And now, if a few of the seed do remain,
They’re vile as the thistles and briars of the plain;
They ply for their neighbours the pick and the hoe:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
Should ye walk through all Man you’ll find no one, I reckon,
To mourn for the name that was once in Beemachan;
But thousands of poor who rejoice that ’tis low:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
Proceed to Creganyn, and Balla-logh green,
But where’s there a Colcad to bid ye walk in?
By strangers their homes and their lands are held now:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
Great Scarlett, in wealth who dwelt down by the bay,
Must toil now with paupers for sixpence a-day;
And oft, as I’ve heard, has no morsel to chew:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
The band by whose weapons the great Cæsar died
Were hunted by foes, and all peace were denied;
Not one died the death of kind Nature, O, no!
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
So it fared with the band by whom Willie did die,
Their lands are a waste, their names stink to the sky;
They melted like rime in the ruddy sun’s glow:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
But comfort I take, for ’tis common report
There are shoots of dear Will who are sitting at court,
Who have punished his foes by king’s mandate, although
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.
O, ’tis pleasant to think, when one’s wither’d and grey,
There’s race of Brown William in fair Ronaldsway,
That his foemen are crush’d, and their faces can’t show,
While the clan of Christeen have no trouble or woe. [10]
To the counsellors false, both in church and in state,
Bear the public of Mona both loathing and hate,
Who set man against man, and the peace would break now,
As thy murder, Brown William, broke hearts long ago.