Wilful Markee, it's loike thunder ye frown,
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Faith ye'd plase yer proud Parthy by kicking _me_ down,
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
How haughty your air,
As you kick me down-stair!
Faix, I wondher ye dare
In this oisle of the free!
Och, ye autocrat churl,
Me poor head's in a whirl.
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Wilful Markee, Oireland's chance is now come,
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Whin everything smoiles must the Tories look glum?
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Sure the Commons, wid prayers,
Have sint me upstairs;
Who is it that dares
Wid me form disagree?
_Don't_ haughtily pish
At ould Oireland's last wish!
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Wilful Markee, whin a Bill enters in.
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
To be kicking it out in this stoyle is a sin.
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Surely hammer and tongs
To bad ould days belongs;
Far betther sing songs
Full of family glee.
Oireland's bad bitter cup
Do not harshly fill up,
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
And do ye not know wid yer bearing so bould,--
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
How ye're kaping the poor tinants out in the could?
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Wid such sins on your head,
Sure your peace will be fled;
Could you slape in your bed
Widout thinking to see
My ghost or my sprite
That will wake ye each night
Groaning _Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Then take my advice haughty Wilful Markee,
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
And loike "Compensation Bill" do not trate _me_!
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
Of stroife we all tire,
Then why stir the ould fire?
Sure hope is no liar
In whisperin' to me,
Hate's ould ghost will depart
When you win Oireland's heart!
_Ochone! Wilful Markee!_
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[Illustration: "PUTTING HIS FOOT IN IT."]
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[Illustration: STROLL IN THE ZOO. SUNDAY AFTERNOON.]
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