His name was a terrible name, indeed,
Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch,
He'd not rest till he fill'd it full again,
The boozing, bruising Irishman,
The 'toxicated Irishman—
The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman.
VI.
This was the lad the lady loved,
Like all the girls of quality;
And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,
Just by the way of jollity,
O, the leathering Irishman,
The barbarous, savage Irishman—
The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's heads were bothered
I'm sure by this Irishman.
A _CAT_ALECTIC MONODY! CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS.
A CAT I sing, of famous memory,
Though CATachrestical my song may be;
In a small garden CATacomb she lies,
And CATaclysms fill her comrades' eyes;
Borne on the air, the CATacoustic song
Swells with her virtues' CATalogue along;
No CATaplasm could lengthen out her years,
Though mourning friends shed CATaracts of tears.
Once loud and strong her CATachist-like voice
It dwindled to a CATcall's squeaking noise;
Most CATegorical her virtues shone,
By CATenation join'd each one to one;—
But a vile CATchpoll dog, with cruel bite,
Like CATling's cut, her strength disabled quite;
Her CATerwauling pierced the heavy air,
As CATaphracts their arms through legions bear;
'Tis vain! as CATerpillars drag away
Their lengths, like CATtle after busy day,
She ling'ring died, nor left in kit KAT the
Embodyment of this CATastrophe.
A NEW SONG OF NEW SIMILES. JOHN BAY
My passion is as mustard strong;
I sit all sober sad;
Drunk as a piper all day long,
Or like a March-hare mad.
Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
I drink, yet can't forget her;
For though as drunk as David's sow
I love her still the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber could see
The rest of womankind.
Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,
And eye her o'er and o'er;
Lean as a rake, with sighs and care,
Sleek as a mouse before.