“Three birds is to meet (Barney proceeded in a kind of recitative enthusiasm) upon the saes—two ravens an’ a dove—the two ravens is to attack the dove until she’s at the point of death; but before they take her life, an eagle comes and tears the two ravens to pieces, an’ the dove recovers.
There’s to be two cries in the kingdom; one of them is to rache from the Giants’ Causeway to the centre house of the town of Sligo; the other is to rache from the Falls of Beleek to the Mill of Louth, which is to be turned three times with human blood; but this is not to happen until a man with two thumbs an’ six fingers upon his right hand happens to be the miller.”
“Who’s to give the sign of freedom to Ireland?”
“The little boy wid the red coat that’s born a dwarf, lives a giant, and dies a dwarf again! He’s lightest of foot, but leaves the heaviest foot-mark behind him. An’ it’s he that is to give the sign of freedom to Ireland!”
“There’s a period to come when Antichrist is to be upon the earth, attended by his two body servants Gog and Magog. Who are they, Barney?”
“They are the sons of Hegog an’ Shegog, or in other words, of Death an’ Damnation, and cousin-jarmins to the Devil himself, which of coorse is the raison why he promotes them.”
“Lord save us! But I hope that won’t he in our time, Barney!”
“Antichrist is to come from the land of Crame o’ Tarthar (Crim Tartary, according to Pastorini), which will account for himself an’ his army breathin’ fire an’ brimstone out of their mouths, according’ to the glorious Revelation of St John the Divine, an’ the great prophecy of Pastorini, both of which beautifully compromise upon the subject.
The prophet of the Black Stone is to come, who was born never to prognosticate a lie. He is to be a mighty hunter, an’ instead of riding to his fetlocks in blood, he is to ride upon it, to the admiration of his times. It’s of him it is said ‘that he is to be the only prophet that ever went on horseback!’
Then there’s Bardolphus, who, as there was a prophet wid the red mouth, is called ‘the prophet wid the red nose.’ Ireland was, it appears from ancient books, undher wather for many hundred years before her discovery; but bein’ allowed to become visible one day in every year, the enchantment was broken by a sword that was thrown upon the earth, an’ from that out she remained dry, an’ became inhabited. ‘Woe, woe, woe,’ says Bardolphus, ‘the time is to come when we’ll have a second deluge, an’ Ireland is to be undher wather once more. A well is to open at Cork that will cover the whole island from the Giants’ Causeway to Cape Clear. In them days St Patrick will be despised, an’ will stand over the pleasant houses wid his pasthoral crook in his hand, crying out Cead mille failtha in vain! Woe, woe, woe,’ says Bardolphus, ‘for in them days there will be a great confusion of colours among the people; there will be neither red noses nor pale cheeks, an’ the divine face of man, alas! will put forth blossoms no more. The heart of the times will become changed; an’ when they rise up in the morning, it will come to pass that there will be no longer light heads or shaking hands among Irishmen! Woe, woe, woe, men, women, and children will then die, an’ their only complaint, like all those who perished in the flood of ould, will be wather on the brain—wather on the brain! Woe, woe, woe,’ says Bardolphus, ‘for the changes that is to come, an’ the misfortunes that’s to befall the many for the noddification of the few! an’ yet such things must be, for I, in virtue of the red spirit that dwells in me, must prophesy them. In those times men will be shod in liquid fire an’ not be burned; their breeches shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn them; their bread shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn them; their meat shall be made of fire, an’ will not burn them; an’ why?—Oh, woe, woe, wather shall so prevail that the coolness of their bodies will keep them safe; yea, they shall even get fat, fair, an’ be full of health an’ strength, by wearing garments wrought out of liquid fire, by eating liquid fire, an’ all because they do not drink liquid fire—an’ this calamity shall come to pass,’ says Bardolphus, the prophet of the red nose.