The Wedding of Ballyporeen.
Descend, ye chaste nine, to a true Irish Bard,
You're old maids, to be sure, but he sends you acord.
To beg you'll assist a poor musical elf,
With a song ready-made, he'll compose it himself;
About maids, boys, a priest, and a wedding,
With a crowd you could scarce thrust your head In;
A supper, good cheer, and a bedding,
Which happened at Ballyporeen.
Twas a fine Summer's morn, about twelve in the day.
All the birds fell to sing, all the asses to bray,
When Patrick, the bridegroom, and Oonagh, the bride
In their beat bibs and tuckers, set oil, side by side.
O, the pipers play'd first in the rear, sir.
The maid blushed, the bridesmen did swear, sir;
O, Lord: how the spalleens did stare, sir.
At this wedding of bally poreen.
They were soon tacked together, and home did return.
To make merry the day at the sign of the churn;
When they sat down together, a frolicsome troop,
O, the bunks of old Shannon ne'er saw such a group.
There were turf-cutters, threshers, and tailors.
With harpers. and pipers, and nuilors,
And pedlers. and smugglers, and sailors,
Assembled at Ballyporeen.
There was Bryan MacDermot and Shaughnessy's brat.
With Terence and Triscol, and platter-faced Pat;
There was Norah Macormic and B-yan O'Lynn,
And the fat, red-haired cook-maid, who lives at the inn.
There was Shelah, and Larry, the genius,
With Pat's uncle, old Derby Dennis;
Black Thady and crooked Macgennis,
Assembled at Ballyporeen.
Now the bridegroom sat down to make an oration,
And he charmed all their souls with his kind botheration;
They were welcomed, he said, and he swore, and he cursed.
They might eat 'till they swelled, and might drink till they burst.
The first christening I have, if I thrive, sirs,
I hope you all hither will drive, sirs;
You'll be welcome all, dead or alive, sirs,
To the christening at Ballyporeen.
Then the bride she got up to make a low bow,
But she twittered, and felt so-she could not tell how-
She blushed And she stammered-the few words she let fall.
She whispered so low that she bothered them all.
But her mother cried: "What, are you dead, child?
O, for shame of you. hold up your head, child;
Though sixty, I wish I was wed, child,
O, I'd rattle all Ballyporeen."
Now they sat down to meat-Father Murphy said grace,
Smoking hot were the dishes, and eager each face;
The knives and forks rattled, spoons and platters did play,
And they elbowed and jostled, and wollopped away.
Rumps, chines, and fat sirloius did groan, sirs.
Whole mountains of beef were cut down, sirs;
They demolished all to the bare bone, sirs.
At this wedding at Ballyporeen.
There was bacon and greens, but the turkey was spoiled.
Potatoes dressed both ways, both roasted and boiled;
Hog's puddings, red herrings-the priest got the snipe,
Culcannon pies, dumplings, cod, cow-heel and tripe.
Then they ate 'till they could cat no more. sirs.
And the whiskey came pouring galore, sirs;
O, how Terry Macmants did roar, sirs,
O, he bothered all Ballyporeen.
Now the whiskey went round, and the songsters did roar,
Tim sung "Paddy O'Kelly," Nell sung "Molly Asthore;"
Till a motion was made that their songs they'd forsake,
And each lad take his sweetheart, their trotters to shake.
Then the piper And couples advancing,
Pumps, brogues, and bare feet fell a prancing;
Such piping, such figuring and dancing,
Was ne'er known at Ballyporccn.
Now to Patrick, the bridegroom, and Oonagh, the bride.
Let the harp of old Ireland be sounded with pride;
And to all the brave guests, young or old, gray or green,
Drunk or sober, that jigged it at Ballyporcen.
And when cupid shall lend you his wherry,
To trip o'er the conjugal ferry,
I wish you may be half so merry
As we were at Ballyporeen.