But what of Josephine....?

A NEW BALLAD CALLED 'JOSEPHINE'S DOWNFALL'

In a neat little town called Dublin where the River Dodder flows
And the Liffey's water strong and green irritates your nose,
A bucko boy was born one day in a palace fine and grand.
I'd sing ye a song about that bloke but, sure, he's not your man.

This song's about another - modest, slow and strong,
Ordinary, tall and tough, thirsty and sometimes wrong -
Handsome as starling and prickly as a rose,
Speech just like a barrowman and a voice just like a crow's.

His mammy wanted a girl, ye see. Mary to be the kid's name
But out came he with a bat and balls! Be Jazus, wasn't that the shame?
The first 3 letters she'd stitched on his frock, she kept them as they were
And made 3 new ones at the end just sewing along with a whurrr.

Marcel was a lovely lad, half-Irish and half French
With sallow skin and shock-red hair each lassie's heart to wrench.
He grew from garsoon to a man and in schooling won the prize
Until one day a maiden fair dawned upon his eyes.

Josephine, fit to be a queen, was a woman who knew her own worth
She had beauty, buxom, slim and small, nice ankles and good mirth,
Clear eyes, sharp teeth, short nose, long ears, red cheeks without powder put on.
She could've had any bloke from a sargeant major to a Trinity College don.

Marcel was in love with but she didn't know even his name
Or where he'd come from, where he had been, even if that was the same
Marcel tried every plan he could but, alas, one day cried "Alors!
Perhaps she'll notice me if I go away and get killed in the war!"