Song LXXXV., pp.337-338.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

YOU that love mirth, attend to my song, 

A moment you never can better employ; 

Sawny and Teague were trudging along, 

A bony Scots lad and an Irish dear-joy; 

They neither before had seen a wind-mill, 

Nor had they heard ever of any such name: 

As they were a walking, 

And merrily talking, 

At last by meer chance to a wind-mill they came. 


Haha! crys Sawny, what do ye ca’ that? 

To tell the right name o’t I am at a loss. 

Teague very readily answer’d the Scot

Indeed I believe it’sh shaint Patrick’s cross. 

Says Sawny, ye’ll find your sell meikle mistaken, 

For it is saint Andrew’s cross I can swear; 

For there is his bonnet, 

And tartans hang on it, 

The plaid and the trews our apostle did wear. 


Nay, o’ my shoul joy, thou tellesht all lees, 

For that I will shwear is shaint Patrick’s coat; 

I shee’t him in Ireland buying the freeze, 

And that I am shure ish the shame that he bought; 

And he is a shaint mush better than ever 

Made either the covenantsh sholemn or league: 

For o’ my shalwashion, 

He was my relashion, 

And had a great kindnesh for honesht poor Teague


Wherefore says Teague I will by my shoul, 

Lay down my napshack, and take out my beads, 

And under this holy cross’ set I will fall, 

And shay pater-noshter, and shome of our creeds: 

So Teague began with humble devotion, 

To kneel down before St. Patrick’s cross; 

The wind fell a-blowing, 

And set it a-going, 

And it gave our dear-joy a terrible toss. 


Sawny tehee’d, to see how poor Teague 

Lay scratching his ears, and roll on the grass, 

Swearing, it was surely the de’ils whirly-gig, 

And none (he roar’d out) of St. Patrick’s cross: 

But ish it indeed, crys he in a passion, 

The cross of our shaint that has crosht me so sore; 

Opo’ my salwashion, 

This shall be a cawshion, 

To trust to St. Patrick’s kindnesh no more. 


Sawny to Teague then merrily cry’d, 

This patron of yours is a very sad loun, 

To hit you sic a fair thump on the hide, 

For kneeling before him, and seeking a boon: 

Let me advise ye to serve our St. Andrew

He, by my saul, was a special gude man; 

For since your St. Patrick 

Has serv’d ye sic a trick, 

I’d see him hung up e’er I serv’d him again. 

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