(Don’t forget the half-crown for the clerk—ye’ll find it below in the chest).
And to leave me alone in the world—O whirra, ochone, ochone!
(Is that Misther Moore in the car?—I thought I was goin’ alone);
Why am I alive this minit? why don’t I die on the floore?
(I’ll take your hand up the step, an’ thank ye, Misther Moore!)
An’ are ye gone at last from your weepin’, desolate wife?
(Not a dhrop, Misther Moore, I thank ye—well, the laste little dhrop in life!)
’Twas ye had the generous heart, an’ ’twas ye had the noble mind,
(Good mornin’, Mrs. O’Flanagan! Is Tim in the car behind?)
Oh, that I lived till this minit, such bitther sorrow to taste,