Forgettin'

The night when last I saw my lad
— His eyes were bright an' wet.
He took my two hands in his own,
— " 'Tis well, " says he, " we're met.
Asthore machree! the likes o' me
— I bid ye now forget. "

Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing,
— 'Tis more I'd do for him!
I mind the night I promised well,
— Away on Ballindim. —
An' every little while or so
— I thry forgettin' Jim.

It shouldn't take that long to do,
— An' him not very tall:
'Tis quare the way I'll hear his voice,
— A boy that's out o' call, —
An' whiles I'll see him stand as plain
— As e'er a six-fut wall.

Och, never fear, my jewel!
— I'd forget ye now this minute,
If I only had a notion
— O' the way I should begin it;
But first an' last it isn't known
— The heap o' throuble's in it.

Meself began the night ye went
— An' hasn't done it yet;
I'm nearly fit to give it up,
— For where's the use to fret? —
An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me
— Wid mindin' to forget.
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