One Sunday after Mass

One Sunday after Mass

As Lawrence and his lass

Through the green wood did pass

All alone, and all alone.

He asked her for a pogue,

But she called him a rogue,

And she beat him with her brogue,

Ochone and ochone!

At first my boy he bent,

As if to take, content,

His proper punishment.

Small blame too, small blame!

But on her purty foot,

Unbothered by a boot,

He pressed a warm salute.

For shame! fie! for shame!

Then Larry gets the worst,

For she boxed his ears at first,

Then into tears she burst,

Ochone and ochone!

But soon the artful rogue

Soothed his crying colleen oge,

Till she gave him just one pogue,

All alone, and all alone!