Paddy Maccarthy

Arrah ! Bridgid MacSheehy, your eyes are the death o' me,
And your laugh, like a fairy stroke, knocks out the breath o' me !
The devil a cobweb of slumber, till dawned the day,
Has come to my lids, while the long night I yawned away !
Och, you heart-killing imp, 'twas your witchery puzzled me ;
Like a bird by a night-wisp, your beauty has dazzled me !
I'd rather be forty miles running away with you,
Than live, to be parted ten minutes, one day with you !

Ton my soul, I was dreaming last night that you came to me,
With your own pretty smile, like a sweet drink of cream to me,
Says you, " Paddy Carthy, I'm coming to marry you ! " —
" Och, my jewel," says I, " to his reverence I'll carry you ! "
So I thought my poor heart gave a thump like a prizefighter,
As off to the chapel I jumped like a lamplighter ;
But scarce had the priest time to see how his robe was on,
When, och, blood-an'-turf ! — I woke ere the job was done !

Now, troth, it's a heartache, between you and I, Biddy,
To let that sly rogue of a dream tell a lie, Biddy !
If your sweet mouth just says, " My dear boy, here's my hand to you ! "
By the lord of Kilsmack ! Paddy Carthy will stand to you !
In the meadow I'll mow, in the haggard I'll work for you ;
Say the word, and I'll walk on my head to New York for you;
My heart in the heat of devotion so beats to you,
'Tis just like a little child crying for sweets to you !

Did you hear what a great name my ancestors had of it ?
From Blarney to Munster they owned every sod of it ;
The MacCarthy Mores they were christened by reason, sure,
Of their fighting and feasting bein' always in season, sure !
Arrah, them were the boys that kep' up the old cause for us,
Ere a red robbing stranger come here with mock laws for us !
Real jewels they were for love, spendin' and sportin' too,
An' sure I'm a boy of their clan that's now courtin' you !

There's Judy Maloney, with ten on the watch for her —
Her uncle come to me to make up a match for her ;
There's Thady Mulready, by Loch Quinlan's water clear,
Faith, he'd give me six cows if I'd marry his daughter dear !
But no, by the powers ! I would rather go beg with you,
Hopping from village to town on one leg with you,
Than be walking on two, with a rich heiress stuck to me —
If I'm not speaking true to you, darling, bad luck to me !

You're the queen of the lilies that grow up so tenderly,
And your leg is as fair as white wax, moulded slenderly,
The berries are so like your lips that the pick of them
I plucked from the bush, till I ate myself sick of them !
Where the hawtree its flowers to the sunbeams is handing up,
I saw, like your white neck, a blossom-branch standing up,
I climbed to get at it — you'd pity the trim o' me —
For, bad luck to the thorns, they carved every limb o' me !

I'll purchase the best wedding ring in the town for you !
Or by thunder, to make one I'll pull the moon down for you !
If I could lay my hand on the sun for a crown for you,
Sure, I'd be the boy would win light and renown for you !
Now, Biddy, my jewel ! what have you to say to me ?
Just give up your heart without further delay to me ;
And I will bless this as a glorious fine day to me —
If a queen got such courting, by Jove, she'd give way to me !