"Bachelor;s Hall" [1862]
An Irish Song
Composed [Music] by
J[oseph]. P[hilbrick]. Webster. [1819-1875]

Chicagio, IL: H. M. HIGGINS, 117 Randolph St.
Pearson [engraver].
[Source: @Newberry Library, Chicago]

1. Bachelor’s Hall, what a quare looking place it is!
  Kape me from such all the days of my life;
Sure, but I think, what a burning disgrace it is,
  Niver at all to be getting a wife.
See the old Bachelor! gloomy and sad enough,
  Placing his teakettle over the fire,
Soon it tips over— St. Pattrick!— he’s mad enough,
  (If he were present) to fight with the squire.

2. Now, like a hog, in a mortar bed wallowing,
  (Awkward enough, see him kneading his dough,)
Troth, if the bread he could ate without swallowing,
  How it would favor his palate you know.
Late in the night boy he goes to bed shiverin’,
  Niver a bit is the bed made at all;
He creeps like a terapin under the kiverin’,
  Bad luck in the picture of Bachelor’s Hall.

3. His disheloth is missing, the pigs are devouring it,
  In the pursuit he has broken his shin;
A plate wanted washing— grimalkin is scouring it—
  Thunder and turf, what a pickle, he’s in,
Pat’s dishes and pans, all such greasy commodities,
  Ashes and pratic skins kivet the floor,
His cupboard’s a storehouse of comical oddities,
  Thinigs that had niver been neighbor’s before.

4. His meal being over, the table’s left sitting so,—
  Dishes take care of yourselves, if you can,—
But hunger returns, then he’s foaming and fretting so,
  (Och!) Let him alone for a baste of a man!
Late in the night boy he goes to bed shiverin’,
  Niver a bit id the bed made at all;
He creeps like a terapin under the kiverin’,
  Bad luck in the picture of Bachelor’s Hall.