At Glendalough lived a young saint,
In odor of sanctity dwelling,
An old-fashion'd odor, which now
We seldom or never are smelling;
A book or a hook were to him
The utmost extent of his wishes;
Now, a snatch at the 'lives of the saints;'
Then, a catch at the lives of the fishes.
There was a young woman one day,

Stravagin
along by the lake, sir;
She looked hard at St. Kevin, they say,
But St. Kevin no notice did take, sir.
When she found looking hard wouldn't do,
She look'd soft-in the old sheep's eye fashion;
But, with all her sheep's eyes, she could not
In St. Kevin see signs of soft passion.
'You're a great hand at fishing,' says Kate;
''Tis yourself that knows how, faith, to hook them;
But, when you have caught them,
agra
,
Don't you want a young woman to cook them?'
Says the saint, 'I am '
sayrious inclined
,'
I intend taking orders for life, dear.'
'Only marry,' says Kate, 'and you'll find
You'll get orders enough from your wife, dear.'
'You shall never be flesh of my flesh,'
Says the saint, with an anchorite groan, sir;
'I see that myself,' answer'd Kate,
'I can only be 'bone of your bone,' sir.
And even your bones are so scarce,'
Said Miss Kate, at her answers so glib, sir;
'That I think you would not be the worse
Of a little additional rib, sir.'
The saint in a rage, seized the lass,
He gave her one twirl round his head, sir,
And, before Doctor Arnott's invention,
Flung her on a watery bed, sir.
Oh!-cruel St. Kevin!-for shame!
When a lady her heart came to barter,
You should not have been Knight of the Bath
But have bowed to the order of Garter.