Soldier's dream/At the dead of the night

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AT THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT.

At the dead of the night, when by whisky inspir'd,
And pretty Katty Flanningan my bosom had fir'd,
I rapp'd at her window when thus she began,
Oh, what the devil are you at? begone you naughty man

І gave her a look, as sly as a thief,
Or when hungry I'd view a fine sirloin of beef;
My heart is red hot, (says I) but cold is my skin,
So pretty Mrs Flannigan, oh, wont you let me in.

She open'd the door, I sat down by the fire,
And soon was reliev'd from the wet, cold, and mire,
And I pleas'd her so well, that long e'er 'twas day,
I stole poor Katty's tender heart, and so tripp'd awa