IN BLARNEY.

He—Be the fire, alanna, sittin’, Purty ’tis you look and sweet, Wid yer dainty fingers knittin’ Shtockin’s for yer daintier feet. She—It’s yer tongue that has the blarney, Yis, and impudence galore! Is it me to thrusht ye, Barney, When yer afther half-a-score? He—Shure, I ne’er, in all I thravelled, Found at all the likes o’ you. She—Now my worsted all is ravelled And whatever will I do? He—Might I make so bould to ask it, Shure I know the girl o’ girls; And I’d make me heart the casket, And her love the pearl o’ pearls. She—Ah, thin, Barney dear, I’m thinkin’ That it’s you’re the honied rogue. He—Faix, I’d be the bee a-dhrinkin’ From yer rosy lips a pogue.[59] She—Is it steal a colleen’s kisses, When it’s all alone she’s left? He—Wor they all as sweet as this is, Troth, I’d go to jail for theft. She—Barney! Barney, shtop yer foolin’! Or I’ll soon begin to scould. Sure, I’d like to know what school in Did ye learn to be so bould? He—Och! it’s undher Masther Cupid That I learned me A, B, C. She—That the scholar wasn’t stupid, Faith, is very plain to see. He—Ah, then Eily, but the blush is Most becomin’ to ye, dear! Like the red rose on the bush is—— She—Sir I you needn’t come so near! He—Over lane and road and boreen, Troth, I’ve come a weary way, Jusht to whisper ye, asthoreen, Somethin’ that I’ve longed to say. I’ve a cosy cottage, which is Jusht the proper size for two—— She—There, I’ve tangled all me stitches, And it’s all because av you! He—And, to make a sthray suggestchun, Maybe you me wish might guess? She—Sure, an’ if ye pressed the question, Somehow—I—might answer—Yes! Patrick J. Coleman (1867).