Father Prout

Malbrouck, the prince of commanders,
Is gone to the war in Flanders;
His fame is like Alexander's;
    But when will he come home?

Perhaps at Trinity Feast, or
Perhaps he may come at Easter.
Egad! he had better make haste, or
    We fear he may never come.

For Trinity Feast is over,
And has brought no news from Dover;
And Easter is past, moreover,
    And Malbrouck still delays.

Milady in her watch-tower
Spends many a pensive hour,
Not well knowing why or how her
    Dear lord from England stays.

While sitting quite forlorn in
That tower, she spies returning
A page clad in deep mourning,
    With fainting steps and slow.

"O page, prithee, come faster!
What news do you bring of your master?
I fear ther...

            I

'Twas on a windy night,
    At two o'clock in the morning,
An Irish lad so tight,
    All wind and weather scorning,
At Judy Callaghan's door.
    Sitting upon the palings,
His love-tale he did pour,
    And this was part of his wailings:-
    Only say
You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
    Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan.

            II

Oh! list to what I say,
    Charms you've got like Venus;
Own your love you may,
    There's but the wall between us.
You lie fast asleep
    Snug in bed and snoring;
Round the house I creep,
    Your hard heart imploring.
    Only say
You'll have Mr. Brallaghan;
    Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan.

            III
...