Ballad—in Will of the Wisp

Life's as like as can be to an Irish Wake, Where their tapers they light, And they sit up all night, Wid your why would you leave your poor Pady to moan, Arrah how could you be such a cake? Musha what will I do, Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo, Oh hone! Fait we're left all together alone: But when the grief the liquor puts out, the fun is all chang'd in a crack; Away like smoke goes the whiskey about, And they foot it, cross over, and back to back, With their tiptelary, whack.

Poor miss, bolted safe wid a good lock and key; Like Thisbe, may call Through the hole in the wall, How hard's my misfortune, I'm left here to moan, Will no one take pity on me? Musha, what will I do. Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo, Oh hone! I shall after be lying alone. But when the rope ladder affords her relief, And she turns on her mother her back; 'Mong her friends and relations, she leaves all her grief, And away to Scotland they trip in a crack, With their tiptelary whack.

The toper, next morning, low, sick, and in pain, The glasses all breaks, Beats his head 'cause it aches, And wishes that wine may to poison be grown, If e'er he gets tipsey again: With his what will I do, Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo, Oh hone! From this moment I'll drinking disown; But when, in a possee, come Bacchus's troop, He changes his tone in a crack; They drink, and they sing, and they hollow, and whoop, Till they don't know the colour of blue from black, And its tiptelary whack.

And so 'tis through life, widows left in the nick Dying swains in disgrace, Patriots turned out of place, Don't they, cursing their stars; make a horrible moan, Just like when the devil was sick? Wid their what will I do, Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo, Oh hone! Fait we're left all to grunt and to groan: But when the widow gets married again, When the lover is taken back, When the patriot ousted a place shall obtain, Away to the devil goes care in a crack, And 'tis tiptelary whack.