“Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride.
Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright,
Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!”
Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext.
Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed.
“Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell,
Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said,
“Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head—
Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine,