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              The Young Gal only

                    19 Years old.

As I was out walking one night near the Strand,
I met a fair damsel all hooped up so grand,
She had feathers and finery, and jewels and
gold,
And she said she was a young gal, yes a young
gal, only 19 years old..
                                      She had feathers, &c.

Her fingers were tapered, her neck like the
swan,
Her nose was a turn-up, and her voice not too
strong;
In three weeks we married and wedding bells
told,
That I'd married a young gal, yes a young gal
only 19 years old.

The wedding party broke up and we retired to
rest,                                           
But my hair stood upright, when my bride she
undressed,
For a cart-load of padding my young bride did
unfold,
A thing rather peculiar, very peculiar, for 19
years old.                      For a cart-load, &c.

First she took off her right foot about a foot
wide,
" Then she unscrewed her left ear and laid it
aside,
Then she pulled out her right eye on the
carpet it rolled,
Thinks I, here's a young gal, what a young
gal, only 19 years old.
                                      Then she pulled, &c.

Next she unscrewed her left leg as far as the
knee,
Then pulled off her fingers, I counted just
, three,                       
Then on her left shoulder a large hump I did
behold,
So I said, there's a young gal, yes a young gal,
only 19 years old. Then on her left, &c.

When she wiped off her eye-brows I thought
I should faint,
And scraped from her cheeks a cartload of
paint;
When she pulled off her black wig then her
bald pate soon told,
That she was an old gal, an old gal, more than
19 years old.           " When she pulled, &c.

When she pulled out her false teeth I jump'd
up in terror,
For her nose and her chin very near stuck
together,
From the chamber I stepp'd it, never more to
behold,
This gal not 19, no not 19, but 99 years old.
                                      From the chamber, &c.

Now young men take warning ere to church
you go,                                   
Be sure your bride's perfect from the top to
the toe,
Or you'll pay Tor your folly and like me be
sold,
By some patch'd up old bit of stuff, cruel old
gal about 99 years old.
                                      Or you'll pay for, &c.

                  The Private Still.

An Exciseman once in Dublin at the time that
I was there,
He fancied that a private still was being worked
somewhere;
He met me out one morning, perhaps he
fancied that I knew,
But I didn't—never mind that—says he, Pat,
how do you do.             Fal de ral, &c.

Says I, I'm very well, your honour, but allow
me for to say,
I don't know you at all; by jove, but says he,
but perhaps you may;
I want to find a something out, assist me if you
will,
Here's fifty pounds if you can tell me where's
a private still.
Give me the fifty pounds, says I, upon my soul
I can,
I'll keep my word, the devil a lie, as I'm an
Irishman;
The fifty pounds he then put down, I pocketed
the fee,
Says I, now button up your coat, and straight-
way follow me.
I took him walking up the street, and talking
all the while,
He little thought I'd got to take him a thun-
dering many miles;
Says he, how much further Pat, for I am getting
very tired,
Said I, then let us have a car, and a jaunting
car he hired.
As soon as we got on the car, said he, now tell
me, Pat,
Where is this blessed private still,—don't take
me for a flat,
A flat, your honour, no, says I, but hear me if
you will,
And I at once will tell you, sir, where there's
a private still.
Go on at once, says he, said I, all right—now
mark me well,
I have a brother that is close by here, in the
barracks he does dwell,
I assure you he's a soldier, though he went
against his will;
The devil take your brother, says he, where's
the private still.
Hold your whist, says I, old chap, and I will
plainly show,
That in the army, why, of course, promotion
is very slow;
Said the Exciseman, yes I'm sure it is, they're
only meant to kill,
But never mind your brother, tell me where's
the private still.
Said I, I'm coming to it—the barrack's close at
hand,
And if you'll look straight through the gates,
you'll see and hear the band;
And when the band's done playing, you'll see
the soldiers drill—
The blazes take the soldiers, tell me, where's
the private still.
Half a minute more, says I, I'll point him out
to you—
Faith, there he is, says I, old chap, standing
'twixt them two,
Who the blazes do you mean, said he ; I said
my brother Bill,
Well, says he; well, says I, they won't make
him a corporal, so he's a private still.
'The Exciseman stamped, and said he'd have
his money back;
But I jumped on the car myself, and off was
in a crack,
And the people as he walked along, tho' much
against his will,
Shout after him, "Exciseman, have you found
the private still."