Oh, politics puzzle, and partisans vary,
    In holiday autumn on Albion’s shore;
  But och! there’s good business in New Tipperary,
    So to take a look round I will take a run o’er. 
  Prince ARTHUR looks proud, but his policy’s poor—­
  No doubt, he’d be happy to show me the door;
  But the Paddies will welcome an English grandee—­
  They’ve had SHAW-LEFEVRE, they’d rather have me! 
    So I laugh at all fears of things going contrairey
    (She loves me, does ERIN, the shamrock-gowned fairy),
    I’m sure there’s good business in New Tipperary! 
            In New Tipperary!

ARTHUR BALFOUR SINGS:—­

AIR—­“OFF TO PHILADELPHIA.”

Faith!  JOHN MORLEY thinks he’s leary,
And he’s off to Tipperary;
My policy he thinks he’ll be a thorn in;
But before he comes away
He will find to spoil my play
He must get up very early in the mornin’. 
Wid his bundle on his shoulder,
He thinks no man could look boulder,
And he’s lavin’ for Auld Ireland widout warnin’. 
For he lately took the notion
For to cross the briny ocean,
And to start for Tipperary in the mornin’.

JOHN MORLEY SINGS:—­

AIR—­“TIPPERARY.”

  By St. Pathrick, I’ve hit on the thing I was after
    (Good luck, MORLEY dear, says O’BRIEN to me)
  My tale BALFOUR bould, will be no case for laughter,
    I’ll leave ye no leg for to stand on, ye’ll see. 
  Of course you will say that my story’s not true,
  But who will belave such a fellow as you? 
  By Jingo, I’ve something to talk about now! 
  I’ll make ye to sit up and snort, that I vow! 
    I’ll give ye the facts, ye can’t prove the contrairey. 
    My story and CADDELL’s will probably vary,
    But I’ve found good business in New Tipperary! 
            In New Tipperary!

ARTHUR BALFOUR SINGS.—­

AIR—­“OFF TO PHILADELPHIA.”

When they tould me I must shpake a pace,
I tried to kape a cheerful face,
Though obvious lack of matther I was mournin’! 
But, oh sombre-faced JOHN MORLEY! 
Ye desired to help me surely,
When ye went for Tipperary widout warnin’! 
Though your tale could scarce be boulder,
Yet my hits straight from the shoulder
Will make ye mourn the hour that ye were born in. 
And I think ye’ll have a notion
Ye were wrong to cross the ocean,
And raise rucktions in ould Ireland in the mornin’!

JOHN MORLEY SINGS:—­

AIR—­“TIPPERARY.”

  I may yet have to sail o’er the blue seas to-morrow,
    Once more sail away to the Isle o’ the West,
  They yet may subpoena me, much to my sorrow,
    And then my strange tale will be put to the test. 
  But BALFOUR shall find, when once more I come back,
  Of matter for speeches I shall have no lack. 
  O’BRIEN and DILLON from judgment