The Low-Backed Car

When first I saw sweet Peggy
'Twas on a market day,
A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;
But when that hay was blooming grass,
And deck'd with flowers of spring,
No flower was there
That could compare
To the blooming girl I sing,

As she sat in her low-backed car —
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll —
But just rubb'd his owld poll.
And look'd after the low-backed car!

In battle's wild commotion,
The proud and mighty Mars,
With hostile scythes, demands his tithes
Of Death, in warlike 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-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-backed 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 turtle dove,
Well worth the cage,
I do engage.
Of the blooming God of Love!

As she sits in her low-backed car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin'
As she sits in the low-backed car.

I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach and four, and goold galore,
And a lady for my bride;
For the lady would sit fornenst 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-backed car.
To be married by Father Maher —
Oh! my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh —
Tho' it beat in a low-backed car.