The place of the dead be yours! (Marasg, i.e. marbh-thasg,
ort!).
The number of Friday be yours! “The curse of Friday be
yours!” “The end of the seven Saturdays to you!”
May you be late! (Gu ma h-anamoch dhuit!).
The direction in which you turn the back of your head, may
you never turn your face! (An toabh bheir thusa cùl do
chinn, gar an d’ thig an t-aon latha bheir thu t’ aghaidh!),
etc., etc.
When a curse proceeds from rage or malevolence, it is at the same time a confession of impotence. The party uttering it is unable at the moment to indulge his rancour in any other way. If he had the power he would bring all the woes he threatens or imprecates there and then on his enemy’s devoted head. Patience is no element of wrath and rarely enters the house of malevolence, and if the man who curses his enemy had the artillery of heaven at command, he would at that moment devote his enemy to unspeakable misery. This impotence of rage is the reason why curses are so frequently ascribed to angry old women.