Another real-deal Molly Maguire ballad from Ireland:

Ye sons of Grainne, arise from you slumber
That long has been trampled by that daring foe,
And if you chance to be one of the number
Be sure to no traitor your secrets let know.

I'm a Molly Maguire, a foe of oppression,
If you join my cause I'll soon set you free.
If you were in Cloone* town and see our procession,
Our sons they are numbered 5,003.

Stein** was sent down by association,
He thought by his speeches he would put us down.
But O'Connell he published a sign through "The Nation,"***
To each appeal warning through county and town.

I gazed upon Molly. Her tears flowed in torrents.
I asked her the reason why she should deplore:
"Oh son! Dearest son! The cause of my wailing
They've three of my children lying in Ballinamore.

Long life to bold Percy^ he tried to release them
He offered £5,000 to set them free.
But McClowd^^ would not take it - he sent them to Carrick.
Where he thought they'd hang on the gallow's tree.

Now make no delay but assemble together,
You Knights of St. Patrick, your joys to complete.
Just pick the best marksmen that you can bring hither
And place them on sentry at Garadice gate.

Captain Fear-not agreed, and so he did speed.
He loaded his pistol with powder and ball.
With a heart stout and true, this old tyrant he slew,
And death on McCloud that moment did fall.

These bigots so long that have trampled our land
Are now melting like snow from the sun.
And I'd candidly say, without hesitation,
That each Orange ringleader from Molly does run.

By English laws ours arms are branded.
But we have good pikes made out of pure steel,
And each Orange viper that dares to oppose us
We'll teach them to dance a step of McCloud's reel.

Here a health to old Grainne, another to Molly,
Wherever she walks 'neath her banner of green.
May she thrive and prosper, both now, and hereafter,
The rights of old Ireland we'll claim them unseen.