Rory O\u27More

Young Rory O\u27Moore courted Kathleen bawn, He was bold as a hawk, and she, soft as the dawn, He wish\u27d in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, And he thought the best way to do. that was to teaze; Now Rory be aisy sweet Kathleen would cry Re proof on her lip but a smile in her eye, With your tricks I don\u27t know, in troth, what I\u27m a bout, Faith you\u27ve teazed till I\u27ve put on my cloak in side out Oh Jewel says Rory, that same is the way You\u27ve thrated my heart for this many a day, And \u27tis plazed that I am, and why not to be sure. For \u27tis all for good luck says bold Rory O\u27Moore. Indeed then says Kathleen don\u27t think of the like For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike The ground that I walk on he loves, I\u27ll be bound Faith says Rory \u27i\u27d rather love you than the ground Now Rory, I\u27ll ory, if you don\u27t let me go, Sure I dream every night that I\u27m hating you so! Oh says Rory that same I\u27m delighted to here, For dhrames always go by conthrairies my dear; Oh! Jewel, keep dreaming that same till you die, And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie, And \u27tis pleased tha I am, and why not to be sure? Since \u27tis all for good luck, says bold Rory O\u27Moore. Arrah Kathleen my darlint you\u27ve teaz\u27d me enough, And I\u27ve thrash\u27d for yor sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff, And I\u27ve made myself drinking your health quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the Priest! Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck And he look\u27d in her eyes that were beaming with light, And he kiss\u27d her sweet lips- don\u27t you think he was right? Now Rory leve off Sir- you\u27ll hug me no more, That\u27s eight times to day that you\u27ve kiss\u27d me before; Then here goes another says he to make sure For there\u27s luck in odd numbers says Rory O\u27Moore

Bowl\u27d Sojer Boy

In quick march time and with spirit. Oh there\u27s not a thrade that\u27s going;Worth showing, Or knowing,Like that from glory growing,For a bowld sojer boy!Where right or left we go,Sure you know, Friend or foe,Will have the hand or toeFrom the bowld sojer boy,There\u27s not a town we march thro\u27,But ladies looking arch thro\u27The window panes will sarch Thro\u27 the ranks to find their joy,While up the street Each girl you meetWith look so slyWill cry My eye! Oh isn\u27t he a darling the bowld sojer boy! But when we get the routeHow they pout and they shout,While to the right aboutGoes the bowld sojer boy.\u27Tis then that ladies fairIn despair tear their hairBut the Div\u27l a one I careSays the bowld sojer boyFor the world is all before us,Where the land ladies adore us,And ne\u27er refuse to score us.But chalk us up with joy,We taste her tap, we tear her cap, Oh that\u27s the cap For me Says she Oh isn\u27t he a darling the bowld sojer boy

True Love Can Ne\u27er Forget

Tenderly but not too slow True love can ne\u27er forgetfondly as when we metDearest I love thee yet, my darling one! Thus sung a minstrel greyHis sweet impassiond layDown by the Ocean\u27s sprayAt rise of sunBut wither\u27d was the minstrel\u27s sightMorn to him was dark as nightYet his heart was full of lightAs he this lay begun True love can ne\u27er forget fondly as when we met Dearest I love thee yet, my darling one! Long year are past and o\u27erSince from this fatal shoreCold hearts and cold winds bore my love from meScarcely the minstrel spokeWhen quick with flashing strokeA boat\u27s light oar the silence broke over the seaSoon upon her native strandDoth a lovely Lady landWhile the Minstrel\u27s love taught handDid o\u27er his sweet harp run. True love can ne\u27er forget fondly as when we met Dearest I love thee yet, my darling one! Where the Minstrel sat aloneThere that Lady fair hath goneWithin his hand she plac\u27d her ownThe Bard dropt on his kneeFrom his lip soft blessings cameHe kiss\u27d her hand with truest flameIn trembling tones he nam\u27d her nameThough her je could not see But oh! the touch the Bard could tellOf that dear hand remember\u27d wellAh! by many a secret spellCan True love trace his ownFor True love can ne\u27er forgetFondly as whey they metHe lov\u27d his Lady yetHis darling one

Low Back\u27d Car

When first I saw sweet Peggy,\u27Twas on a market day,A Low-back\u27d Car she drove, and sat,Upon a truss of hay;But when that hay was blooming grass, And deck\u27d with flow\u27rs of spring,No flow\u27r was there, That could compareWith the blooming girl I sing!As she sat in hew low-back\u27d car,The man at the turnpike bar,Never ask\u27d for the toll, But just rub\u27d his auld poll,And look\u27d after the low back\u27d car! In battle\u27s wild commotion, The proud and mighty Mars,With hostile scythes demands his tythesOf death, in war-like cars!But Peggy, peaceful Goddess, Has darts in her bright eye,That knock men down in the market town,As right and left they fly!While she sits in her low-back\u27d car, Than battle more dang\u27rous far,For the doctor\u27s art cannot cure the heart,That is hit from the low-back\u27d car! Sweet Peggy round her car, sir!Has strings of ducks and geese,But the scores of hearts she slaughters, By far outnumber these;While she among her poultry sits,Just like a turle dove,Well worth the cage, I do engage,Of the blooming God of love!While she sits on hew low-back\u27d car, The lovers come near and far,And envy the chickin\u27 that Peggy is pickin\u27,While she sits in her low-back\u27d car. I\u27d rather own that car sir!With Peggy by my side,Than a couch and four, and gold galoreAnd a lady for my bride;For the lady would sit forninstt* me,On a cushion made with taste,While Peggy would sit beside me,With my arm around her waist.As we drove in the low-back\u27d car,To be married by Father Maher;Oh my heart would beat high,At her glance and her sigh,Tho\u27 it beat in a low-back\u27d car! *Befor

Widow Machree

Sportively but not too fast Widow Machree \u27tis no wonder you frown,Och hone! Widow Machree! Faith it ruins you looks that same dirty black gown.Och hone! Widow Machree! How alter\u27d your air,With that close cap you wear,\u27Tis destroying your hairThat should be flowing free,Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl,Och bone! Widow Machree. Widow Machree now the summer is comeOch hone! Widow Machree!When ev\u27rything smiles should a beauty look glum.Och bone! Widow MachreeSee the birds go in pairsAnd the rabbits and haresWhy even the bears now in couples agree,And the mute little fishTho\u27 they can\u27t spake, they wishOch hone! Widow Machree 3Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,Och hone, Widow Machree,To me poking the fire all alone is a sin,Och hone! Widow Machree.Why the shovel and tongsTo each other belongs,And the kettle sings songsFull of family glee;While alone with your cup,Like a hermit you sup,Och hone! Widow Machree. 4And how do you know, with the comforts I\u27ve towld,Och home! Widow Machree,But you\u27re keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,Och hone! Widow Machree.With such sins on your head,Sure your peace would be fled,Could you sleep in your bedWithout thinking to seeSome ghost or some sprite,That would wake you each night,Crying, Och hone! Widow Machree. 5Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,Och hone! Widow Machree.And with my advice, faith I wish you\u27d take me,Och hone! Widow Machree.You\u27d have me to desireThen to stir up the fire;And sure Hope is no liarIn whispering to meThat the ghosts would depart,When you\u27d me near my heart,och hone! Widow Machree

The Letter

"From the songs of the superstions [sic] of Ireland as sung with great applause by Madame Caradori Allan."F major [key]Con Tenerazza [tempo]Ballad [form/genre]"A small spark attached to the wick of the candle is considered to indicate the arrival of a letter to the one before whom it burns." [added inscription]Piano and voice. [instrumentation]A Nordheimer's Music Store, Kingston. [dealer stamp

Forgive but don't forget, or, I'm going Jessie /

In bound volumes: Copyright Deposits 1820-186

The star and the surge /

In bound volumes: Copyright Deposits 1820-186

Oh! watch you well by daylight /

In bound volumes: Copyright Deposits 1820-186