ive it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pounds,
I'd give it all to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally;
And (but for her) I'd better be
A slave, and row a galley.
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh! then I'll marry Sally:
Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
But not in our alley.

_Henry Carey._

KITTY OF COLERAINE.

As beautiful Kitty one
morning was tripping
With a pitcher of milk
from the fair of Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled,
the pitcher it tumbled,
And all the sweet buttermilk
water'd the plain.

"Oh, what shall I do now?
'Twas looking at you, now;
Sure, sure, such a pitcher
I'll ne'er meet again.
'Twas the pride of my dairy,
O Barnay M'Leary,
You're sent as a plague
to the girls of Coleraine!

I sat down beside her,
and gently did chide her,
That such a misfortune
should give her such pain.

A kiss then I gave her,
before I did leave her,
She vow'd for such pleasure
she'd break it again.
'Twas haymaking season,
I can't tell the reason--
Misfortunes will never come single,
that's plain--
For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster
The devil a pitcher
was whole in Coleraine.

_Edward Lysaght._

HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Now to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
Now to the damsel with none, sir;
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that's merry:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
And let us e'en toast 'em together:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll pr