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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

William Maginn 1793–1842

The Irishman and the Lady


THERE was a lady liv’d at Leith,

A lady very stylish, man;

And yet, in spite of all her teeth,

She fell in love with an Irishman—

A nasty, ugly Irishman,

A wild, tremendous Irishman,

A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.

His face was no ways beautiful,

For with small-pox ’t was scarr’d across;

And the shoulders of the ugly dog

Were almost double a yard across.

Oh, the lump of an Irishman,

The whiskey-devouring Irishman,

The great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue—the fighting, rioting Irishman.

One of his eyes was bottle-green,

And the other eye was out, my dear;

And the calves of his wicked-looking legs

Were more than two feet about, my dear.

Oh, the great big Irishman,

The rattling, battling Irishman—

The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an Irishman.

He took so much of Lundy-foot

That he used to snort and snuffle—O!

And in shape and size the fellow’s neck

Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.

Oh, the horrible Irishman,

The thundering, blundering Irishman—

The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman.

His name was a terrible name, indeed,

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;

And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch

He ’d not rest till he fill’d it full again.

The boozing, bruising Irishman,

The ’toxicated Irishman—

The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman.

This was the lad the lady lov’d,

Like all the girls of quality;

And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,

Just by the way of jollity.

Oh, the leathering Irishman,

The barbarous, savage Irishman—

The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen’s heads, were bother’d I ’m sure by this Irishman.