(From the Early Irish)
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THE DEPTHS OF KING CORMAC'S HEART
CARBERY "Cormac, Conn's grandson, and son of great Art Declare to me now from the depths of thy heart, With the wise and the foolish, With strangers and friends, The meek and the mulish, The old and the young, With good manners to make God amends— How I must govern my tongue, And in all things comport myself purely, The good and the wicked among." CORMAC "The answer thereto is not difficult surely. Be not too wise nor too scatter-brained, Not too conceited nor too restrained, Be not too haughty nor yet too meek, Too tattle-tongued or too loth to speak, Neither too hard nor yet too weak. If too wise you appear, folk too much will claim of you, If too foolish, they still will be making fresh game of you, If too conceited, vexatious they'll dub you, If too unselfish, they only will snub you, If too much of a tattler, you ne'er will be heeded, If too silent, your company ne'er will be needed, If overhard, your pride will be broken asunder, If overweak, the folk will trample you under." [5] THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITY CARBERY "Cormac, grandson of Conn, what dues hath a Chief and an ale-house?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! Good behaviour around a good Chief; Lamps to light for the eye's relief; Exerting ourselves for the Company's sake, Seats assigned with no clownish mistake, Deft and liberal measuring carvers; Attentive and nimble-handed servers; Moderation in music and song; A telling of stories not too long; The Host, to a bright elation stirred, Giving each guest a welcoming word. Silence during the Bard's reciting— Each chorus in sweet concent uniting." HOW KING CORMAC ORDERED HIS YOUTH CARBERY "O Cormac, grandson of Conn, say sooth, How didst thou order thy days in youth?" CORMAC "Into the woods I went a-listening, I was a gazer when stars were glistening; Blind when secrets were plain to guess; A silent one in the wilderness; I was talkative with the many, Yet, in the mead-hall, milder than any; I was stern amid battle cries; I was gentle towards allies; I was a doctor unto the sick; On the feeble I laid no stick. Not close lest burdensome I should be; [6] Though wise not given to arrogancy. I promised little, though lavish of gift; I was not reckless though I was swift; Young, I never derided the old; And never boasted though I was bold; Of an absent one no ill would I tell; I would not reproach, though I praised full well; I never would ask but ever would give, For a kingly life I craved to live!" THE WORST WAY OF PLEADING CARBERY "O Cormac Mac Art, of Wisdom exceeding, What is the evilest way of pleading?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! Against knowledge contending; Without proofs, pretending; In bad language escaping; A style stiff and scraping; Speech mean and muttering, Hair-splitting and stuttering; Uncertain proofs devising; Authorities despising; Scorning custom's reading; Confusing all your pleading; To madness a mob to be leading; With the shout of a strumpet Blowing one's own trumpet." KING CORMAC'S WORST ENEMY "O Cormac Mac Art, of your enemies' garrison, Who is the worst for your witty comparison?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! A man with a satirist's nameless audacity; A man with a slave-woman's shameless pugnacity; One with a dirty dog's careless up-bound, [7] The conscience thereto of a ravening hound. Like a stately noble he answers all speakers From a memory full as a Chronicle-maker's, With the suave behaviour of Abbot or Prior, Yet the blasphemous tongue of a horse-thief liar And he wise as false in every grey hair, Violent, garrulous, devil-may-care. When he cries, 'The case is settled and over!' Though you were a saint, I swear you would swear!" |
IRISH TRIADS
(By an unknown Author of the ninth century)
| Three signs
whereby to mark a man of vice Are hatred, bitterness, and avarice. Three graceless sisters in the bond of unity Are lightness, flightiness, and importunity. Three clouds, the most obscuring Wisdom's glance, Forgetfulness, half-knowledge, ignorance. Three savage sisters sharpening life's distress, Foul Blasphemy, Foul Strife, Foul-mouthedness. Three services the worst for human hands, A vile Lord's, a vile Lady's, a vile Land's. Three gladnesses that soon give way to griefs, A wooer's, a tale-bearer's, and a thief's. Three signs of ill-bred folk in every nation— A visit lengthened to a visitation, Staring, and overmuch interrogation. Three arts that constitute a true physician: To cure your malady with expedition. To let no after-consequence remain, And make his diagnosis without pain. Three keys that most unlock our secret thinking Are love and trustfulness and overdrinking. Three nurses of hot blood to man's undoing— Excess of pride, of drinking, and of wooing. [9] Three the receivers are of stolen goods: A cloak, the cloak of night, the cloak of woods. Three unions, each of peace a proved miscarriage, Confederate feats, joint ploughland, bonds of marriage. Three lawful hand-breadths for mankind about the body be, From shoes to hose, from ear to hair, from tunic unto knee. Three youthful sisters for all eyes to see, Beauty, desire, and generosity. Three excellences of our dress are these— Elegance, durability, and ease. Three idiots of a bad guest-house are these— A hobbling beldam with a hoicking wheeze, A brainless tartar of a serving-girl, For serving-boy a swinish lubber-churl. Three slender ones whereon the whole earth swings— The thin milk stream that in the keeler sings; The thin green blade that from the cornfield springs; That thin grey thread the housewife's shuttle flings. The three worst welcomes that will turn a guest-house For weary wayfarers into a Pest-house— Within its roof a workman's hammer beat; A bath of scalding water for your feet; With no assuaging draught, salt food to eat. Three finenesses that foulness keep from sight— Fine manners in the most misfeatured wight; Fine shapes of art by servile fingers moulded; Fine wisdom from a cripple's brain unfolded. Three fewnesses that better are than plenty: A fewness of fine words—but one in twenty; A fewness of milch cows, when grass is shrinking; [10] Fewness of friends when beer is best for drinking. Three worst of snares upon a Chieftain's way: Sloth, treachery, and evil counsel they! Three ruins of a tribe to west or east: A lying Chief, false Brehon, lustful Priest. The rudest three of all the sons of earth: A youngster of an old man making mirth; A strong man at a sick man poking fun; A wise man gibing at a foolish one. Three signs that show a fop: the comb-track on his hair; The track of his nice teeth upon his nibbled fare; His cane-track on the dust, oft as he takes the air. Three sparks that light the fire of love are these— Glamour of face, and grace, and speech of ease. Three steadinesses of wise womanhood— steady tongue through evil, as through good; A steady chastity, whoso else shall stray; Steady house service, all and every day. Three sounds of increase: kine that low, When milk unto their calves they owe; The hammer on the anvil's brow, The pleasant swishing of the plough. Three sisters false: I would! I might! I may! Three fearful brothers: Hearken! Hush! and Stay! Three coffers of a depth unknown Are his who occupies the throne, The Church's, and the privileged Poet's own. [11] Three glories of a gathering free from strife— Swift hound, proud steed, and beautiful young wife. The world's three laughing-stocks (be warned and wiser!)— An angry man, a jealoused, and a miser. Three powers advantaging a Chieftain most Are Peace and Justice and an Armed Host. |