staff, and closed the case.
Chorus.—Ye may talk of J. McCARTHY, &c.
Ooh, bhoys, there was the fun!
But the game was far from done.
United Ireland did not yet appear;
For whilst NAGLE had stepped out,
BODKIN came wid comrades stout,
And a hamper, which was packed with bottled beer.
PARNELL swore an awful oath
He'd have law agin 'em both,
And he came from KENNY's house in Rutland Square;
And he raised a Phillaloo
With the aid of followers true,
And replaced the valiant LEAMY in the chair.
Chorus.—Ye may talk of J. McCARTHY, &c.
To it feet and fists they wint,
As though foighting agin rint,
Says the Sassenach, "By golly, I'm perplext;
For when pathriots, don't ye see,
Foight like schoolboys on a spree,
Why, ye niver know what they'll be up to next.
There seems little to be said;
Let each break the other's head:
I'll mix no more in pathriot affairs.
Ere that paper shall appear,
Many an Oirish head and ear
Must be 'closed for alterations and repairs.'"
Chorus.—Ye may talk of J. McCARTHY, &c.
"If to help poor PAT you'd try,
Or would raise the Home Rule cry,
And change the Constitution—just for fun;
There's one thing ye've got to do,—
Just prepare for Phillaloo,
For the PATS will raise it—every mother's son.
It may be very fine,
PAT's no enemy of mine,
But, as I think, ye'll aisily suppose,
Whatever line we take
Peace is mighty hard to make,
When 'United Ireland' punches its own nose!"
Chorus.
Ye may talk about McCARTHY,
As a pathriot pure and hearthy,
For to lead the Home-Rule Parthy;
And to keep the Liberals thrue.
But it's anything but aisy
(Ask DICK POWER and Misther DEASY)
To rule the Pats
(Those fighting cats)
Widout a Phillaloo!