At Baile-idir-dha-howna (verse)
O'Byrne, Cathal
Baile-idir-dha-howna {What the ballad singer said of the inn-keeper there.) A little red, weazened wart on the face of creation, a miser With even his words he was, a kindly one would have...
...And the honest women, east and west, in the town between the two rivers, Allowed that if the cord were a rope with one end tied snugly and nicely To a beam, and at the other end were the little red man, and he dancing "Go to the Devil and shake yourself" on nothing at all but the daylight— There would be no great sorrow on them, and not a few dry eyes in the townland...
...When the hills meet, to stand again on his floor I'll be willing and wishful, So my seven thousand blessings—backways—'tis I'll be leaving and welcome At the door of the niggardly lout of Baile-idir-dha-howna...
...Cathal O'Byrne...
...With a heart as cold as a frosty turnip you'd grub of a wintry morning, And that same as hard as the hob of hell, or the brazen knocker of Newgate...
...it would clip cold steel, said the neighbors...
...The neckband of his shirt he tied with a ravel of hempen cordage...
...For a twist of tobacco, a noggin of ale he wouldn't give you for God's sake, Or for sake of the Seven Martyrs over beyond in Kilbeggan...
...A little red, weazened wart on the face of creation, a miser With even his words he was, a kindly one would have choked him With the fair dint of finding its way from his heart, if it ever had home there...
...he wouldn't give you God's daylight...
...A voice like a creaking wheel, he had, that would screech through the drought of summer, And a tongue, when it wagged, as sharp as a lance...
...His face was as long as seven wet days, and they all coming together, A narrow face, like the side of your hand, he could kiss, and it's truth I'm telling you, A mountainy goat 'tween the horns, and never be one whit flustered ; And a narrow soul to match, he had...
Vol. 3 • November 1925 • No. 2
