Rory O’More

Or, All for Good Luck YOUNG Rory O’More courted Kathleen bawn,— He was bold as a hawk, she as soft as the dawn; He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. “Now, Rory, be aisy!” sweet Kathleen would cry, Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,— “With your tricks, I don’t know, in troth, what I ’m about; Faith! you ’ve tazed till I ’ve put on my cloak inside out.” “Och! jewel,” says Rory. “that same is the way Ye ’ve thrated my heart for this many a day; And ’t is plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? For ’t is all for good luck,” says bold Rory O’More. “Indeed, then,” says Kathleen, “don’t think of the like, For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike: The ground that I walk on he loves, I ’ll be bound—” “Faith!” says Rory, “I ’d rather love you than the ground.” “Now, Rory, I ’ll cry if you don’t let me go; Sure I dream every night that I ’m hating you so!” “Och!” says Rory, “that same I ’m delighted to hear, For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear. So, jewel, kape dhraming that same till ye die, And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie! And ’t is plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? Since ’t is all for good luck,” says bold Rory O’More. “Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you ’ve tazed me enough; Sure I ’ve thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; And I ’ve made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,— So I think after that, I may talk to the praste.” Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light, And he kissed her sweet lips,—don’t you think he was right? “Now, Rory, leave off, sir,—you ’ll hug me no more,— That ’s eight times to-day that you ’ve kissed me before.” “Then here goes another,” says he, “to make sure! For there ’s luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O’More.