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    PIG WITHOUT A
            TAIL.

    Tune—Rose of Allandale.

THE morn was wet, and dull the day,
And dismal was the sky.
When Paddy left his native cot,
And went into the stye ;
Though the rain in torrents it did flow,
And bitter blew the gale,
Yet Paddy fetched from out the stye,
A pig without a tail.

And when he'd wash'd him nate and clean,
And rubbed him gently down,
He put him then on board a ship,
And brought him to this town,
Tho' the tempest toss'd the ship about,
As if 'twould rend the sail,
Yet the pig that never squeak'd at all,
Was the pig without a tail.

And when poor Paddy's pig had march'd
Into this happy land,
He took him then unto Shudehill,
And there he made him stand ;
And sure the people came to buy,
And saw him there for sale ;
The pig that fetched the greatest price,
Was the pig without a tail.

George Walker, Jun., Printer, Sadler-street, Durham ;
and sold by John Livsey, 43 Hanover-street, Shudekill,
                            Manchester.
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   PADDY'S WAKE.

      Tune—Bay of Biscay.

Loud how'ld each Irish mourner,
That went to Paddy's wake ;
The house in every corner,
They made to twist and shake,
To view Pat in his shroud,
The neighbours there did crowd.
With squalls and cries they rent the skies,
Why did you die ? Oh ! Oh !

The house began to shiver,
The stacks of chimneys bent,
The rain just like a river,
Through every tile-hole went :
While they sat on the floor,
With Paddy plac'd before ;
Then each one said,
To wake the dead,
Why did you die ? Oh ! Oh !

The time soon came for parting,
To put Pat in his grave,
They each one took their parting,
And sung a doleful stave,
Then screw'd Pat in his shell,
With tobacco and pipes as well,
Then each did moan,
He's dead and gone,
Why did you die ? Oh ! Oh !

With Paddy on their shoulder,
Off to the grave they flew,
And all the near beholders,
Kick'd up a hubbaboo ;
They down'd him with a whack,
Which made the coffin crack,
Then each did cry,
Good bye, good bye,
Why did you die ? Oh ! Oh