 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
14
RODDY MOR, THE ROVER
Of all the roaming Jacks that yet to Farranfore kem over
As paramount I'd surely count ould Roddy Mor, the Rover;
Wid steeple hat and stiff cravat and nate nankeen knee breeches,
And on his back a pedlar's pack just rowlin' o'er wid riches.
As paramount I'd surely count ould Roddy Mor, the Rover;
Wid steeple hat and stiff cravat and nate nankeen knee breeches,
And on his back a pedlar's pack just rowlin' o'er wid riches.
For so it was when o'er the hill his coat-tails they'd come flyin',
The sharpest tongue of all was still, the crossest child quit cryin',
Ould women even left their tay, ould men their glass of toddy,
An', spoon in hand, a welcome grand would wave and wave to Roddy.
The sharpest tongue of all was still, the crossest child quit cryin',
Ould women even left their tay, ould men their glass of toddy,
An', spoon in hand, a welcome grand would wave and wave to Roddy.
An' when his treasure he'd unlade in view of all the village,
In from her milkin' ran the maid, the boy from out the tillage,
The while the rogue in each new vogue the lasses he'd go drapin',
Until their lads his ribbons, plaids and rings had no escapin'.
In from her milkin' ran the maid, the boy from out the tillage,
The while the rogue in each new vogue the lasses he'd go drapin',
Until their lads his ribbons, plaids and rings had no escapin'.
“Now, whisht your prate, and take your toys,” cried he, “my darlin' childer,
Or my new ballads wid your noise complately you'll bewilder.”
Then his Come-all-Yees he'd advance wid such a quare comether,
That you might say he tuk away our sinse and pince together.
Or my new ballads wid your noise complately you'll bewilder.”
15
That you might say he tuk away our sinse and pince together.
But there! of all the roaming Jacks that trass the counthry over,
For paramount I'd ever count ould Roddy Mor, the Rover.
For 'deed an' I believe that when his sperrit parts his body,
If he's allowed, he'll draw a crowd in Heaven itself will Roddy.
For paramount I'd ever count ould Roddy Mor, the Rover.
For 'deed an' I believe that when his sperrit parts his body,
If he's allowed, he'll draw a crowd in Heaven itself will Roddy.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |