Yes! Ireland SHALL be free, From the centre to the sea; Then hurra! for Liberty! Says the _shan van vocht_. THE WEARING OF THE GREEN O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round? The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground; St. Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colours can't be seen, For there's a bloody law agin the wearing of the green. I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he said, 'How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?' She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen, They are hanging men and women for the wearing of the green. Then if the colour we must wear be England's cruel red, Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed. You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod, But 'twill take root and flourish there, though under foot 'tis trod. When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow, And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure dare not show, Then I will change the colour that I wear in my caubeen, But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearing of the green. THE RAKES OF MALLOW Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking, Breaking windows, damning, sinking, Ever raking, never thinking, Live the rakes of Mallow. Spending faster than it comes, Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns, Bacchus's true-begotten sons, Live the rakes of Mallow. One time nought but claret drinking, Then like politicians thinking To raise the sinking funds when sinking, Live the rakes of Mallow. When at home with dadda dying, Still for Mallow water crying; But where there's good claret plying, Live the rakes of Mallow. Living short, but merry lives; Going where the devil drives; Having sweethearts, but no wives, Live the rakes of Mallow. Racking tenants, stewards teasing, Swiftly spending, slowly raising, Wishing to spend all their days in Raking as at Mallow. Then to end this raking life They get sober, take a wife, Ever after live in strife, And wish again for Mallow. JOHNNY, I HARDLY KNEW YE _Street Ballad_ While going the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo! hurroo! While going the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo! hurroo! While going the road to sweet Athy, A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye, A doleful damsel I heard cry:-- 'Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye! With drums and guns and guns and drums The enemy nearly slew ye, My darling dear, you look so queer, Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!