Openin' O' Parlimint.

'Twas on the Thursday mornin', boys, about the break o' day,
The tundh'rin cannons roared aloud and bands began to play,
The Volunteers, wid hearty cheers, then fired a fine salute—
There was no bells nor big bum shells, bekaise it didn't shuit.

The night afore, wid grog galore, we had a jolly spree,
And afther lunch we dhrunk our punch, the Guvenor an' me:
Thin George Augustus whispered, "Pat we ope the 'Ouse at two,
Jist get your stick and corae, avick, ye,ve nothin else to do."

We wet our lips (mesilf an' Phipps), an' I sez "very well,
I've not the Jaiste objection, now, to ride wid Pat O'Rel,"
That daicent boy from ould Fermoy, immortalized in song,
In France, ye see, he got a Le, this noble Aid-de-Kong.

Thin Malin' danced an' Digby pranced upon their chargers proud,
Wid flashin' soord they would have floor'd some varmints in the crowd;
We'd have some fun if they'd not run before aitch glitth'rin blade
That waved on high, without a lie, before the cavalcade.

Shout, shout ye sowls! we're at the bar of wisdom, I declare
(But sure, be gog at bars of grog the shoutin' was all there);
The Spaiker now, wid curteus bow, cries out in accents naite,
"How do you do? we welcome you; me Lord, jist take a saite."

The noble Markiss tuk a saite, and got upon his legs,
Wid look profound he gazed around, and thin he sez, "I begs
For your assistance and advice (just prompt me aisy, Pat),
So if ye'll list wo'll have a twist, I mane a little chat.

"I thuk a thrip aboord a ship since last I met ye here,
And on aitch jetty round the coast folks welcomed me their Peer;
I spaike wid pride, I'm gratified wid everything I meets,
Dunaydin's town adores the Croton (its got none to its sthreets.)

"Unto the Abolition Bill attintion now I crave,
Its workin mighty purty, boys and darlints wid yer laive
Of Walker—not the madium—but him who plants the threes—
I'll spaike upon—like you. Sir John, this sojer is the cheese!

"Now gintlemin, the Estimates, besides the Public Works,
Have divil a thing at all to do wid Rooshins or wid Turks;
The revenue is increasin' an' our bank account looks bright,
Still people growl, upon me sowl, that tin is gettin' tight.

"The Lands an' Edeycation Bills, likewise the Minin' Act,
Desarve considheration, begorra, its a fact;
So go to work in airnest, boys, an' spind the counthiy's brass,
Ye needn't blow too much, ye know—more biz'ness an' less gas! "

The Docthor thin shouts out "Amin," and puts his budget down:
And George Agustus sez to me' "Come, Paddy I've a crown,
Come round the corner and I'll stand a 'Local Option,' do,"
We did, and wint away contint—begorra, boys, its thrue!