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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 139 |
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Such walls surround her, That no nine-pounder Could dare to plunder
Her place of strength; But Oliver Cromwell, Her he did pommel, And made a breach
In her battlement.
There's gravel walks there, For speculation, And conversation
In sweet solitude. 'Tis there the lover May hear the dove, or The gentle plover
In the afternoon; And if a lady Would be so engaging As to walk alone in
Those shady bowers, 'Tis there the courtier He may transport her Into some fort, or
All under ground.
For 'tis there's a cave where No daylight enters, But cats and badgers
Are forever bred; Being mossed by nature, That makes it sweeter" Than a coach-and-six,
Or a feather-bed. |
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