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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 511 |
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So I wish his trade was gone, and The bottom dashed out of hell. I wish the devil was dead ! |
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Perhaps, if he were dead,
The heart would not be sore ; Life might not be the pain it is;
The soul might bleed no more. Oh, if the devil were dead,
Life might not then be death — A fire, a flame of wretchedness,
That's fed by this poor breath, Fed by the spirit's pangs,
Fed by the soul's hot tears, Fed by the string of agonies,
That men call days and years. I wish the devil was dead ! |
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THE BEE AND THE FLOWERET
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AYS the bee to the flow'ret, "Och, how do you do?" Says the flow'ret straight back, "Nothing better for you, With your humming an' bumming, an' coming aroun', It's on filling your bag you are bent, I'll be bound."
Says the bee, " My bright darlin' your temper is up; You must surely have sthronger than dew in your cup; Hould on till I taste it, my charmer, an' see The effect that your brewin' will have on a bee." |
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