With your leave I will go now and fetch Mr. Peter, Cruel Fate has perplexed me, but still I'll defeat her." "Stop," said Flanagan John, "little Patrick will go,-- Every turn in the wood he from instinct must know; And besides, I've been waiting I don't know how long, For the treat you just promised--a comical song." "Well," said Murphy, "I fear I'm not equal at present, And a molar he eased with the quill of a pheasant; "Not quite wound up, I mean, for a comical strain, Though not long in key doleful I mean to remain. But if Pat, my young namesake, my son that's to be, Will just trouble himself after Peter to see, And Maguire will oblige with the part instrumental, I will try what I can in a song sentimental." "With the greatest of pleasure," said Patrick, "I'm sure," As he bolted without hat or cap through the door; Though he tarried outside till the singing was done, And then swift as the deer on his errand he run. But quick, look, he returns,--he is after some spree; I can tell by his eyes, they are sparkling with glee: See, he enters the house by a window behind,-- He will play them some trick, we shall presently find. Per-ling, pling--twang, twang, twang, went the fiddle strings soon, As Maguire screwed them up to the requisite tune; Though he scarce knows the song, he with grief must declare; So that Murphy politely first whistles the air; And then, after a prelude of Maguire's composing, To the following words his melodious voice flows in: "As rambling forth one morning, Whilst the birds were sweetly singing, I chanced to meet fair Kitty, Who her milk-pails home was bringing; She pretended not to see me, And was hastening away, When I hurried quickly after her, And said, "Sweet maiden, stay-- For I love you fondly, dearly, Most tenderly, sincerely! And than a king more happy you can make me if you choose!" But the maid seemed scarce to hear me; Oh! she loves me not, I feared me; For she only shook her little head and said it was no use. "Oh thou fairest, brightest, flower, That e'er bloomed in beauty's bower! Than the nightingale's sweet melody I much prefer your voice; Then, dear maid, be not thus cruel, I can bear neglect from you, ill. As I've banished all your rivals to allow you the first choice." "Oh, you men do so deceive, sir, That your vows I'll not believe, sir, For you tell each girl she's pretty, that you roaming chance to meet; Then, besides, some other fellow P'rhaps may love me quite as well oh, Who has vowed to be my slave through life, and thrown him at my feet." "I will challenge ev'ry other, Who presumes to be your lover, Though I kill a man each morning, not a minikin care I; Sure, I'll perforate the river, Though the thought it makes me shiver, For without you as I cannot live, 'tis pleasant so to die.