The Sabine Farmer's Serenade

'Twas on a windy night,
At two o'clock in the morning,
An Irish lad so tight,
All wind and weather scorning,
At Judy Callaghan's door,
Sitting upon the palings,
His love-tale he did pour,
And this was part of his wailings:
Only say
You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh! list to what I say,
Charms you've got like Venus;
Own your love you may,
There's but the wall between us.
You lie fast asleep,
Snug in bed and snoring;
Round the house I creep,
Your hard heart imploring.

I've got a pig and a sow,
I've got a sty to sleep 'em;
A calf and a brindled cow,
And a cabin too, to keep 'em;
Sunday hat and coat,
An old gray mare to ride on,
Saddle and bridle to boot,
Which you may ride astride on.

I've got an acre of ground,
I've got it set with praties;
I've got of 'baccy a pound,
I've got some tea for the ladies;
I've got the ring to wed,
Some whiskey to make us gaily;
I've got a feather bed
And a handsome new shillelagh.

You've got a charming eye,
You've got some spelling and reading,
You've got, and so have I,
A taste for genteel breeding;
You're rich, and fair, and young,
As everybody's knowing;
You've got a decent tongue
Whene'er 'tis set a-going.

For a wife till death
I am willing to take ye;
But, och! I waste my breath,
The devil himself can't wake ye.
'Tis just beginning to rain,
So I'll get under cover;
To-morrow I'll come again
And be your constant lover.
Only say
You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan.