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departed for home, and remained the first night at Portnahinch. Gerald pursued them with an armed force, under pretence of robbery, and the unfortunate men, having made some resistance, were slain, and the cattle brought back. Soon after this, he had a dispute respecting some incroachments which he had made on a neighbouring gentleman. It took place on the high road, and after some altercation, Gerald proposed to leave the matter to the decision of the next passenger, who he knew would be his own cow-herd. The poor man was accordingly required to determine the point, and he immediately decided, according to justice, against his master. This so enraged Gerald, that he took the cow-herd and his son, and locked them up in a stable in order to hang them. The cow-herd's wife hearing the danger in which they were placed, came crying for mercy, offering all she was possessed of for their ransom. Gerald told her if she brought him her twelve cows and her bull, they should be released. The poor woman hastened home overjoyed for the purpose, but on her return found her husband and son executed. Gerald, however, kept the cattle for permitting her to take away the dead bodies, over which she mourned in a doleful manner, mixing her wailings with bitter imprecations against Gerald, as follows, in Irish:
"A zhearailt gheáirr a̸n zháire zhontá-Pásách zo táirseách do zheáta—Episeoz Agus á dá cheann is An d-tálmán-loch uaithne Kip uáchdár do h-Alla.—Yead An t-seabháic A b-poll An deátáich—Agus cáe na n-gábhár Ann Kit do lea̸bthán—Máp do bhuám tú dhíom An Mae 's an t-Athip-bhukin tú dhiom An dá bhó dhéuz 's an tárbh—Agus oighreácht na̸'r fhágh d' oighreadhK-se, a Gheárkilt.”
"Oh! Gerald of stinted growth and laugh of guile-may desolation reach the threshold of thy door-a bramble with its
two ends in the earth—a green lake overflow the surface of thy hall—the hawk's nest in the chimney of thy mansion-and the dung of goats in the place of thy bed-because thou didst bereave me of the son and father-thou took'st from me the twelve cows and bull—an inheritance may your heirs never find.”_
All which, as will appear, were speedily fulfilled. Gerald continued his career with impunity, for a considerable time, until at length he fell foul of the Earl of Kildare's agents, when they came to demand the trifling chief rent payable out of O'Kelly's lands. After this his lordship declared against Gerald, and had the estate advertised and sold. It was purchased by one Daniel Byrne, well known by the name of “ Daniel the tailor.” Gerald was finally dispossessed, his dwelling laid waste, and the possession of the entire lordship delivered to the purchaser. Then it was that the imprecations of the cow-herd's wife were fulfilled; for Gerald losing the inheritance, destitute of friends, and execrated by his neighbours, was obliged to build a little shed in Clopook, and was glad to become keeper of a sodwall pond. Here he had no support but the milk of two goats, and these animals frequently lay and dunged in the straw on wbich he slept, as was prayed for long before by the cow-herd's wife.
Several other particulars relative to the Byrne family and the Fitzgerald's are contained in the manuscript alluded to, but although they might by many be esteemed curious, they are here omitted to make room for other matter more appropriate for the present work. The Irish reader will, no doubt, be satisfied to find their place supplied by the following popular drinking song, by Andrew Magrath, a bard of the last century, well known in Munster by the name of the Mangaire Sugach.
Aindriks M'CrKith ró chán,
Yukir théidhim go tigh án tábháiɲne,
Már budh mhiánn liom An t-árthách,
As thréin-fhir ná tréig me.
Glór pibe Agus bheidhlin,
A's ceól cruite gán Kímhreás,
Híop mhóp liom A bheith Am thímchioll,
Az ól Punch 30 meadhrac,
Ho beóir máith Agus Cíder,
Is iad do dhiugadh le h-intinn,
'Y 30 m-budh leór liom már sha̸ídhbhreKs,
lad do rúsgadh le h-Adhmad,
Már do'b fhonn sin már Acht,
Jách n-on (5 ít « Shpam,
Go fiúghántách córách, ceárt,
A chuideachta bhréa̸gh, bhéusách,
Go n-glaodham tuilleadh fíona;
A ta̸ nois Kg dreózha̸dh 's An ccré,
'S iad gán phrea̸b fá líocc 's an teamroll.
Here, on taking leave of our Bacchanalian Compositions, I consider it but due to my country to observe, that a single English writer, Walter Mapes, Chaplain to Henry II. has left behind him more licentious and irreligious verses, than the utmost misapplied industry could collect throughout the whole range of ancient Irish Literature.-See Camden's Remains.— Even Martin Luther the great Apostle of the Reformation, as Witness a profane bon vivant, has excelled the best of us. his own description of himself. "Possum jocari, potare, sum facetus convivator, sæpiusque bene bonum haustum cerevisiæ facio in Dei gloriam."— Coll. Francof. f. 445.
From among the many sprightly songs which once were favorites with the roving fraternity mentioned in page 170, the two following are selected for the Irish reader. The first is named from the town of Moat or Moatagrenoge, Co. Westmeath, and was generally sung to the well known, lively, and comical air of that name. The other is the original " Twisting of the Rope."
Mota ghraigge 013.
Thiúbháil me-si Eire fá dhó,
A's Mótá Ghráinne óig Kg filleadh dhamh ;
longnádh ní fhea̸cás ba mhó
'Ha̸ buúcháill ná m-bó gán gimléátt.
Fill! fíll! « púin ! O!
Fill, < púín ! A's gKirim thu.
Agus gheabháidh tu An zhlóír má thuillea̸nn