BALLAD. (Arrah Pat, did you leave your poor…)

Arrah Pat, did you leave your poor Unah to mourn? Fait and troth, my dear jewel, Now was it not cruel? Oh come back again, or you'll never return To chear me when I'm broken hearted.

Straight forward I look when around me so gay I'd a pleasure in toiling While Patrick was smiling, The sun snined, though 'twas cloudy, the while we made hay, For den Pat and I had not parted.

Each bird while it's singing may shut up its throat: I won't look at the thistle, Where goldfinches whistle, For though they all shun me, I don't hear a note, How can I, while thus broken hearted?

The cows may courant it, the sheep frisk and play, Lambs and kidlings be dancing, And skipping, and prancing, For though they're before me, they're all gone away, Since Patrick and Unah are parted.