SONG X. St. Patrick's Day in the Morning

Ye lads and ye lasses so buxom and clever, Who come from Hibernia of famous renown, Put on your best bibs and be coming together, So neatly yourselves all adorning. The music shall be sweetly playing, Each shall be dancing skipping around, Green shamrock shall shine, sir, To make us all fine, sir, Salt fish and potatoes Shall smoke my dear creatures, And nothing be wanting which there can be found, Full bumpers of whisky Will make as all frisky, On St. Patrick's day in the morning.

St. Patrick he was of vast estimation, And liv'd a great while, sir, before he was dead, He frighten'd the bug-a-bos out of the nation, So none of your sneering and scorning. For many things he did most truly, All as clever as clever could be, He banish'd the bugs, sir, From blanket and rug, sir, Oh! hub a boo, sir, What more could he do, sir, Whatever he said, sir, the blind could not see; With heart like shillaly, Then let us be gaily, On St. Patrick's day in the morning.

There's Phelem O'Fagan and ruddy fac'd paddy, With many tall fellows to make up the wake; Miss Blarney will sing with her mammy and daddy, And play till the ev'ning's returning. With mirth and music dance and caper, We will jovial, jovial be. While each pretty miss, sir, We'll smuggle and kiss, sir, And pull'em and haul'em, And tenderly maul'em, Arrah! uke in the world are so merry as we. All this to begin, sir, We think it no sin, sir, On St. Patrick's day in the morning.