PATRICK MULHONI. A SUBSCRIPTION PRAYER. Date obolum Belisario

"If over the mountains, or under the Line, It still was his lot to play organs to swine; Ah, give him a tomb, for a tomb is his due, A shilling's a trifle to me or to you: If you give him a tomb, that his name may survive, May Fortune attend you, and help you to thrive, May you always have something to praise and approve, And the pleasure to dream of the girl that you love.

WHILE fiddles are playing 'tis folly to sigh, When the heart is oppress'd 'tis a pleasure to die— Tho' some were disputing and some were perplext He fill'd up his bottle and hung to his text; A dabster he was from the county of Meath, And he was a Paddy, and he had long teeth, Enjoying the best and prepar'd for the worst, As a sailor he swore, as a soldier he curs'd: Ah, stranger, I'm sore you had lov'd the old crony, So throw in a shilling for Paddy Mulhoni. He was sick of the world in the prime of his life, To hasten his exit, he marry'd a wife, But finding his fair one a damnable elf, He shut up his shop—and grew sick of himself."