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THE SKY-LABK. 168
Old England your taunts on our country forbear,
With our bulls and our brogues we are true and
sincere,
For if but one bottle remains in our store ;
We have generous hearts to give that bottle more.
At Candy's, in Church-street, I'll sing of a set,
Of six Irish blades who together had met;
Four bottles a-piece made us call for our score,
And nothing remained but one bottle more.
Our bill being paid, we were loth to depart,
For friendship had grappled each man by the heart,
Where the least touch, you know, makes an Irishman
roar,
And the whack from shillelah brought six bottles
more.
Slow Phoebus had shone through our window so
bright,
Quite happy to view his blest children of light,
So we parted with hearts neither sorry nor sore,
Resolving next night to drink twelve bottles more.

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