The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #59062   Message #953059
Posted By: GUEST,Felipa
15-May-03 - 09:36 AM
Thread Name: Cearc Agus Coileach
above – the 4th & 5th verses should be in opposite order, 'said' should read 'siad', 'siriam' = 'sirriam', in the 4th verse (printed as the 5th) – 'le haghaidh' is the correct spelling.

This version is funny in that it is rather non-sensical

rough translation of the (Connacht?) version in Cas Amhrán

a cock and a hen went off together, And they travelled Ireland till their hearts were broken; They went to Galway at sunrise, where the pair were disturbed by the law.

'S ag Uilliam Ó hUileáin a bhí siad ar féar
(note 'siad' not 'said')
They were out on the grass at William Ó hUileáin's
They are mountain bogberries/cranberries and slept in the heather
Until the sheriff came briskly and swept them into Athenry

If you saw my cockerel on the street on a fair day, with his good hat on [literally, laistiar = behind or west] him and his yellow gloves, four long spurs of Spanish silver, and a whip in his hand; he appears like a king.

At Muillean a' Leice [Millstone?] I heard talk of him from the women who were nourished on Seán Mór/Big John's buttermilk – my dear little cock-bird who was with me for Féile Mártan was murdered by the women who had a taste for meat.

They brought him inside and tore apart his bones, and they spent that day entertainingly [spórtúil] enough, [I am trying to make sense of the following idiom – three Irish teachers whom I asked couldn't figure it out any better than I could:
But wouldn't it be/have been better for them to buy the bobbin/spool well/excellently/profitably??? One person suggested that in this case perhaps spoilín means a skewer for roasting the chicken. I wonder if the sense of the line is that the women would be better spending their time sewing/working than feasting?]
Than the way their reputation spread throughout County Mayo?

Seán Bán had a hen who was prettier than a peacock; she laid 101 eggs in a day, The fox came and killed the hundreds and brought them all to Sliabh Bán (Slieveban/e, White/fair Mountain)

She would dance, alas, the quadrille and the caper, out on the stage across from Dunmore, And on the height of Galway she let out the first cry, No feather would yet be picked from my 'game'.

I rose up in the misty morning, my little horse hound with me and my little white dog, I saw the fox, and he all compose, down in the grave with a stone over his head.

'Alas!' said the hen, when she went to roost, 'Isn't my story sad and tearful to tell – My childrens' father and my own bedmate to be put the pot with a stone (lid) over his mouth (beak).