The Races.

Air: "Limerick Races."
Come fill the flowin' bowl,
Wid whiskey punch or brandy,
For railly, 'pon me sowl,
I'll take whatever's handy;
Sir Herculis, me boy,
Here's to yer horses' paces,
Me heart is filled wid joy,
Sure we'll have honest races.

Be-gorra, faix, av coorse
I used to back the stable,
That was me last resoorce,
But now, mavrone, I'm able
To lay upon the prad
That runs Vice-raygil chaces,
Sir Herculis, be-dad,
Goes in for honest races.

The sells an' swindles, too,
The scratchings an' the capers,
That humbugg'd me and you,
Are inded now, be japers;
The mimbers o' the ring,
Must put on honest faces,
The Turf has got a king,
Who prides in honest races.

Be-dad I'm nearly ashamed to tell ye that we stayed up till three o'clock that night, so we did, an' the nixt mornin' Molly had to sind out to the Impire for a "John Collins" for me. I'll thry an' come down wid his Ixcillincee on the 18th, so ye can jist minshin it to Mick, in case I should want a room.

Paddy Murphy.