Poetry Archives

Tim Murphy’s gon’ walkin’ wid Maggie O’Neill,
        O chone!
If I was her muther, I’d frown on sich foolin’,
        O chone!
I’m sure it’s unmutherlike, darin’ an’ wrong
To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an’ the song
Of every young felly that happens along,
        O chone!

An’ Murphy, the things that’s be’n sed of his doin’,
        O chone!
’Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin’,
        O chone!
If he came to my door wid his cane on a twirl,
Fur to thry to make love to you, Biddy, my girl,
Ah, wouldn’t I send him away wid a whirl,
        O chone!

They say the gossoon is indecent and dirty,
        O chone!
In spite of his dressin’ so.
        O chone!
Let him dress up ez foine ez a king or a queen,
Let him put on more wrinkles than ever was seen,
You’ll be sure he’s no match for my little colleen,
        O chone!

Faith the two is comin’ back an’ their walk is all over,
        O chone!
’Twas a pretty short walk fur to take wid a lover,
        O chone!
Why, I believe that Tim Murphy’s a kumin’ this way,
Ah, Biddy jest look at him steppin’ so gay,
I’d niver belave what the gossipers say,
        O chone!

He’s turned in the gate an’ he’s coming a-caperin’,
        O chone!
Go, Biddy, go quick an’ put on a clane apern,
        O chone!
Be quick as ye kin fur he’s right at the dure;
Come in, master Tim, fur ye’re welcome I’m shure.
We were talkin’ o’ ye jest a minute before.
        O chone!