From William Ginty   (Feb. 7th, 1843)

Hurrah! Hurrah let others send

And sing and sigh their valentines

My name mongst such shall never blend

A nobler lay is mine.

Tis stuff – trash – nonsense – folly – madness

Curst ‘paper love’ I dearly hate you

I’d sooner sit in silent sadness

Than be consigned to idly prate you

Ha! Ha! Ha! around me sits

Three love-sick wights¹ – each at a ditty

One puzzles his belaboured wits

To sing the praise of one Miss Hetty²

Poor wretch e’en now that deep drawn sigh

That frown bespeaks thy soul’s deep ardour

You little dream that bye and bye

Your theme will float in Kinsale harbour

See ‘paddy’³ too! oh powers just view

That all-absorpt-in-love-care phiz⁴

‘The course of smooth love ne’er ran true’⁵

You surely can’t apply to his

Poor devil! You should bear in mind

That your dear labours – loves ta

A few short days will se consigned

Secreted in some stinking privy

The <word[s] missing> a scholar in the art

With his fond task he seems delighted

He looks around – then with a start

Throws down his pen and crys afrighted

‘Call ye this love — unhappy pair

That spreads such gloom upon your faces

Then mine’s not lost – so to the rear

I’ll quick return some 30 paces’

A such like fate they ever meet

Theirs is the doom ‘beyant all tellin’

But zounds! I fain your ears would greet!

Pray have you sent a one to Ellen⁶

If so let me predict its fate

And deem me not a scoffing churl

When I beg leave to simply state

Fer ‘raven plumes’ twill help to curl

But no – that’s wrong – they’re natures own

Some other fate must meet your letter

Perhaps twould shroud some ‘yalla soap’⁷

In truth I hope it wont meet better

And now adieu Sir valentine

May every lovers luck attend you

If sighs should burst your heart in time

All I’ve to say is ‘devil hand ye’

I s’pose you thought you’d got a lob⁸

When native ‘Carlow’ met your eyes

Jist look how nate⁹ I did de job

And be in future ‘penny wise’¹⁰

RI MS JT 1/11/3593

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