A version of the song collected from oral tradition by Irish scholar Patrick Lynch in Mayo in June 1802, for Edward Bunting's Collection.
Patrick Lynch Irish Gaelic transcription in:
The Edward Bunting Collection in Special Collections & Archives, Queen's University Belfast
MS 4/26 Manuscript collection of Irish songs in Gaelic and some English prose translations by Patrick Lynch
MS 4_26_25w
page 167, 1802
Patrick Lynch Irish Gaelic transcription: Casadh an tSugain
A cailin deas do leas nár dhéana tú
A crann gan rath is measa méin agus lúth
Nár thig do chuig bó bhaile ag géimnigh na diúl
Nár roibh tú fad ag d'fhear go néaga tú
A cháirde gaoil, caoínim m'ádhbhar féin
Mo cheangal le mnaoi is gan m'intin sásda léi
Mar gheall ar mhaoin bhocht shaoghalta nach bh'feárrde dheith mé
Trí bath, caora agus síothbhra mná gan fhéim
Dá mbeath crodh ag a gcat is deas a bpósaige é
Níl faraor ná aig an té tha chóra dhó é
Tá inghin a caillighe giobóighe a cumhdach sa gcéim
S' a liacht maighdean dheas gan fios cía gabháil le
Chuirfinn, threabhfainn, scapthuinn síol sa gcré
Phoguinn bean 's nár dheas a tslíghe domh é
Chuirfinn crú ar an each is deise shubhladh an féar
Agus d’éalódh bean le fear nach ndéanamh sin féin
chrod = (arch.) cattle, means, riches, treasure
chrod breá = handsome fortune
airnéis = cattle, chattel, stock, furniture, goods
spré (used in later versions) = dowry
Patrick Lynch Irish Gaelic fair copy (neatly re-written) with some minor corrections:
MS 4/10 Manuscript collection of Irish songs in Gaelic by Patrick Lynch
MS 4.10.51
page 51, 1802
Patrick Lynch Irish Gaelic fair copy: Casadh an tSugain
Patrick Lynch translation:
MS 4/26 Manuscript collection of Irish songs in Gaelic and some English prose translations by Patrick Lynch
MS 4_26_25v
page 166, 1802
Patrick Lynch translation: Twisting of the Rope
My pretty girl may you never do what is good for y'self
you are a fruitless tree of the worst quality and of no account
that your milk cows may not come home bellowing to be milked
& that you may not be long with y' (your) husband untill you die
Dear friends I lament my own hard fate
to bound to a woman with whom my mind is displeased
forsake of poor earthly gear of which I am nought the better
three cows, a sheep and a fairy of a useless woman
If a cat had a good portion how prittily it would be married
But alas! they who ought to have it - have it not
See the daughter of the Ragged hagg is provided for and promoted
And so many fair virgins who know not who would take with them
I can plant, I can plow - I can sow seed in the ground
I could kiss a girl and is not that a pritty way for me
I could shoe the finest horse that ever trod on grass
And a woman might run away with a man who could not do that itself
My translation:
Similar to Patrick Lynch's literal translation.
Pretty girl, you do not do what is good for yourself
You are a fruitless tree of the worst disposition and vigour
Your milk cows do not come home bellowing to be milked
And you may not be long with your husband untill you die
Dear friends, I lament my own cause
Bound to a woman with my mind not pleased with her
Because of poor worldly goods I was not better off
Three cows, sheep and a fairy of a useless woman
If a cat had riches how prettily it would be married
Alas! for he whom it is not fair
The daughter of the ragged hagg is provided for and promoted
So many pretty virgins not knowing who would take with them
I would plant, I would plow, I would sow seed in the earth
I would kiss a woman and is that not a pretty way for me
I would shoe the nicest horse that walks the grass
And a woman would run away with a man who would not do that
A similar version of seven stanzas titled "DÁ MBEITH CRODH AIG AN GCAT" (IF A CAT HAD RICHES) is printed in Tomás Ó Máille’s Amhráin Chearbhalláin (1916) pp. 262-263, edited there from two related versions in Royal Irish Acadamy (RIA) ms 23A1 and 23I8, which contain poems written down by “Daniel Malone, a schoolmaster, who travelled through the counties of Leitrim, Roscommon, etc., in the years 1827 and 1828 and collected all these songs from the recital of the people
Amhráin Chearbhalláin
The Poems of Carolan
Editor Ó Máille, Tomás
Composition Date 1738
Publisher(Londain: I.T.S., 1916)
pp.262-263, notes p.334.
DÁ MBEITH CRODH AIG AN GCAT (IF A CAT HAD RICHES)
The song is in Part III, whereby Ó Máille asserts that the poems in Part II and Part III were composed by poets other than Carolan.
He writes: The MS contains several songs, attributed to Carolan, some of which can, with certainty, be attributed to other poets. These are contained in Part III. A considerable number of others are considered doubtful, but the internal evidence is against their having being composed by carolan. These are contained in Part II.
He says of the song, which is well known all over Connacht, is much confused if not identical with An Súisin Bán (The White Blanket) or Casadh an tSúgáin (The Twisting of the Rope). The first stanza is common to both poems.
Donal O'Sullivan (1927) notes that the words of the song "An Súisín Bán" and of "Casadh an tSugain" have become inextricably intertwined...so that it is almost impossible to say, in the case of any particular verse, whether it belongs to one song or the other.
Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society, Vol XXII-XXIII
The Bunting Collection of Irish Folk Music and Songs, edited from the original manuscripts by Donal O'Sullivan, Part I, 1927, No. 19, pp. 65-68.
DÁ MBEITH CRODH AIG AN GCAT
(IF A CAT HAD RICHES)
Dá mbeith crodh aig an gcat is deas a pógfaidhe a bhéal,
Níl, mo chreach! ná aig an té ar chóir dhó-san é.
Tá inghin na caillighe giobaighe pósta ó 'réir,
A's a liachtaí óig-bhean dheas gan fios cía shiubhailfeadh léith.
Chuirfinn, chraithfinn, scapfainn síol insa gcré,
A's sheolfainn na bath fán n-eanaigh is milse air bith féar,
Chuirfinn crú air a n-each is deise do shiubhailfeadh an féar,
Agas d'éolochadh bean le fear nach ndéanfadh sin féin.
A cháirde gaoil, caoínigidh i mbáireach mé,
Fá mo thabhairt don mnaoi a's gan m'intinn sásta léith,
I ngeall air mhaoin bheag shaoghalta nár bh'fearrde mé féin,
Trí bath, caora, a's síofrach mná dona gan chéill.
Shiubhail mé corraigh, bogaigh is móinte fraoígh,
Thart go Baile an Tobair is go Párthas na naomh,
Shiubhail mé an méid sin uile do dhá oidhche agas laé,
Air shúil go bhfuighinn mo thoil uirthí a's sháraigh sí mé.
A's a chailín deas, do leas nár dhéana tú,
A chrann gan rath bu mheasa féachaint air bith súl,
Nuair thig do chuid bath abhaile a' géimnigh un diúil,
Ná raibh tú i bhfad aig d'fhear go n-éaga tú, a shiúr.
A Mháire, a chuisle, a bhean is áille air bith méin,
A's go dtug tú buaidh air mhná do chinte uile go léir,
d'fhága tú mise a' sileadh na súl gach lá do dhíaidh,
A's gurb' í a n-úaigh mo leabaidh nuair a fhágfas tú mé.
B'fhurus aithne dhamh-sa air bhaint na lúachra aréir,
Go dtug mo mhuirnín bodach grúama orm féin,
An ní is éadrom leatsa is trom an t-ualach ormsa é,
A's gur minic bhain duine slat a bhuailfeadh é féin.
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