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Sune By William Carleton. 
§ DY 

Air : Irish Jig, 

—— =D + Oa 

In the merry month of June, 

When first from home I started, 
And left the girls alone : 

Sad and broken-hearted, 
Shook hands with Father dear, 

Kissed my darling Mother, 
Drank a pint of beer, 4 

My grief and tears to smother : 
Then, off to reap the corn, 

And leave where I was born, 
I cut a stout black-thorn, 

To banish ghost or goblin : 
With a pair of bran new brogues, 
I rattled o’er the bogs : 

Sure, I frightened all the dogs, 

On the rocky road to Dubin. 

For, it is the rocky road, 
Here’s the road to Dublin ; 
Here’s the rocky road, 
Now, fire away to Dublin ! 

The steam-coach was at hand, 

The driver said he’d cheap ones, 
But, sure. the luggage van 

Was too much for my ha’pence. 
For England I was bound : 

It would never do to baulk it : 
For, every step of the road, 

Be dad ! says I, Ill walk it ! 
I did not sigh nor moan, 

Until I saw Athlone : 
A pain in my shin bone, 

It set my heart a bubbling ; 
And fearing the big cannon, 
Looking o’er the Shannon, 

I very quickly ran on 

The rocky road to Dublin. 
In Mullingar, that night, 

I rested limbs so weary : 
Started by day-light, 

With spirits light and airy : 
Took a drop of the pure, 

To keep my spitrits from sinking. 
That’s always an Irishman’s cure, 

Whenever he’s troubled with 

¢ thinking. 

To see the lasses smile, 

Laughing all the while 
At my comical style, 
Set my heart a bubbling , 
ey axed if I was hired, 
e wages I required, 
Until I was almost tired 
Of the rocky road to Dublin. 

In Dublin next arrived : 
I thought it was a pity 
To be so soon deprived of a view 
Of that fine city. 
"Twas then I took a stroll 

All among the quality : 
My bnndle then was stole 

In a neat locality, 
Something crossed my mind ; 
Thinks I ; I'll look behind ; 
No bundle could I find 

Upon my stick a wobbling., 
Inquiring for the rogue, 
They said my Connaught brogue 
It wasn’t much in vogue 

On the rocky road to Dublin. 

A coachman raised his hand, 
As if myself was wanting ; 
I went up to a stand, 
full of cars for jaunting. 
Step up, my boy! says he, 
Ah, ha ! that I will with pleasure : 
And to the strawberry beds 
Pll drive you, at your leisure, 
A strawberry bed ! says I, 
Faith ! that would be too high, 
On one of straw I'll lie, - 
And the berries won’t be troubling. 
He drove me out as far, 
Upon an outside car : 
Faith ! such jolting never wor 
On the rocky road to Dublin ! 

I, soon, got out of that, 

My spirits never failing : 
I landed on the quay, 
Just as the ship was sailing. 
The Captain at me roared, 
Swore that no room had he, 
But when I leaped on board, 
They a cabin found for Paddy. 
Down among the pigs, 
I played such rummy rigs, 
Danced some hearty jigs, 
With the water round me bubbling. 
But when off Holyhead, 
I wished that I was dead, 
Or safely put in bed, 
On the rocky road to Dublin. 
The boys, in Liverpool, 
When in the dock I landed, 
Called myself a fool. . 
I could no longer stand it : 
My blood began to boil : 
My temper I was losing, 
And Poor Old Erin’s Isle 
They all began abusing. 
Hurrah ! my boys, says I, 
My Shillalah I let fly : 
Some Galway boys were by, 
They saw I was a hobble in : 
Then, with a load Huzrah ! 
They joined me in the@ray : 
Faug-a-hallagh ! clear the way 
For the rocky road to Dublin | 

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher. of 
Songs, ballads. toy hooks, &- 
No. 60 Chatham Street, N. Y. 

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