O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls, Such fashion and nobilitee! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the hoigh gentilitee! There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese Ministher and his lady there, And I reckonized, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there; There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like Juno, And Baroness Rehausen there, And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar Well, in her robes of gauze in there. There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first, When only Mr. Pips he was), And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, That after supper tipsy was. There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all, And Lords Killeen and Dufferin, And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife: I wondther how he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, And seemed to ask how should I go there? And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A Hay, And the Marchioness of Sligo there. Yes, Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls, And pretty girls, was sporting there; And some beside (the rogues!) I spied, Behind the windies, coorting there. O there's one I know, bedad would show As beautiful as any there, And I'd like to hear the pipers blow, And shake a fut with Fanny there! * James Matheson, Esq., to whom, and the Board of Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Molony, late stoker on board the "Iberia," the "Lady Mary Wood," the "Tagus," and the Oriental steamships, humbly dedicate this production of my grateful muse. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. Ye Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration. And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore; Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon, Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore, When William, Duke of Schumbug, A tyrant and a humbug, With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, Our fortitude and valiance Insthructed his battalions To respict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. Since that capitulation, No city in this nation So grand a reputation could boast before, As Limerick prodigious, That stands with quays and bridges, And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore. A chief of ancient line, 'Tis William Smith O'Brine Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more: O the Saxons can't endure To see him on the flure, And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore! This valliant son of Mars Had been to visit Par's, That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor; And to welcome his returrn From pilgrimages furren, We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. Then we summoned to our board Young Meagher of the sword: 'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore; And Mitchil of Belfast We bade to our repast, To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore.