by Brian Merriman (c.1780)
Translated by Arland Ussher
Part One
'Twas my wont to wander beside the stream
On the soft greensward in the morning beam,
Where the woods stand thick on the mountain-side
Without trouble or care what might betide.
My heart would leap at the lake's near blue,
The horizon and the far-off view,
The hills that rear their heads on high
Over each other's backs to spy.
'Twould gladden the soul with dole oppressed,
With sorrows seared and with cares obsessed
Of the outcast Gael without gold or goods
To watch for a while o'er the tops of the woods
The ducks in their flocks on the tide, the swan
Gliding with stately gait along,
The fish that leap in the air with glee
And the speckled perch with gambols free,
The labouring waves laving the shore
With glistening spray and rumbling roar,
The sea-gulls shrieking and reeling wide,
And the red deer romping in woodland ride,
The bugle's blare and the huntsman's yell
And the hue and cry of the pack pell-mell.
Yesterday morn the sky was clear
In the dog day's heat of the mad mid-year,
and the sun was scouring the slumb'rous air
With his burning beams and gleaming glare,
And the leaves lay dense on the bending trees
And the lush grass waved in the scented breeze.
Blossom and spray and spreading leaf
Lightened my load and laid my grief,
Weary and spent with aching brain
I sank and lay on the murmuring plain,
In the shade of a tree with feet outspread
With my hot brow bared and shoe-gear shed,
When I closed the lids on my languid eyes
And covered my face from teasing flies
In slumber deep and in sleep's delusion
The scene was changed in strange confusion,
My frame was heaved and my head turned round
Without sense or sight in sleep profound.
I fancied there as I dare avouch
That the land was quaking beneath my couch,
And a hurricane blew with fury o'er me
And tongues of fire flared forth before me.
I threw a glance with beglamoured eyes
And beheld a hag of hideous guise,
Her shape with age and ague shook,
The plain she scoured with glowering look,
Her girth was huge, her height was quite
Seven yards or more if I reckoned it right,
Her cloak's tail trailed a perch's length,
She gripped a staff with manful strength,
Her aspect stark with angry stare,
Her features tanned by wind and air,
Her rheumy eyes were red and blear,
Her mouth was stretched from ear to ear,
A plate of brass held fast her bonnet
With bailiff's powers inscribed upon it.
She grimly gazed and gruffly spake: -
'You lazy laggard, arise! awake!
Is this the way for you, wretch, to be,
When the court is seated for all to see?
No court of robbers and spoilers strong
To maintain the bane of fraud and wrong,
But the court of the poor and lowly-born,
The court of women and folk forlorn.
It's joyful hearing for Erin that
The Good Folk's Host have in Council sat
On the mountain's summit for three days' space
In Brean Moy Graney's meeting-place.
His Highness grieves and his noble throng
That Erin lingers in thraldom long,
Wasted by woe without respite,
To misery's hand abandoned quite,
Her land purloined, her laws decayed,
Her wealth destroyed and her trust betrayed,
Her fields and pastures with weeds o'er grown,
Her ground untilled and her crops unsown,
Her chieftains banished and an upstart band
Of hirelings holding the upper hand,
Who'd skin the widow and orphan child
And grind the weak and the meek and mild.
Shame 'tis, sure, that the poor oppressed
By lawless might, in plight distressed,
Get nought for aught but extortion vile,
The judge's fraud and the lawyer's wile,
The tyrant's frown and the sycophant's sneer
Bribing with fee and with fawning leer.
'Twas among the plaints that there were pleaded -
For every wrong was heard and heeded -
A charge in which you'll be implicated,
That the men and youths remain unmated,
And your maids in spinsterhood repining
And their bloom and beauty in age declining,
And the human race apace decreasing
With wars and famines and plagues unceasing,
The pride of kings and princes feeding,
Since your lads and lasses have left off breeding.
Your scanty brood 'tis sad to see
With women in bands on land and sea,
Buxom maids that fade obscure
And tender slips with lips that lure,
Damsels shy by shame retarded
And willing wenches unregarded.
'Tis sad no noble seed should rise
From lads of lusty thews and thighs,
'Twere well could all know what maids' woes are,
Prepared to fall on the first proposer.
To consider the case with due precision
The council came to a new decision,
To find the fittest among the throng
To learn the right and requite the wrong.
They appointed straight a maid serene,
Eevell of Craglee, Munster's queen,
To hold her court and preside there o'er it
And invite the plaintiffs to plead before it.
The gentle lady swore to elicit
Of falsehood purged the truth explicit,
To hear the plea of the unbefriended
And see the state of the hapless mended.
This court is seated in Feakle now,
Arise and trudge, for you thither must go,
Arise and trudge without more delay,
Arise at once for I'll take no nay!'
She clapped her claw on my cape behind
And whisked me away like a wisp on the wind
O'er mud and mire, mountain and valley
To Moinmoy Hill at the churchyard alley.
'Tis sure I saw with torches flaring
A lofty hall with trumpets blaring,
With glare of light and brightly burnished,
With fleeces draped and great doors furnished,
And the portly queen with a courtly gesture
On the judge's bench in a splendid vesture,
And a troop of toughs with gruff demeanor
To clear the court and escort and screen her,
And people in throngs along the benches
Both women and men and boys and wenches,
And a weeping nymph in the witness-box
Of comely mould and golden locks,
With heaving breast and face aflame
And tears that gushed with grief and shame,
With flowing hair and staring eyes
And moans and groans and sobs and sighs,
her passion's blast at last abated,
Weary of woe, with sorrow sated,
She dried her eyes, her sighs surmounted,
And in these words her woes recounted: -
'We give you greeting, Eevell fair,
Gracious queen, your people's care,
Who pity the poor and relieve their plight
And save the brave and retrieve the right.
'Tis the cause of my anguish and grief of heart,
the source of my sorrow and inward smart,
My wounding rending pain unending,
The way our women thro' life are wending,
Gray gloomy nuns with the grave pursuing,
Since our men and maidens have left off wooing;
Myself among them condemned to wait
Without hope and mope in the maiden state,
Without husband heaping the golden store
Or children creeping on hearth and floor,
In dread and fear - a drear subsistence-
Of finding nought to support existence,
By troubles pressed and by rest forsaken,
By cares consumed and by sorrows shaken.
Chaste Eevell, hasten to the relief
Of the women of Erin in their grief,
Wasting their pains in vain endeavor
To meet with mates that elude them ever,
Till in the ages is such disparity
We would not touch them except from charity,
With bleary eyes and wry grimaces
To scare a maiden from their embraces.
And if in manhood's warm pulsation
A youth is tempted to change his station,
He chooses a dour and sour-faced scold
Who's wasted her days in raising gold;
No lively lass of sweet seventeen
Of figure neat and features clean,
But blear-eyed hag or harridan brown
With toothless jaws and hairless crown
And snotty nose and dun complexion
And offering constant shrill correction.
My heart is torn and worn with grieving,
And my breast distressed with restless heaving,
With torture dull and with desperation
At the thought of my dismal situation,
When I see a bonny and bold young blade
With comely features and frame displayed,
A sturdy swearer or spanking buck,
A sprightly strapper with spunk and pluck,
A goodly wopper well made and planned,
A gamey walloper gay and grand,
Nimble and brave and bland and blithe,
Eager and active and brisk and lithe,
Of noted parts and of proved precocity,
Sold to a scold or old hideosity,
Withered and worn and blear and brown,
A mumbling, grumbling, garrulous clown,
A surly, sluttish and graceless gawk
Knotted and gnarled like a cabbage's stalk,
A sleepy, sluggish decayed old stump,
A useless, juiceless and faded frump.
Ah, woe is me! there's a crumpled crone
Being buckled to-night while I'm left lone,
She's a surly scold and a bold-faced jade
And this moment she's merry - and me a maid!
Why wouldn't they have myself in marriage?
I'm comely and shapely, of stately carriage,
I've a mouth and smile to make men dream
And a forehead that's fair with ne'er a seam,
My teeth are pearls in a peerless row,
Cherries to vie with my lips pray show,
I've a dancing, glancing, entrancing eye,
Roguish and rakish and takish and sly,
Gold locks lustre beside my hair,
And every curl might a saint ensnare,
My cheeks are smooth without stain or spot,
Dimpled and fresh without blemish or blot,
My throat, my hands, my neck, my face,
Rival each other in dainty grace,
I've hips and ankles and lips and breast
And limbs to offer as good as the best.
Look at my waist tight-laced and slim,
I'm not coarse or ragged or rank of limb,
Not stringy or scraggy or lanky or lean
But as fair a female as e'er was seen
A pleasing, teasing and tempting tart
That might coax and entice the coldest heart.
If I were a tasteless, graceless, baggage,
A slummocky scut of cumbrous carriage,
A sloven or slut or frump or fright,
Or maid morose and impolite,
An awkward gawk of ungainly make,
A stark and crooked and stiff old stake,
A senseless, sightless, bent old crone,
I wouldn't complain if they left me alone.
I've never been present that I'm aware
At wedding or wake or fete or fair,
At the racing-ring or the hurling ground
Or wherever the menfolk may be found,
But I've managed to make some shape and show
And been bedizened from top to toe
With stylish hood and starched coiffure
And powder-sprinkled chevelure,
My speckled gown with ribbons tied
And ruffles with the richest vied,
With cardinal of scarlet hue
And facings pleasing to the view,
And cambric apron gaily sown
With blowsy flowers of kind unknown,
And rigid hoops and buckled shoes
With smooth high heels attached by screws
And silken gloves and costly lace
And flounces, fringes, frills and stays.
Mind, do not think I'm an artless gull,
A stupid, unsocial or bashful trull,
Timid, a prey to wayward fancies,
Or shy or ashamed of a man's advances.
I'm ever on view to the crowds that pass
At market or meeting or Sunday Mass,
At supper or social or raffle or race
Or wherever the gayest are going the pace,
At party or pattern or picnic or fete
In hopes that I'd click with some lad soon or late;
But all my pursuit is a futile endeavor,
They've baulked me and bilked me and slipped from me ever,
They've baffled my schemes and my best-conceived art,
They've spurned me and turned from me and tattered my heart;
After all my advances, my ogling and sighing,
My most killing glances, my coaxing and eyeing,
After all I have spent upon readers of palms
And tellers of tea-leaves and sellers of charms.
There isn't a plan you can conceive
For Christmas or Easter or All Saints' Eve,
At the moon's eclipse or the New Year's chime
That I haven't attempted time on time.
I never would sleep a night in bed
Without fruit-stuffed stocking beneath my head,
I would steep my shift in the millstream deep
And await the vows of my spouse in sleep,
With broom I brushed the barn as bid,
My nails and hair in ashpit hid,
beneath the hearth the flail I laid,
below my pillow placed the spade,
My distaff in the grace-yard's bed,
In lime-kiln low my ball of thread,
The flax I strewd amid the dust,
A cabbage-head in bed-straw thrust,
At every stage, by rage distraught,
The deuce and his dam aloud besought.
'Tis why I'm laying my case before ye
That I'm single still at the end of the story,
And age draws near with outrageous pace
To rob my form of its former grace.
O matchless maid, have mercy, pray,
E'er my freshness fade and my charms decay
And you see me left in plight forlorn
My beauty's prime and pride to mourn,
With bleaching hairs, by cares oppressed,
On unfriendly hearths an unwelcome guest.
By blood and wounds, fire, thunder, air,
Of shame and scorn I've borne my share,
My plans and plots foiled and frustrated
Whilst I view my nearest kindred mated.
Jane has a fine and fair-faced spouse
And Kate is waiting to take the vows,
Helen has hooked a handsome buck
And with jeers and gibes derides my luck,
My neighbor Nan is spliced with a spanker
While I'm left on the shelf to cark and canker,
Consider my case and face my plight,
And say if you dare that it's fair and right.
Too long I wait and waste my pains,
One hope untried as yet remains,
A potent charm as I have heard
Is putrid herbs well stewed and stirred,
I know the sort and will proceed
To make it aid me in my need.
A subtle spell that succour brings
Is orchid's leaves and dungfly's wings
And roots of figwort powdered well
With more besides I may not tell.
'Twas wondered everywhere of late
How yonder maid secured a mate,
At Shrove her secret she confessed
And Hallow E'en has seen her braced,
For water-spiders soaked in beer
And withered grass formed all her fare.
So, pity, queen, my lonely plight
Or troth! I'll try the plan to-night.'
Part Two
Scarce ended was the maid's harangue
When a gruff old warrior upsprang
Of rugged build and rude attire
And trembling less with age than ire,
A ragged, tattered, battered figure,
And up he stood and spoke with vigour: -
'The devil snatch you, snotty bitch,
You dowdy daughter of a witch,
Our sun's eclipse, sure, is no wonder
And all the ills we labour under,
That still our numbers, wealth and worth
Decay and dwindle from the earth,
For artful women are our ruin
And all we suffer is their doing.
You shameless drab, where is the man
That knows not you and all your clan
Who begging of your betters pass
A streeling, straying, cadging class?
Who is there doesn't know your dad
A brutal, brawling, crawling cad,
A spalpeen without friends or fame
Whom no one speaks of but to blame,
A withe around his waist, his back
Unclad but for a clout of sack?
Believe my words, if he and his
Were all sold up, from what there is
The proceeds would not quench your thirst
When every debt had been disbursed.
Is't not a joke uncommon how
A beggar without sheep or cow
Parades in satin, silk and lace
With handkerchief to fan her face?
Your ruffles and your cambric sleeve
And bonnet cleverly deceive
Altho' beneath your coat, alack,
No shred nor tatter clothes your back.
But who could your make-up discover
Or guess unless he were you lover
That canvas bands your hips encased
And they're not stays that press your waist,
Or that beneath the gloves you wore
Your hands were chapped and cracked and sore?
But tell the court or else must I
How long you've ate your dinner dry
And griped your stomach as with hooks
By eating sour unsalted Bucks.
I've seen the place in which you sleep,
Nor quilt nor cover there you keep,
Nought but a dirty mat outspread
Where not a dog would lay his head,
With neither blanket, rag nor sheet
In your poor frame to keep the heat,
Within a reeking, leaking shack
With sprouting weeds in every crack,
With water springing thro' the floor
And trail of hens from door to door
And crazy roof and couples bending
And rain in fearful floods descending.
By all the saints, to see her pass
You'd say she was a likely lass,
With flaunting gown and fine array,
Where did she raise it, who can say?
Come tell us where you got the gown,
Whence have the frills and flounces flown,
Whence came the shoes, whence came the coat,
Whence did the rings and ribbons float?
Just Eevell, grant me too a hearing
And help the hapless men of Erin
By scheming females bought and bound
And like stray bullocks put in pound.
Come hear a case, my own next neighbor
Who makes a living off his labour,
A simple, sober, honest boy
has taken a jilt to kill his joy.
It makes my heart to smart with passion
To see her flounced out in the fashion,
With corn in barn and scores of cattle
And land and cash in hand to rattle.
I saw her lately at the fair
With lofty look and nose in air
Compelling every passer-by
To doff before her queenly eye.
So proud her air and her address,
So grave her carriage, who would guess
What light repute, what evil fame,
The country gave her whence she came,
Or that the name of that wild wench
Made every matron blush and blench?
The world will talk, as well it may,
Of all her deeds for many a day,
And what at Ibrickane was seen
Or Tiermaclane of meadows green;
Her name and fame will never fade
In Craglee where the rope is made,
At Ennis, Quin and Killaloe,
And up and down the country thro'.
Of fie, alas for female fame!
I might forgive her former shame,
But lately far from her abode
I spied her on the Doora Road,
Stretched out naked as a n*gger
beneath each rude and rough turf-digger.
What grace in rite of clergy dwells!
Or who can read the riddle else?
That she was slender all her life
Until she was a wedded wife,
Tho' every gallant in the land
'Tis known enjoyed her favours bland,
And from the day the priest did read
The Ego Vos that Christ decreed
Till she was running at the paps
Not less than nine months did elapse.
What man alive, if warned before
The wedding service shut the door
And barred escape, would mar his life
And kill contentment with a wife?
Alas! the theme affects me nearly,
And for my knowledge I've paid dearly;
The world knows well how once I held
My head up high, my heart unquelled,
My house with meat and drink replete
Where squires and justices might meet,
My fields in flocks and herds abounding
And rich and poor my praises sounding,
With friends and fame among the great,
A man of substance, worth and weight,
With peace and plenty as my portion -
With Kate I lost both fame and fortune.
She was a damsel plump and fair,
A curl in her comely auburn hair,
A light in her lewd insidious eyes,
And each lure that the daughters of Eve devise,
Shapely and smooth in frame and face,
With a ravishing charm in her air and grace,
My sense and my reason the rogue did steal
And I shook with desire from head to heel
Lord! for my folly I've paid in full
In taking for wife that trolloping trull,
Day and night I am treading on needles and pins
Since I buckled that bride to my side - for my sins!
We were joined by the glue of that joiner forever
In the splice we might split not till death should dissever,
With my own purse I paid without stint or evasion
Every debt that was due for that day's dissipation,
The town I regaled with a fabulous feast
And paid a fat fee to the clerk and the priest,
The neighbors were gathered from far and from wide
To carouse at the cost of the bridegroom and bride,
the torches were lit and the tables spread thick
With drink till each guest was stretched speechless and sick,
There was music and singing and sets of quadrilles
With the men in their frocks and the ladies in frills.
Ah, would they had crammed me with meat and with wine
Till I choked and I never had lived to repine
With the wretch who has wrested my comfort away
And driven me senseless and friendless and gray!
Not long was I married before I was told
By neighbors and strangers, by young and by old,
She was gadding to revels and reckless carouses
With lovers in legions, both single and spouses.
I believed not a word that I heard of her fame
Nor would suffer one speck to besmirch her good name
And set down to malice or idle invention
Whatever the gossips against her might mention,
Whilst like a fond fool I believed all the lies
Which her false lips affirmed with sobs and with sighs.
No idle reports or vain rumours were they
That came to my ears both by night and by day,
For no further the painful account to pursue -
Young master appeared long before he was due.
Picture at waking my wonder and fright -
A family warming me after the night!
The mother in bed and the midwife attending,
For posset and sugar and fresh fuel sending.
Not a sight nor a peep could I get of the pup,
The women to hoodwink me covered him up,
''Twere wrong to expose him, so young and so frail,
The wind would destroy if a breath should assail.'
They argued and pleaded and weeping implored,
I threatened with fury and swore by the Lord,
I stamped and I ramped and I raged and reviled
Until weary of strife they surrendered the child.
'Lift him up gently, have a care how you take him,
Mind not to bruise him or squeeze him or shake him,
A fall she had forced him before the date surely,
It's ten chances to one that he'll die prematurely,
If he lives till the morning in time for the priest
To be called for the christening he's better deceased.'
I cut the knot from the swathing wrap
And laid the baby across my lap -
By heaven, the child was a powerful brat,
Sturdy and strong and bonny and fat,
Without flaw in flesh, in blood or in bone,
With nostrils wide and with nails full-grown,
Broad and brawny in thighs and chest
And with face and figure as good as the best!
I laughed aloud at the vain delusion
And the women were covered with fright and confusion.
This bond of the prelates I pray you revoke
For the sake of the necks not yet under the yoke,
'Tis the cause of the dearth and decrease of our nation
And the source of our sickly and sad generation,
but a brave breed of heroes would spring in its place,
If this bar were removed, to replenish the race,
For why call a priest in to bind and to bless
before candid nature can give one caress?
Why lay the banquet and why pay the band
To blow the bassoons and their cheeks to expand?
Since Mary the Mother of God did conceive
Without calling the clergy or begging their leave,
The love-gotten children are famed as the flower
Of man's procreation and nature's power;
For love is a lustier sire than law
And has made them sound without fault or flaw,
And better and braver in heart and head
Than the puny breed of the bridal bed,
In body and brains and gifts and grace
The palm is borne by the bastard race.
'Tis easy to prove the thing I say
For I've one of my own, mavrone, this day,
Look at him on his nurse's knee,
Let him be brought that the court may see.
Say when did you see so fine a creature?
Where is his flaw in form or feature?
'Tis easily known when grown a man
Passers will pause his shape to scan.
He's not feeble or frail or pale or thin
Nor a shapeless bundle of bone and skin,
Not lean or lanky or sickly or sad
But an eager and active and lusty lad.
Never an aged sire begat
In a cold embrace that comely brat,
A weary, wasted and worn old man,
Wrinkled and shrunk and weak and wan,
But some sturdy stripling, brisk and brave,
Tingling and taut with nature's crave.
Then, O peerless maid, impose no more
To sully our stock this senseless law,
But let simple nature and noble blood
Mix and make a godlike brood;
Let high and low in love unite
Like the birds and beasts by nature's right,
And tell the tidings of this decree
In the cot and the castle from sea to sea.
'Twill restore to Erin the spirit of old
And rear a race of heroic mould
With back and sinews and thighs and chest
Such as Gaull MacMorna of yore possessed;
The seas will be filled with more fish than now
And the mountains yield to the tooth of the plough
And your name will be lauded far and wide
And your fame in the land for ever abide.'
Part Three
Meanwhile the maid could scarce restrain
The angry tears which sprang amain,
With shaking voice and eyes inflamed
Rose she in wrath and thus exclaimed: -
'O wretch, by Craglee's crown I swear
But that you're old and crazed with care
And but for the ceremony that's due
To this court 'twould be short till I'd do for you!
I'd knock your noddle 'gainst the table
And break your bones and your limbs disable,
And wring your stringy windpipe well
And pitch your soul to the pit of hell.
I wonder breathless at your brass
But I'll not let the libel pass,
The story straightway I'll relate
Of that unhappy fair one's fate.
She was poor and in sad plight
Without shelter from wind and rain at night,
Homeless and driven for no sin
From fence to ditch without friends or kin.
The old stick offered her silver and gold,
A roof and turf from the rain and cold,
Flax and wool to weave and wear,
And cattle and sheep and goods and gear.
The world and this worm himself well knew
She cared not for him nor ever could do,
But worn by want and her abject state
Chose the lesser ill of an unloved mate.
Woeful work was his weak embrace
And the old goat's rough mouth on her face,
His limbs of lead and his legs of ice
And his lifeless load on her breast and thighs,
His blue-blotched shins so bleak and cold
And the bleached skin hanging in fold on fold.
Was there ever a fine girl fresh and fair
Who would not grow gray with grief and care
To bed with a bundle of skin and bone
As cold and stiff as a stick or stone,
Who would scarcely lift the lid from the dish
To know was it flesh or fowl or fish?
Ah say, I pray, had she not the right
To one caress in the course of a night?
Did she fail thro' her fault d'you think?
'Tis sure from her share she ne'er would shrink;
The brunt of the battle she would not burke
Or blench if the livelong night were work.
If he got the horns he deserved the same
And the luckless lady was not to blame;
Where's the fox that prowls or the owl that preys
Or the fish that swims or the stag that strays
That would starve or stint for a single day
With booty there to be borne away?
Is there bird or beast in the whole wide earth
That would droop and die from drouth or dearth
And peck the pavement or bite the ground
Where pastures fat and fruits abound?
Come answer me this, you cur, confess,
Is the table poorer, the banquet less,
Does the dish disgust which pleased before,
Does the pang of hunger plague the more,
Is the rapture fainter, the flavour fled,
If a score of others before have fed?
Do you dread, you dotard, of drouth to die,
Can you drain the Shannon or drink it dry,
Can you draw the sea from its base of sand,
Or hold its waters within your hand?
Learn your folly, you mangy hound,
Go bind your eyes with a bandage round,
Don't fume or fret or resentment chew,
If the fair has favours for more than you,
If she saw her lovers the livelong day
Is the night not enough for your purpose, pray?
The blame, I own, would be not so great
In a young and limber and lusty mate,
A frisky flaker in manhood's noon,
A sly heart-breaker or gay gossoon,
A roguish coaxer or sprightly spark,
A tasty trickster nate and smart,
Bonny and brisk and blithe and bold
With features and form of comely mould;
But see what he is, a stunted stick
Lifeless and limp with scarce a kick.
It's often I've asked and sought in vain
What is the use of rule insane
That marriage has closed to the clerical clan
In the church of our fathers since first it began.
It's a melancholy sight to a needy maid
Their comely faces and forms displayed,
Their hips and thighs so broad and round,
Their buttocks and breasts that in flesh abound,
Their lustrous looks and their lusty limbs,
Their fair fresh features, their smooth soft skins,
Their strength and stature, their force and fire,
Their craving curbed and uncooled desire.
They eat and drink of the fat of the land,
They've wealth and comfort at their command,
They sleep on beds of the softest down,
They've ease and leisure their lot to crown,
They commence in manhood's prime and flood,
And well we know that they're flesh and blood!
If I thought that sexless saints they were
Or holy angels, I would not care,
But they're lusty lads with a crave unsated
In slothful sleep, and the maids unmated.
We know it is true there are few but hate
The lonely life and the celibate state;
Is it fair to condemn them to mope and moan,
Is it fair to force them to lie alone,
To bereave of issue a sturdy band
The fruit of whose loins might free the land?
Tho' some of them ever were grim and gruff,
intractable, sullen and stern and tough,
Crabbed and cross, unkind and cold,
Surly and wont to scowl and scold,
Many are made of warmer clay,
Affectionate, ardent, kind and gay;
It's often a woman got land or wealth,
Store or stock from a priest by stealth,
Many's the case I call to mind
Of clergymen who were slyly kind,
I could show you women who were their flames,
And their children reared beneath false names;
And often I must lament in vain
How they waste their strength on the old and plain
While marriageable maids their plight deplore
Waiting unwooed thro' this senseless law;
'Tis a baleful ban to our hapless race
And beneath its sway we decay apace.
O fount of wisdom, I leave to you
To declare and reveal the reason true;
Deceived and undone they sleep I deem,
Illumine my mind with the gospel's gleam,
What did the prophets preach, I pray
Or Saint Paul whose words were weighty say?
The scripture, if I remember, ran
The taint of the flesh is the fruit of this ban,
Paul the Apostle said to none
To abandon marriage, but lust to shun,
Your closest kindred to leave and go
To cleave to your wife for weal or woe;
God did not wish the mother forsaken
And the part of the women the prophets have taken.
'Tis a senseless thing for the like of me
Your instructor in sacred writ to be,
You yourself, O sovran bright,
Remember the holy words aright,
The sense of every saying is plain
To you, and each act that the saints ordain.
Then, O daughter of kings, revoke this law,
Let it stand to mar our stock no more,
Release the clergy to mate and breed
That the land may teem with their sturdy seed,
Do not deny the women redress
Nor leave them to languish in this distress,
See how the ground in crowds they cumber
And by three to one they the men outnumber;
The smallest shoots that you pass to-day
Springing unseen from the fertile clay
To-morrow will yield a crop mature
To rot on the stem and drop obscure,
Ah woe is me! my words are vain
And to what end do I thus complain?
What are my tears and entreaties worth
Or how can I hope in the face of this dearth?
With this land of the best of its men bereft
And none but weaklings and wastrels left,
With our comely girls growing old and gray
Waiting for someone the word to say,
And so desperate and desolate grown that they'll
Take anything that can be called a male.
Take the men, harness them by our side
And there obedient bid them bide.'
Part Four
Soon as the maid had told her woes
The gentle lady radiant rose,
Her face the fairest eye has scanned,
Her voice the sweetest in the land.
She rose with mien and manner grave
And thus considered sentence gave,
The whole court harkening in suspense
With eager expectation tense: -
'Oh sorrow-stricken maid, your tear
And prayer fall not unheeded here;
We see, and the sad sight deplore,
The seed of Orla, Maive and Mor
A dwindling, dying, shrinking breed
Unsought by suitors in their need,
Unwooed, unwed and gone to waste,
By waxing offspring unreplaced.
Hence we decree that from this date
The adult male without a mate
Be taken up and tightly tied
Against this tree the tomb beside,
Of coat and shirt be naked stript
And with a stout cord soundly whipt.
But those who well in years have gone
And still have basely hid the horn,
Who've wasted manhood's force and fire
Without delight from their desire,
Who've spent their strength and past their prime
And not made hay in summertime,
Ye spinsters sad, I leave to you
To wreak revenge upon the crew;
Go wrack and wrench and rend and flay
Or with slow fire consume their clay,
With wracking pangs your wrongs requite
And straightway strive to sate your spite,
With female art their fate devise
And heed ye not their craven cries.
There came a whisper to my ears -
Speak soft and low, who knows who hears?
With hand on mouth, by me be taught,
It is not safe to say your thought -
beware the while the powers that be,
They'll have to marry yet, you'll see,
Tho' long deferred the day will come
With license from the Pope at Rome;
They'll sit in council on your case
And straight release the priestly race
In east and west and south and north
To woo and wed and wax thenceforth.
Good folk, farewell, I cannot stay,
The hour is late and long the way,
Delay won't suit, my calls won't bide,
The guilt is proved, the case is tried.
'Twill not be long till I return -
The men unmarried 'twill concern,
And heartless gallants who aspire
To rouse and not requite desire,
Who love to lightly kiss and tell
And boast what fortune them befell,
Who woo with false and feigning smiles
And ruin maids with wanton wiles;
They do not act from am'rous fire
From youth's hot blood and bland desire,
But as bold rogues and rakes to pose
And puff their breasts and boast as beaus.
I'll deal with these without delay,
But first I hence must haste away,
I'll bind them with the nuptial vow
When I return, a month from now.'
She ceased and I was seized with dread,
My heart sank sick and swam my head,
my blood ran cold, my sight grew blear,
My knees knocked fit to fail with fear;
Her sentence did my sense dumbfound
And still there dinned its dismal sound.
The bailiff on the bench beheld
My fainting fit by fright compelled,
She dragged me by the ear and drew
And dropped me in the public view.
The maid leapt up on vengence bent
To vent her venom and torment,
With vigorous spite and vexéd spleen
She rose and yelled with oaths obscene: -
'Tis long I've marked you, lousy lout,
A lazy lump your life throughout,
How oft you were pursued and sought
by needy maids, responding nought!
What sons you as their sire proclaim?
What woman thanks you for the same?
What favour can you hope to find
Or how escape the scourge assigned?
To whose protection can you trust
Or how evade our vengence just?
O queen, your justice now begin,
There's no excuse can save his skin
Tho' bent his back and rude his build
When blooms are rare a weed is culled,
Whate'er is male for matings meet,
Mis-shapen cows give milk that's sweet,
'twixt homely swain and handsome spark
We see no difference in the dark.
I shake with zeal to testify,
'Tis vain to shuffle or deny,
Your guilt is graven on your brow -
Two score without the nuptial vow!
O peerless maid, my wrongs I pray
Upon this wretch I may repay,
Come friends and catch and bind him fast,
Let's make the rogue repent at last!
Go, Una, fetch a knotted rope,
Be busy, Anne, and cease to mope,
Go, Mary, bring a cord and bind
The prisoner's hands his back behind,
Come, Maureen, Jane and Kate and Maive,
And sate your spite upon the slave,
Lay on the lash with might and main
And pierce him with the sharpest pain!
Regard not cries or screams or groans
But flay the flesh from off his bones,
And let the blood in rivers flow
From back and sides at every blow!
Strain arms and raise the scourge on high,
With tireless zeal the torment ply,
And let the rumour run and make
The hearts of the unmarried quake!
To-day a new reign is begun
Of peace since women's rights are won;
Our waiting and our weeping past,
Our tears and prayers prevail at last.
I beg you take five score and ten,
Subtract it from a thousand then,
And double the remainder pray,
And date the year One from that day!'
I heard with reeling head my fate,
When as she paused to pen the date
I broke from sleep, forgot my pain,
And woke to light and life again.
More about Brian Merriman.
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