Paddy’s Love Symptoms. For Music
Oh! what have you done wid me, Daisy?
You plump little rosy young witch!
Sure my head and my heart’s so unaisy
I scarcely can tell which is which.
Whene’er I come in your sweet presence
It’s telegraphed all o’er I feel;
If I touch you, och! murther! it kills me
Jest like an electrified eel.
Your eyes are like flashings of lightning,
Glancing there, darting here, oh! so frisky;
Your sweet breath’s more intoxicating
By far than old Irish whisky!
Each eye, each limb, and each action,
Your garments, too, every stitch
Are all bent on Patrick’s destruction,
You plump little rosy young witch!
I learned a long speech to say to you
When I came to your house t’other day,
But I sat there as dumb as mackerel,
And that’s every word I could say.
For my heart grew so awfully jealous
To think that my tongue should address you,
That it jumped up and stuck in my throttle
Before I could gasp out “God bless you.”
I told the good father confessor
My troubles, says he, “Pat! I’m sure
You’re bewitched by some wicked young fairy,
And I only know one means of cure!”
But he says that same cure is quite aisy,
He’ll soon make all right, if I bring
To church, one fine morn, my sweet Daisy,
And likewise a little gold ring.
H. W. Bidwell.