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Category: Funny Narrative Poems
       Classic humorous and funny story poems. Narrative poems are written accounts of connected events in poetry format.

  THE DONNYBROOK JIG  

Oh! 'twas Dermot O'Nolan M'Figg,
That could properly handle a twig,
    He wint to the fair, and kicked up a dust there,
In dancing a Donnybrook jig--with his twig.
Oh! my blessing to Dermot M'Figg.

Whin he came to the midst of the fair,
He was all in a paugh for fresh air,
    For the fair very soon, was as full--as the moon,
Such mobs upon mobs as were there, oh rare!
So more luck to sweet Donnybrook Fair.

But Dermot, his mind on love bent,
In search of his sweetheart he went,
    Peep'd in here and there, as he walked through the fair,
And took a small drop in each tent--as he went,--
Oh! on whisky and love he was bent.

And who should he spy in a jig,
With a meal-man so tall and so big,
    But his own darling Kate, so gay and so nate?
Faith! her partner he hit him a dig--the pig,
He beat the meal out of his wig.

The piper, to keep him in tune,
Struck up a gay lilt very soon;
    Until an arch wag cut a hole in the bag,
And at once put an end to the tune--too soon--
Och! the music flew up to the moon.

The meal-man he looked very shy,
While a great big tear stood in his eye,
    He cried, "Lord, how I'm kilt, all alone for that jilt;
With her may the devil fly high in the sky,
For I'm murdered, and don't know for why."

"Oh!" says Dermot, and he in the dance,
Whilst a step to'ards his foe did advance,
    "By the Father of Men, say but that word again,
And I'll soon knock you back in a trance--to your dance,
For with me you'd have but small chance."

"But," says Kitty, the darlint, says she,
"If you'll only just listen to me,
    It's myself that will show that he can't be your foe,
Though he fought for his cousin--that's me," says she,
"For sure Billy's related to me.

"For my own cousin-jarmin, Anne Wild,
Stood for Biddy Mulroony's first child;
    And Biddy's step-son, sure he married Bess Dunn,
Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild a child
As ever at mother's breast smiled.

"And may be you don't know Jane Brown,
Who served goat's-whey in Dundrum's sweet town?
    'Twas her uncle's half-brother, who married my mother,
And bought me this new yellow gown, to go down
When the marriage was held in Milltown."

"By the powers, then," says Dermot, "'tis plain,
Like the son of that rapscallion Cain,
    My best friend I have kilt, though no blood is spilt,
But the devil a harm did I mane--that's plain;
And by me he'll be ne'er kilt again."

                                                        Viscount Dillon.


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