Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Irish Angling
Irish Angling.
An Irishman fishing one day in the Liffey,
Which runs close by Dublin's great city so fine,
A smart shower of rain falling, Pat, in a jiffey,
Crept under the arch of the bridge with his line.
Which runs close by Dublin's great city so fine,
A smart shower of rain falling, Pat, in a jiffey,
Crept under the arch of the bridge with his line.
"That's never the way to accomplish your wishes,"
Cries Dermot, "there never a bite will you get."
"Sure my honey," cries Pat, "don't you know that the fishes
Will swim under here, to keep out of the wet."
Cries Dermot, "there never a bite will you get."
"Sure my honey," cries Pat, "don't you know that the fishes
Will swim under here, to keep out of the wet."