Heavens, reading this (first the English version, then the Irish original) it sounds so like a coded gay song. Hmmm!


---
When I go to the fair buying clothes,
And with the goods in my hand
Stretched beside me the dark slim lad
And he puts a grass-stalk inside in my hand

Shortly after that I'm delighted
Without a quid to my name, and I'm across the board
Selling the clothes I had to my name,
I'm left without my shirt, cold in my craw.

It's the slim dark boy, tall, festive,
Clever, light, beautiful complexioned.
He wrecked me, he destroyed me
And left poor me with little treasure.
If he'd come from France, or the harbour of Howth
Or leaped to Inis Mor
The famine-hound would be lashing me to work
If all he wanted was an hour of the day.

(and so on)