Och, Judy, my sweet darling, I bawl in vain Judy! dear Judy! I’m wet through quite with rain The dirty children mock me all around And with ‘dear Judy’ does each pig stye sound! _Air._ Tim Murphy, who dwells by the Cow and worsted stocking, I met near the bog at the end of the town; He swore by the powers, I desarved a dacent knocking, He was after knocking me _up_, but I knocked the varmint _down_. ’Och, now Patrick,’ said he, what is it you’d be at? Faith said I, you would get round me, but ye see I’ve laid ye flat, And remember when to Judy’s you betake yourself again, There’s sure to be a bating for the foe of Paddy Flinn. So I wished him better luck, and left the spalpeen sprawling, And hastened to you, Judy, wid a heart of love so true:―― Then listen to your Paddy, while his tender tale he’s tawling, In this hard shower to let me stand, sure’s very hard in you. But see the door is open’d, so I’ll boldly venture in, Here’s bad luck and better manners to the foes of Paddy Flinn. J. W. BURDEN. ―――― THE PILGRIM OF HATE. (A popular song, sung by Mr. Chamberlain in Scotland and elsewhere.) _Recitative._ Chamberlain, my beloved!――he calls in vain. Chamberlain! Echo hears and calls again. A grand old voice repeats the name around, And with J. Chamberlain Scotland’s hills resound. _Air._ A Hermit who dwells down at H-w-rd-n had crossed me, As wayward and proud up Fame’s mountains I pressed; The aged man feared from his staff he had lost me, And offered――a sell!――in his Cabinet rest. “Ah! nay, Grand Old Hand, I would far rather wait; No rest, save at top, for the Pilgrim of Hate.” “Yet tarry, my Son, till my H. R. Bill passes; Let’s bow to the League and Parnell, its great head. _You’ll_ not leave the Masses and vote with the Classes? Come in, take your seat. Reform’s banquet is spread.” “Ah! nay, Grand Old Hand, I’m not caught with _that_ bait. No rest under _you_ for the Pilgrim of Hate.” _Punch._ April 30, 1887. ――――:o:―――― THE VICAR OF BRAY. In good King Charles’s golden days, When loyalty no harm meant, A zealous high Churchman I was, And so I got preferment: To teach my flock I never miss’d, Kings are by God appointed, And damn’d are those that do resist, Or touch the Lord’s anointed. And this is law I will maintain Until my dying day, sir, That whatsoever king shall reign, I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.