PHILANDERING.

Maureen, acushla, ah! why such a frown on you! Sure, ’tis your own purty smiles should be there, Under those ringlets that make such a crown on you, As the sweet angels themselves seem to wear, When from the picthers in church they look down on you, Kneeling in prayer. Troth, no, you needn’t, there isn’t a drop on me, Barrin’ one half-one to keep out the cowld; And, Maureen, if you’ll throw a smile on the top o’ me, Half-one was never so sweet, I’ll make bowld. But, if you like, dear, at once put a stop on me Life with a scowld. Red-haired Kate Ryan?—Don’t mention her name to me! I’ve a taste, Maureen darlin’, whatever I do. But I kissed her?—Ah, now, would you even that same to me?— Ye saw me! Well, well, if ye did, sure it’s true, But I don’t want herself or her cows, and small blame to me When I know you. There now, aroon, put an ind to this strife o’ me Poor frightened heart, my own Maureen, my duck; Troth, till the day comes when you’ll be made wife o’ me, Night, noon, and mornin’, my heart’ll be brack. Kiss me, acushla! My darlin’! The life o’ me! One more for luck! William Boyle (1853).