My hair is unwound and unbound;
I remember him ploughing his field,
Turning up the red side of the ground,
And building his barn on the hill With the good mortared stone; O! we'd have pulled down the gallows Had it happened in Enniscrone!
Michael. What was it brought him to his death?
Old Woman. He died for love of me: many a man has died for love of me.
Peter [aside to Bridget]. Her trouble has put her wits astray.
Michael. Is it long since that song was made? Is it long since he got his death?
Old Woman. Not long, not long. But there were others that died for love of me a long time ago.
Michael. Were they neighbours of your own, ma'am?