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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 433 |
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And send them childer and money galore. With us there's many a mouth to fill, And so, my boy, let's work with a will;— Work hand and foot, Work spade and hand, Work spade and hand
Through the brown dry mould ; The blessed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold Of Ireland.
Ah, then, Paddy O'Reardan, you thundering Turk,
Is it coorting you are in the blessed noon. Come over here, Katty, and mind your work,
Or I'll see if your mother can't change your tune. Well, youth will be youth, as you know, Mike,
Sixteen and twenty for each were meant; But, Pat, in the name of the fairies, avick, Defer your proposals till after Lent;
And as love in this country lives mostly still On potatoes—dig, boy, dig with a will;— Work hand and foot, Work spade and hand, Work spade and hand
Through the harvest mould ; The blessed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold Of Ireland.
Down the bridle road the neighbors ride,
Through the light ash shade, by the wheaten sheaves; And the children sing on the mountainside |
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