Johnny Hall.

Och, they've given ye the laid,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall.
But, begorra, I'm afraid,
Johnny Hall,
That yer Opposishun blowin',
An' yer bouncin' an' yer crowin',
Wid yer Atkinson an' Bowen,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall,
Won't put ye in at all,
Johnny Hall.

Ipon me sowl it's grand,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall,
To see ye take command,
Johnny Hall;
Of Pat-thri-ots so pure,
Who promise that they ll cure
All the evils we indure,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall,
Whin the Governor does call
Johnny Hall.

Avick, machree! bedad,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall,
Sir George is mighty bad,
Johnny Hall;

page 62

Bekays he won't give way
An' second fiddle play;—
Yer a purty cup o tay,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall,
It's a pity ye should fall,
Johnny Hall.

Yer argumints are sound.
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall;
It's only now we found,
Johnny Hall,
Sich varchues in the camp
Av the hayroes o' the "Swamp:"
Piako's purty damp,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall;
I think ye'll miss the ball,
Johnny Hall.

We thried ye oncet before,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall;
But niver any more,
Johnny Hall.
We'll pluck ye av yer sting;—
The dirty mud ye fling,
An' the charges that ye bring,
Johnny Hall, Johnny Hall;
Are mighty waik an' small,
Johnny Hall.

There was tundhers av applause whin I finished, an' begorra, Johnny tuk it in good part an' voluntered a song in return. I got him to rite down the ditty, an' you will percaive that its in vulgar Inglish:—