air which Moore has since rendered immortal, by the beautiful song, “Wreath the Bowl,” &e. And although the words are well known in the, West, for the information of less favoured regions, I here’ transcribe
“The Man for Galway.”
A proctor roast,
Or bailiff, as tho case is;
To kiss your wife,
Or take your life
At ten or fifteen paces;
To keep game cocks—to hunt the fox,
To drink in punch tho Solway,”
With debts galore, but fun far more;
Oh! that’s “the man for Galway.”
Chorus—With debts, &c.
Is mighty proud,
And so were onst the Caysars—(Cæsars);
But ould Giles Eyre
Would make them stare,
Ay he had them with the Blazers,
To the devil I fling~ould Rungeet Sing,
He’s only a Prince in a small way,
And knows nothing at all of a six-foot wall;
Oh! he’d never “do for Galway.”
Are no “great snakes;”
They’re all his blood relations,
And the Bodkins sneeze
At tho grim Chinese,
For they come from tho Phenaycians;
So fill to the brim, and here’s to him
Who’d drink in punch the Solway;
With debts galore, but fun far more;
Oh! that’s «tho man for Galway.”
Chorus—With debts, &c
I much fear that the reception of this very classic ode would not be as favourable in general companies as it was on the occasion I first heard it; for certainly the applause was almost deafening; and even Sir George, the defects of whose English education left some of the allusions out of his reach, was highly amused and laughed heartily,
The conversation once more reverted to the election, and although I was too far from those who seemed best informed on the matter to hear much, I could catch enough to discover that the feeling was a confident one. This was gratifying to me, as I had some scruples about my so long neglecting my good uncle’s cause.
“We have Scariff to a man,” said Bodkin,
“And Mosey’s tenantry,” said another. “I swear that though there’s not a freehold registered on the estate, that they’ll vote, every mother’s son of them, or devil a stone of the court-house they’ll leave standing on another,”
