A kiss then I gave her, before I did leave her, She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again. 'Twas haymaking season, I can't tell the reason— Misfortunes will never come single, that's plain— For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.
Edward Lysaght.
HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Now to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass—
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
Now to the damsel with none, sir;
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass—
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that's merry:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass—
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
And let us e'en toast 'em together:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass—
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
R. B. Sheridan.
THE LEATHER BOTTÈL.
'Twas God above that made all things,
The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein:
The ships that on the sea do swim
To guard from foes that none come in;
And let them all do what they can,
'Twas for one end—the use of man.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottèl.