Darby McGuire

Some say 'twas in England I first saw the light,
And other in Scotland would have my first night;
But as writers on heroes are often astray,
I think for myself I'll have something to say.
Oh! the night I was born sure I very well know,
When the clergyman tumbled in cover'd with snow;
He laid hold of myself and sat down by the fire,
And made a good boy of young Darby M'Guire.

Then Hurrah for ould Ireland, the land of my birth,
'Tis there you'll get plenty of pleasure and mirth,
Where the beautiful girls are sure to admire
Such rollicsome fellows as Darby M'Guire.

From christ'nings to weddings what heavenly bliss,
As I stand by the bride and obtain the first kiss,
While the creature looks sly as if nothing occurr'd,
And the husband looks daggers but daren't say a word;
Och then for the carving of praties and pigs,
The piper begins for to "rattle the jigs,"
The girls they jump up and begin to perspire,
At the pleasure of dancing with Darby M'Guire.

For twenty miles round at a market or fair,
I'm sure to be found if I don't be elsewhere,
I'm just on the spot when a row is begun,
And I'm smashing away for the sake of the fun;
'Tis then that you'd see the big blackthorns all fly,
"Milia Murther" you'd think 'twas a show'r from the sky,
And who wins the battle I never enquire,
They're all "blood relation" to Darby M'Guire.

But speaking of vows I don't wish to offend,
For I'm always the boy to assist a poor friend;
Though first in the "field," and not last in the "row,"
I can mind number one and look after the plough.
Some paint Ragged Pat with a villianous face,
But I hope none of that in my own you can trace,
To see every man happy is all I desire,
Contented and jovial, like Darby M'Guire.