From The Washington Times, May 29, 1913. By Eugene Geary. Pat Clancy’s in love! He’s a sight to behold; An’ his life—he wants some wan to fill it. Instead o’ being crowded wid blessin’s untold, ’Tis as empty an’ dry as a skillet. A short while ago he was gay as a lark, An’ the boss was his wages advancin’; Till he strolled of a Sunday to see Celtic Park An’ join in the games an’ the dancin’. ’Twas when he took part in an eight-handed reel And danced, as they all tell me, so splendid, His head remained clear, not to mention his heel, But his heart was clean gone when ’twas ended. A pair o’ blue eyes was Pat Clancy’s downfall; ’Tis a sorrowful mortal they’ve made him. He’s cut all his friends an’ relations an’ all, An’ he won’t take a drink if you paid him. The boss of his gang, from the town o’ Kanturk Don’t know what to make out o’ Clancy; Says the divil himself couldn’t keep him to work Wid sighin’ for the girl of his fancy. An’ ’tis all for a purty young colleen from Clare— She hails from the border of Ennis. Well, if that’s what’s called love, for my part I declare Sure I’d rather have spinal magennis.
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