THE GATHERING OF THE MAHONYS.

Jerry Mahony, arrah, my jewel, come let us be off to the fair, For the Donovans all in their glory most certainly mean to be there; Say they, “The whole Mahony faction we’ll banish ’em out clear and clean;” But it never was yet in their breeches their bullaboo words to maintain. There’s Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke, ’Twould make your mouth water to see him just giving a bit of a stroke; There’s Corney, the bandy-legged tailor, a boy of the true sort of stuff, Who’d fight though the black blood was flowing like butter-milk out of his buff. There’s broken-nosed Bat from the mountain—last week he burst out of jail— And Murty, the beautiful Tory, who’d scorn in a row to turn tail; Bloody Bill will be there like a darling—and Jerry—och! let him alone For giving his blackthorn a flourish, or lifting a lump of a stone! And Tim, who’d served in the Militia, has his bayonet stuck on a pole; Foxy Dick has his scythe in good order—a neat sort of tool on the whole; A cudgel, I see, is your weapon, and never I knew it to fail; But I think that a man is more handy who fights, as I do, with a flail. We muster a hundred shillelahs, all handled by iligant men, Who battered the Donovans often, and now will go do it again; To-day we will teach them some manners, and show that, in spite of their talk, We still, like our fathers before us, are surely the cocks of the walk. After cutting out work for the sexton by smashing a dozen or so, We’ll quit in the utmost of splendour, and down to Peg Slattery’s go; In gallons we’ll wash down the battle, and drink to the next merry day, When mustering again in a body, we all shall go leathering away. William Maginn, LL.D.