There's a flood in the river
Will not ebb till day,
And dread on me
That my love is away.
Can I live a month
With my heart's pain
Unless she will come
And see me again?
I drink a measure
And I drink to you,
I pay, I pay,
And I pay for two.
Copper for ale
And silver for beer—
And do you like coming
Or staying here?
Seosamh mac Cathmhaoil.
[REPROACH TO THE PIPE]
Taken down from a man named William O'Ryan, of Newcastle,
Upper Galway.
I've a story to tell you,
My little Duideen,
As ugly a story
As ever was seen;
The days are gone by
When I held my head high,
And that this is your doing,
You cannot deny.
It is you, without doubt,
Stole my means and my wealth,
My name and my fortune,
My friends and my health;
But if only I were
In new lands far from Clare,
I'd be scraping and saving
With the best of them there!
While you are well-filled,
Cleaned up, and kept trim,
There's no bread on my plate
And no strength in my limb;
Were I hung as a scarecrow,
In the fields over-night,
Sure, not only the birds
But my friends would take flight!