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Emigration & farewells

Molly Slevin

(33) Molly Slevin

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            Molly Slevin.

My name is Dick Healy, in Poole Street I'm
dwelling,
I doss in a beautiful tip top-back room,
I hope you won't think it's a lie I am telling
To say I'm a weaver and sits at my loom.
I work like a Trojan from morn till evenin,
My spirits are high as my shuttle I throw,
And, oh, in my heart I do love Molly Slevin,
The fish-seller's daughter of sweet Pimlico.
Whack fol de, &c.

Her personal beauty I own is attraction,
Her face is neat as a large frying pan,
And her eyes, like twenty-four pounders in
action,
Her skin is quite fair like a shovel of tan.
She is tight round the waist like a post-office
pillar,
Her legs, like two churns, support her below
And I swore by St. Bacchus, with kindness I'd
kill her,
If she would make me her husband in sweet
Pimlico.

Her father had houses on the banks of that
river,
Where Pimlico trout and sweet gold-fish
do glide
Besides these, he had a few shillins to give her
That I got in my claw, when I made her
my bride.
I'd ramble each day to her father so gaily—
To Larry Magennis's straght we'd both go
And I knew if I could change her name to
Moll Healy
We would dwell like two turtle-doves in
sweet Pimlico.

But our trade getting bad her old father grew
sorry,
He swore she would wed Bill Mullowney the
snob ;
And I swore, five shillings I'd steal or borry
Before I'd go join with the hungry mob.
That night her back window she left lying
open,
And into my arms herself she did throw ;
But, oh, how my heart beat with joy, as I,
groping,
Did carry Moll Slevin down sweet Pimlico.

Next day in Haymarket we were tightly
married,
And we most respectably looked going there
For Moll was so drunk on a fish-clieve was
carried ;
Sweeps, tinkers and gold finders flocked in
the rear.
When we came home, her father to pursue us
was dressing,
In new corduroy from top to the toe ;
He smiled, shook his head, then gave us his
blessing,
And wished we might live long in sweet
Pimlico.

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                 THE

      Irishman's Farewell

          to his Country.

The ship is ready to bear away
Myself and comrades o'er the stormy sea
Her snow-white wings they are unfurled,
And soon she'll swim a watery world.
Do not grieve, love, do not grieve,
The heart is true, and can't deceive,
My heart and hand I give to thee,
Good night, my love, remember me.

Good bye, my love, soul's brightest pearl,
My lovely dark-hair'd blue-eyed girl,
To leave you hear my heart feels sore,
But if life remains we'll meet once more.
Farewell sweet Dublin hills and braes,
To Killiney mount and silvery seas,
For many a long summer's day,
We've loitered many an hour away.

I now must bid a long adieu
To Wicklow and its beauties too ;
Ovoca's vale, where lovers meet,
For to discourse in accents sweet ;
To Delgany, likewise the Glen,
The Dargle, Waterfall, and then
The lovely seenes surrounding Bray
Shall be my thoughts when far away.

Now, Erin dear, it grieves my heart
To think from you I have to part,
Where friends, so ever dear and kind
In sorrow I must leave behind ;
My own sweet Norah's heart will break,
When my farewell of her I take,
But when I'm in a land that's free,
Old Ireland—I'll remember thee.

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