THE FRIAR’S SONG.
I.
My vows I can never fulfil,
Until
I have breakfasted, one way or other;
And I freely protest,
That I never can rest
‘Till I borrow or beg
An egg,
Unless I can come at the ould hen, its mother.
But Maggy, my dear,
While you’re here,
I don’t fear
To want eggs that have just been laid newly;
For och! you’re a pearl
Of a girl,
And you’re called so in Latin most truly.
II.
Me hora jucunda cœnæ
Dilectat bene,
Et rerum sine dubio grandium
Maxima est prandium:
Sed mihi crede,
In hâc æde,
Multo magis gaudeo,
Cum gallicantum audio,
In sinu tuo
Videns ova duo.
Oh semper me tractes ita!
Panibus de hordeo factis,
Et copiâ lactis,
Candida Margarita!
III.
There is most to my mind something that is still upper
Than supper,
Though it must be admitted I feel no way thinner
After dinner:
But soon as I hear the cock crow
In the morning,
That eggs you are bringing full surely I know,
By that warning,
While your buttermilk helps me to float
Down my throat
Those sweet cakes made of oat.
I don’t envy an earl,
Sweet girl,
Och, ’tis you are a beautiful pearl.
Such was his song. Father Cuddy smacked his lips at the recollection of Margery’s delicious fried eggs, which always imparted a peculiar relish to his liquor. The very idea provoked Cuddy to raise the cup to his mouth, and with one hearty pull thereat he finished its contents.
This is, and ever was a censorious world, often construing what is only a fair allowance into an excess: but I scorn to reckon up any man’s drink, like an unrelenting host; therefore, I cannot tell how many brimming draughts of wine, bedecked with the venerable Bead, Father Cuddy emptied into his “soul-case,” so he figuratively termed the body.
His respect for the goodly company of the monks of Irelagh detained him until their adjournment to vespers, when he set forward on his return to Innisfallen. Whether his mind was occupied in philosophic contemplation or wrapped in pious musings, I cannot declare, but the honest father wandered on in a different direction from that in which his shallop lay. Far be it from me to insinuate that the good liquor, which he had so commended caused him to forget his road, or that his track was irregular and unsteady. Oh no!—he carried his drink bravely, as became a decent man and a good Christian; yet somehow, he thought he could distinguish two moons. “Bless my eyes,” said Father Cuddy, “every thing is changing now-a-days!—the very stars are not in the same places they used to be; I think Camceachta (the Plough) is driving on at a rate I never saw it before to-night; but I suppose the driver is drunk, for there are blackguards every where.”