 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
DERMOT O' DOWD.
When Dermot o' Dowd coorted Molly M'Cann,
They were as sweet as the honey and as soft as the down,
But when they were wed they began to find out
That Dermot could storm, and that Molly could frown;
They would neither give in—so the neighbours gave out—
Both were hot, till a coldness came over the two,
And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther,
Stamp holes in the flure, and cry out “weirasthru!
Oh murther! I'm married,
I wish I had tarried;
I'm sleepless, and speechless—no word can I say,
My bed is no use—
I'll give back to the goose
The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day.”
They were as sweet as the honey and as soft as the down,
But when they were wed they began to find out
That Dermot could storm, and that Molly could frown;
They would neither give in—so the neighbours gave out—
Both were hot, till a coldness came over the two,
And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther,
Stamp holes in the flure, and cry out “weirasthru!
Oh murther! I'm married,
I wish I had tarried;
I'm sleepless, and speechless—no word can I say,
My bed is no use—
I'll give back to the goose
The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day.”
76
“Ah!” says Molly, “you once used to call me a bird.”
“Faix you're ready enough still to fly out,” says he.
“You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies,
And my lips like the rose—now no longer like me.”
Says Dermot, “Your eyes are as bright as the morn,
But your brow is as black as a big thunder cloud,
If your lip is a rose, faith your tongue is a thorn
That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot o' Dowd.”
“Faix you're ready enough still to fly out,” says he.
“You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies,
And my lips like the rose—now no longer like me.”
Says Dermot, “Your eyes are as bright as the morn,
But your brow is as black as a big thunder cloud,
If your lip is a rose, faith your tongue is a thorn
That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot o' Dowd.”
Says Molly, “You once said my voice was a thrush,
But now it's a rusty old hinge with a creak,”
Says Dermot, “You called me a duck when I coorted,
But now I'm a goose every day in the week:—
But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock,
From the first 'twas ordained so by Nature I fear;
Ould Adam himself was the first of the flock,
And Eve, with her apple sauce, cooked him, my dear.”
But now it's a rusty old hinge with a creak,”
Says Dermot, “You called me a duck when I coorted,
But now I'm a goose every day in the week:—
But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock,
From the first 'twas ordained so by Nature I fear;
Ould Adam himself was the first of the flock,
And Eve, with her apple sauce, cooked him, my dear.”
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |