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.
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