THE WIFE OF THE BOLD TENANT FARMER
(traditional)

One evening of late as I happened to stray,
Bound for Clonakilty from sweet Timoleague.
'Twas at Ballinascarthy, some time I delayed,
I wetted my whistle with porter.

I kindled my pipe and I spit on my stick,
I kept the coach road, like a deer I did trip
I cared for no bailiff, landlord or Old Nick,
I sang like the lark in the morning.

I scarcely had travelled a mile of the road
When I heard a dispute at a farmer's abode,
'Twas the son of a landlord, an ill-looking toad,
And the wife of the bold tenant farmer.

He said: "What the devil came over you all?
Not one penny of rent at each time I do call?
But on next October I'll settle you all,
For you'll have the high road for your garden."

"You Kaffir," the bold tenant's wife, she replied,
You're as bad as your daddy who's at the other side,
But our National Land League will pull down your pride,
It's able to brave any storm.

Its branches extend to country and town,
Protecting the tenants, their houses and ground,
I owe you twelve months and I'll give you one pound,
If you clear our receipt in the morning."

When she spoke of the Land League his lips they grew pale,
Saying: "What good have you done but be stuck into jail;
All the rent that you owe, you must pay the gale
And believe me we will give you no quarter.

Your husband I saw in the town just last night,
Drinking and shouting for the tenant right,
But the months of October, we'll put you to flight,
To follow your friends o'er the water."

"If my husband was drinking, what was that to you?
I'd rather he'd drink it than give it to you!
Now make up your mind for you won't get a screw
For your wet marshy lands is no bargain.

We all joined the Land League on last New Year's Day,
And I think in my heart we were not going astray,
While the clergy are with us, we'll carry the sway,
Now marshalling all in good order.

"Here's to Father O'Leary, the pride of our isle,
He's the boy that can title you ruffians in style.
Dillon and Davitt who rank in their file,
Take care you don't tramp on their corns."

Then I stepped out from the bush where I lay,
And as he passed by I heard him to say:
"I wish to my God I was ten miles away
From the wife of the bold tenant farmer."

I shouted hurrah and she shouted hurroo;
He showed us his back and like lightning he flew,
I said: "God save the Land League and old Ireland, too. "
Agus fágaimís suid mar atá sé.

Printed in "Ireland's Own", date unknown.

NK