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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 590

Samuel Lover. (1797–1868)
    A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild-raging sea.
          The Angel’s Whisper.
    Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye. 1 
          Rory O’ More.
    For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear. 2 
          Rory O’ 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,” 3 says Rory O’More.
          Rory O’ More.
    As she sat in the low-backed car
The man at the turn-pike bar
Never asked for the toll
But just rubbed his auld poll
And looked after the low-backed car.
          The low-backed Car.
          Sure my love is all crost
      Like a bud in the frost
And there’s no use at all in my going to bed,
For ’t is dhrames and not slape that comes into my head!
          Molly Carew.
    And with my advice, faith I wish you’d take me.
          Widow Machree.
    Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs.
          Widow Machree.
Note 1.
See Scott, page 482. [back]
Note 2.
See Middleton, page 172. [back]
Note 3.
See Shakespeare, page 46. [back]