When she is by, I leave my work
  (I love her so sincerely),
My master comes, like any Turk,
  And bangs me most severely. 
But let him bang his belly full,
  I’ll bear it all for Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that’s in the week,
  I dearly love but one day;
And that’s the day that comes betwixt
  A Saturday and Monday. 
For then I’m dress’d all in my best,
  To walk abroad with Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church,
  And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
  As soon as text is named. 
I leave the church in sermon time,
  And slink away to Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
  Oh! then I shall have money;
I’ll hoard it up, and box and all
  I’ll give it to my honey. 
I would it were ten thousand pounds,
  I’d give it all to Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all
  Make game of me and Sally;
And (but for her) I’d better be
  A slave, and row a galley. 
But when my seven long years are out,
  Oh! then I’ll marry Sally: 
Oh! then we’ll wed, and then we’ll bed,
  But not in our alley.

        Henry Carey.

KITTY OF COLERAINE.

As beautiful Kitty one
    morning was tripping
With a pitcher of milk
    from the fair of Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled,
    the pitcher it tumbled,
And all the sweet buttermilk
    water’d the plain.

“Oh, what shall I do now? 
    ’Twas looking at you, now;
Sure, sure, such a pitcher
    I’ll ne’er meet again. 
’Twas the pride of my dairy,
    O Barnay M’Leary,
You’re sent as a plague
    to the girls of Coleraine!

I sat down beside her,
    and gently did chide her,
That such a misfortune
    should give her such pain.

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.