There’s a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
‘Twas St Patrick himself, sure, that set it;
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It thrives through the bog, through the brake, and the mireland;
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland…

Andrew Cherry

Saint Patrick was a gentleman, who through strategy and stealth
Drove all the snakes from Ireland, here’s a drink to his health!
But not too many drinks, lest we lose ourselves and then
Forget the good Saint Patrick, and see them snakes again!

Unknown

Oh, Paddy, dear, an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?
The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground!
No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his colour can’t be seen,
For there’s a cruel law agin’ the Wearin’ o’ the green.

Unknown