I’ll marry to spite you, ma cushla, and part,
With love for you, Terry, and so break my heart.
Och! hone! Terry, come soon,
Or else I’ll get married some fine afternoon.
Sparking Sunday Night.
Sitting in a corner, on a Sunday eve,
With a taper finger resting on your sleeve;
Starlight eyes are casting on your face their light;
Bless me, this is pleasant—sparking Sunday night!