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Poem	Tim Murphy's gon' walkin' wid Maggie O'Neill, O chone! If I was her muther, I'd frown on sich foolin', O chone! I'm sure it's unmutherlike, darin' an' wrong To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an' the song Of every young felly that happens along, O chone! An' Murphy, the things that's be'n sed of his doin', O chone! 'Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin', O chone! If he came to my door wid his cane on a twirl, Fur to thry to make love to you, Biddy, my girl, Ah, wouldn't I send him away wid a whirl, O chone! They say the gossoon is indecent and dirty, O chone! In spite of his dressin' so. O chone! Let him dress up ez foine ez a king or a queen, Let him put on more wrinkles than ever was seen, You'll be sure he's no match for my little colleen, O chone! Faith the two is comin' back an' their walk is all over, [Pg 262]O chone! 'Twas a pretty short walk fur to take wid a lover, O chone! Why, I believe that Tim Murphy's a kumin' this way, Ah, Biddy jest look at him steppin' so gay, I'd niver belave what the gossipers say, O chone! He's turned in the gate an' he's coming a-caperin', O chone! Go, Biddy, go quick an' put on a clane apern, O chone! Be quick as ye kin fur he's right at the dure; Come in, master Tim, fur ye're welcome I'm shure. We were talkin' o' ye jest a minute before. O chone!
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