Push for PORTER

When first I saw sweet Peggy,
'Twas on a market day;
A low-back'd car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;
But when that hay was blooming grass,
And deck'd with flowers of Spring,
No flow'r was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.

As she sat in the low-back'd car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never ask'd for the toll,
But just rubb'd his owld poll
And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,
The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death - in warlike cars;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,
Has darts in her bright eye
That knock men down, in the market-town,
As right and left they fly;

While she sits in the low-back'd car,
Than battle more dangerous far -
For the doctor's art,
Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-back'd car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these;
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love;

While she sits in her low-back'd car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin',
As she sits in her low-back'd car.

Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach-and-four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride;
For the lady would sit forninst me,
On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,
With my arm around her waist,

While we drove in the low-back'd car
To be married by Father Maher;
Oh, my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh,
Though it beat in a low-back'd car.