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<I>And no damn loutll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy</I>
  <I>     Ghost there'll be murder!</I> 
<I>O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride</I>
<I>       queen from Sybil surfriding </I>
<I>In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymonnblue</I>
<I>       mantle round her.</I> 
<I>Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and</I>
<I>       jilt them fairly.</I> 
<I>Yerra, why would she bide with Sig Sloomysides or the grogram grey</I>
<I> ;      barnacle gander? </I>
<I> ;       </I>
<I>You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his</I>
<I>       glut of cold meat and hot soldiering</I> 
<I>Nor wake in winter, window machree, but snore sung in my old</I>
<I>       Balbriggan surtout.</I> 
<I>Wisha, won't you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of</I>
<I>       next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing (what?)</I> 
<I>       as your own nursetender?</I> 
<I>       </I> 
<I>A power of highsteppers died game right enough<STRIKE> ;  ; </STRIKE>;but who, acushla,</I>
<I>       'll beg coppers for you? </I>
<I>I tossed that one long before anyone.</I>
<I>It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm given</I>
<I>       now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.</I> 
<I>Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed</I>
<I>       picnic to follow.</I> 
<I>By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight</I>
<I>       from under me, Mick, Nick the Maggot or whatever your name</I> 
<I>       is, you're the mose likable lad that's come my ways yet from the</I> 
<I>       barony of Bohermore.</I> 
 ; 
Mattheehew, Markeehew, Lukeehew, Johnheehewheehew!
Haw!
And still a light moves long the river. And stiller the mermen
       ply their keg. 
Its pith is full. The way is free. Their lot is cast.
So, to john for a john, johnajeams, led it be!