I’m a boy form the Erne looking out for a young girl to wed.
She need have no dowry; I’ve more than I’ll ever spend.
I own half of Cork, two glens in the County Tyrone,
And, if luck is with me, I’ll inherit the County Mayo.
O, my dear darling daughter, don’t marry the grey-haired old man;
But find a young fellow, even if he has no land;
Or you’ll find yourself facing a cold and a lonely old age,
Without son or daughter to warm you in their embrace.
Tomorrow I go to make love to a wench in the wood;
Leave behind all my comforts, and live like a peasant for once.
The leaves of the trees will be my bedcovers, or none:
To entwine with her plump limbs, by Jove, but this will be fun!
O, dear God, preserve me from the lust of the sexy old man.
The Law is against me: refuse and my dad’ll lose his land.
There is no hope: my maidenhead, it is undone,
And his mouth on my lips like a boot that is battered and worn.
Ploughing or reaping, or minding beasts in the field:
Now, these are occupations that I will never heed;
But drinking and dining and riding, of course, with the hounds,
And seducing young women, that’s the life to which I am bound.