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PS 1663 
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 AN IRISH IDYL. 
 
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 Copyright, i8y8, by J. Dudley Ferguson. 
 
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 DDY'8 WIF 
 
 AN IRISH IDYL 
 
 Have you heard the story of Paddy's wife, 
 
 The beautiful Miss McSharey ; 
 Who ran the machine the whole of her life, 
 
 In frollicksome Tipper ny ? 
 How Pat the rollicking broth of a boy, 
 
 So handy with his shillaly, 
 Found out that the angel who shared his joy. 
 
 Was worse than the ould boy raily ? 
 
 You hav'nt ! Well stranger you've something to larn, 
 
 Said Mickey, the old switch-tender ; 
 There by the track, a flag under his arm, 
 
 Red, like his nose, I remember. 
 Jist come over here and squat on these ties, 
 
 In the shade of the signal box ; 
 No ! 'gainst the rules. Well ! a drop 'bout the size, 
 
 Of three fingers used to hard knocks. 
 
 Say boss, that was stiff ! You just bet your life, 
 
 When I was a boy in Athlone, 
 We knew how it worked, with gaugers at strife, 
 
 Distilling for widow Mahone. 
 Why boss we — Oh, the story ! Well young man 
 
 There was fun at that disclosure ; 
 For the frightened Pat, like a spalpeen, ran 
 
 From this feminine bulldozer. 
 
 Faith sir, he'd been married a week or less, 
 
 When the Priest on his way to mass, 
 Found him stretched on his back in great distress, 
 
 Stowed-away in his neighbors grass. 
 Both his eyes were blacked, and his head was cracked, 
 
 And his blooming nose was askew ; 
 In every respect he looked as if whacked, 
 
 By a band of the hostile sioux. 
 
Why Patsy, you rascal, the priest exclaimed, 
 
 You are dhrunk again 1 declare ; 
 Och ! You ould baste, I am grieved, I'm ashamed, 
 
 To see you lie wallowing there. 
 Only last sunday, you carried your bride, 
 
 So swate, from steps of the altar ; 
 Don't say a word ! I've a good mind, your hide 
 
 To curse, by saint and by psalter. 
 
 Be aisy a minuit — don't say too much, 
 
 Says Pat wid a look of surprise ; 
 I have'nt been drinking, nor fighting, nor such, 
 
 If any man says so he lies. 
 And your riv'rince knows I respect the cloth, 
 
 To the priest I'm always civil ; 
 But that lady you metioned in your wroth, 
 
 Could flure the author of evil. 
 
 She's worse I repate than the grim ould boy, 
 
 Who has charge of the fires below, 
 My raison for saying so is the how, 
 
 Or the fact I'm going to show. 
 Its thrue I was only three weeks at school, 
 
 And my head's not crazed with larnin ; 
 But unless you stretched it Father O 'Toole, 
 
 Keep still ! I'll quote from your sarmon. 
 
 You said : The Bible declares on its face, 
 
 If satan we'd only resist — 
 Now mind ! He would flee from you in disgrace, 
 
 And with that you brought down your fist. 
 Its true, I believe, resist and he'll flee 
 
 From you, the same words wirra sthrue : 
 But my wife, if you only resist, she 
 
 Will, be japers, she'll flee at you. 
 
Entered According to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 
 
 /. DUDLEY FERGUSON, 
 
 rife In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. ^ 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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 pH 8.5 
 
 Mill Run F03-2193