Paddy Doyle was mad in love
With his sweetheart Mary Kate;
He had only eyes for her
Since he asked her out on date;
Everywhere that Paddy went
She was always by his side;
All the locals knew for sure
She would one day be his bride.
There was a large obstruction
In the form of Mary’s dad
Who never took real kindly
To this timid country lad;
Paddy knew he’d have to ask
His permission to get wed;
It gave the poor lad nightmares,
Saying speeches in his head.
At last he plucked up courage
For the fearful tete-a-tete,
By the time he reached the house
He was in a dreadful state;
The dad was full of bluster
Like a bully with his prey;
Pat blurted out in trembling voice,
“There’s a thing I’d like to say—
“I’d like to wed your daughter,
If you p-please sir, Mister Brown;”
The old man sternly stared him,
Furrowed forehead fixed in frown;
He started asking questions
About Paddy’s pedigree,
What kind of qualities he had—
Gave poor Pat the third degree.
A voice came from the kitchen—
“Sure Pat’s made for Mary Kate,
Now quit your bellyaching
Making out you’re some one great.
If I remember rightly
Your own background’s not so hot;
Don’t force me to remember,
‘Cause I think you’d rather not.”
The bluster went to jelly,
Somewhat sheepish, gave consent;
The good wife’s intervention
Gave his pride a fatal dent.
There were no future issues—
Mrs Brown had seen to that
And Mary Kate settled down
To a life of bliss with Pat.
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