Cruiskeen Lawn
Cruiskeen Lawn
2346
Let the farmer praise his grounds, as the hunter does his hounds
And the shepherd his sweet scented lawn,
While I more blest than they, spend each night and day each happy
With my smiling little cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn
O, my smiling little cruiskeen lawn
Leante ruma cruiskeen,
Sleante gar, mavournéen,
Agus, gramachree, ma-colleen, ban, ban, ban
Agus, gramachree ma-colleen, ban
In court with manly grace, should Sir Toby plades his case
And the merits of his cause made known
Without his cheerful glass he’d be stupid as an ass,
Bo he takes a little cruiskeen lawn
Then fill your glasses high, let’s not part with lipa so dry
Though the lark should proclaim it is dawn:
But, if we can’t remain, may we shortly mest again,
To fill another cruiskeen lawn
And when grim death appears, after few but happy years
And tells me my glass it is run
I’ll say, bexone, you slave, for great Bacchus gives me lave
Just to fill another cruiskeen lawn