As you peel, true as steel. While the betters noisy grow. While the banging rages loud and long, And the betters noisy grow. IV. The Randal-rag of England Must yet terrific burn, Till Ireland's troublesome knight be beat, When the noise of bets is low. When Sir Dan lies levelled loud and long, And the noise of bets is low. Blackwood's Magazine. September, 1819. MARK SPROT'S LAMENT. YE President's and L'Amy's men, O, little do you think upon The dangers of our knees! My song shall make your legs to shake Within your pantaloons : We such woe undergo When we ride with the Dragoons. Our Quarter-Master, Donald, Is up at peep of day; A whacking fine he doth design, If you remain away. When he doth call the muster-roll, His pipe each yeoman times Spare me, lo! here I go, To ride with the Dragoons. Then out speaks Sergeant Whigham, If you've that day forgot pipe-clay, Quoth great Whigham, "Resolved I am, To trounce such awkward loons Please pay down, half-a-crown, To the fund of our Dragoons." Then out speaks Captain Cockburn, "Count one, two, three, that I may see How many files go off." We jog along, some eighty strong, Although the sand is flying, We must not shrink a jet. We don't give o'er, though basted sore, But halt and fire platoons. O, the shock, when we cock ! Sometimes the thing will happen, I hate the gloom of Borthwick's plume! There's wisdom in my tune, From Songs of the Edinburgh Troop. July, 1820. Edinburgh James Ballantyne & Company. 1825. A curious, and now very scarce little collection of songs relating to the Edinburgh Yeomanry Cavalry, which was privately printed, and afterwards suppressed. There were nine songs in all, of which this was the first, dating from July 1820 to July 1823; they were written jointly by John Gibson Lockhart and Patrick F. Tytler, author of The History of Scotland, &c. In the article on Lockhart in The Maclise Portrait Gallery Mr. W. Bates mentions the brochure as being very scarce. The above song has been kindly sent by Mr. James Gordon, F.S.A., Scotland. YE UNIONISTS OF ENGLAND. YE Unionists of England, Who grace our native land, Whose Union Jack has braved so long That glorious standard launch again To meet the Liberal foe, As you rave like the brave While you follow after "Joe!" The spirit of the Tories In every heart burns bright. Your burning zeal shall fan, That you'll crush the Grand Old Man. Your Tory breasts still glow, As you stand at command Of your mighty leader "Joe." Till Gladstone's troubled course be run Pall Mall Gazette.. June 16, 1887. YE CRICKETters. YE cricketers of England, That guard the timbers three ; Whose game has brav'd a thousand years All other games that be! Your pliant willow grasp again To match another foe. As ye stand, bat in hand Where the ripping swift uns go; Or the crafty Clark with peerless twist The spirit of your fathers, Look on from nook and shade; Their ghosts, in ancient flannels clad, Where Pilch and mighty Alfred move Where the ripping swift uns go; THE CRICKETER. THERE'S a game that bears a well-known name, in castle, hall, and cot, 'Tis the first in boyhood's happy years, in this our island plot. The stripling thinks himself a man, when once he owns a bat; A flush beams on his youthful brow when comrades vote for that. 'Tis a noble game, deny it who can ! The pride of a fine young Englishman! It nurtures a deep and lasting love for manly deeds and true, And trains our youth in nerve and eye-things well to keep in view; It teaches deeds of chivalry, to friends to be sincere, There are names that bring a well-known charm to peasant and to peer : Old England, Ireland, Scotland, send out a ringing cheer; Canada adds a loving word, America its praise, Of giants in this isle of ours, and oft our spirits raise. 'Tis a noble game, &c. IRISH SONGS. MOLLY BAWN (OR, FAIR MOLLY). OH, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? To try a rival blush with you; But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping, Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, He takes me for a thief you see; For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling, Oh, Molly Bawn, &c.. SAMUEL Lover. There was a parody of this song in the first volume of The Man in the Moon, unfortunately it is very coarse :— OH! Molly, pawn without repining, A VOICE FROM CANNES, OH, ROBERT Bawn, why leave me pining, The Whigs were into office creeping, Oh, ROBERT Bawn, why leave me pining, &c. The pretty flowers were made to bloom, BOB; I wish you'd take me, Robert darling! Punch. 1846. The above song refers to a rumour that Lord Brougham (then residing at Cannes) was making overtures to Sir Robert Peel, in the hope that if Sir Robert returned to power, he, Brougham, would again be made Lord Chancellor. "Brougham was still amused by the prospect of holding the Great Seal under Sir Robert Peel."-Life of Lord Brougham. -:0: THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. A BABY was sleeping, its mother was weeping, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me." Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended the knee. "Oh! blessed be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." SAMUEL LOver. A WOMAN half sleeping, o'er a window was peeping, The hours while she number'd, her anger still slumber'd, And she thought where the deuce her wild husband could be! Oh! where is he snoring till this hour of the morning, Sich hours to be keeping, is quite overleaping I think it is rather improper in a father, Who might sit quietly at home, in his wife's companie. And five in the morning, saw Jenkins returning, And the wife gloom'd, her husband half-drunk for to see, And he, while undressing, his folly confessing, Cried, I'll never take up with such bad companie. 1862. :0: THE LAND OF THE WEST. O COME to the Wild West, O come there with me, Where the fair ladies shoot at the glass balls up-thrown ; The North has attractions, I do not deny ; The South has its Palace of Crystal, 'tis true; From Max in the Metropolis. By Max P. Romer. 1887. A parody of Samuel Lover's The Low-Backed Car, entitled The Gin Shop Bar, was written by J. A. Hardwick. It was, however, very coarse and slangy. Another long parody was in Diogenes, Volume III, 1854, entitled The Haughty Czar: WHEN first I saw the Emperor, 'Twas on the Ascot day. And chatted free and gay: And when the cup was won, they named The horse "The Emperor," No compliment to the horse, we thought, But flattering to the Czar : The bullying northern Czar: The crazy northern Czar, As fast as that steed to run he'll have need, (Three verses omitted.) :0: CAVOUR. In July, 1859, the Emperor Napoleon III. concluded a sudden and unexpected armistice with Austria, just at a time when all the world was expecting to see Italy freed from the hated rule of the Hapsburgs, and the Bourbons. Count Cavour resigned his ministerial posts, the indignation of the Italians was unbounded, and revolutions broke out all over the Peninsula. COUNT O'Cavourneen, the bubble is breaking You've had the last scene, Solferino's red hill, In which thou didst bear so distinguished a part, Cavourneen, Cavourneen, the dead lie in numbers But Italy's Hapsbugs continue to bite. Well done, my Cavour, they have cut short the struggle SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1859. KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN. (Her Answer.) OH! Dermot Asthore, though the gray dawn is breaking, My hair is in papers-three screws on each side, dear,- The "Voice of your heart" has a thrifle of pride, dear, Oh! Dermot Asthore, is it still are ye there, now; It may be for five years, it may be eleven So don't come again, till I've made myself smart. -:0: THE BELLS OF SHANDON.* WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, Sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming, Spoke naught like thine. Of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling Pealing solemnly. Oh! the bells of Shandon Of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, While on tower and kiosk O! In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, And loud in air, Of the river Lee. REV. FRANCIS MAHONY (Father Prout). * Shandon Church, in the city of Cork. OH, the bells of Shandon, that sound so grand on, They pealed their merriest old "Yorke," for thee, Eheu, fugaces! Their vacant places, Like empty tumblers tell of vanished glee, Of jokes and jokers now stiff as pokers, *Frazer's Magazine first appeared February 1, 1830, and Father Prout was one of its earliest contributors. It was discontinued in 1882. |