Billy O’Rourke

The Quaver or Songsters Pocket Companion (1844)

I greased my brogues and cut my stick,
At the latter end of May, sir,
And off for England I set out,
To sail upon the sea, sir.
Then next to London I set out 
To cut the hay and corn, sir
To leave old Ireland far behind
The place where I was born, sir
 
With my shillimacroo
And my heart more true,
For Billy O'Rourke is the boy, sir!

I gave the captain six thirteens,
To carry me over to Pargate,
Before we got over half the waves,
It blew at a hell of a hard rate.
The big stick that grew out of the ship,
Began to roar and whistle,
And the sailors all, both great and small,
Cries Pat you will go to the devil.
 
Some fell on their bended knees,
The ladies fell a-fainting,
But I fell to my bread and cheese,
For I always mind the main thing.
Says the sailors: "To the bottom you go!"
Says I: 'We don't care a farthing;
For I paid my passage to Pargate, you know,
And, damn'd but you'll stick to your bargain,"
 
The wind did whistle some to sleep,
Till we came to the place of landing,
And those that were the most afraid
The ladies out were handing.
Says I, Your clothes feel mighty droll
And you surely must have riches,
and for your heart it don't let in the right part,
It surely must lay in your breeches.

Then for London I set out,
And going along the road, sir
I met an honest gentleman
Who proved to be a rogue, sir
He cock'd a pistol to my breast,
Close to my very mouth, sir
Saying, Paddy my boy, I'd have ye be smart, 
In handing out your money, sir.

O, patience, honest gentleman, 
And hear me speak a word, sir, 
For twopence is all the money I've got, 
To carry me many a mile, sir. 
He said he would no longer wait, 
His patience I had fairly tir'd; 
His pan it flash'd, his brains I smashed 
With my shillelagh that never miss'd fire