Classic Poem

O'r ourk's noble fare
Will ne'er be forgot,
By those who were there,
And those who were not.
His revels to keep,
We sup and we dine,
On seven score sheep,
Fat bullock and swine.
Usquebaugh to our feast
In pails was brought up,
An hundred at least,
And a madder our cup.
O there is the sport,
We rise with the light,
In disorderly sort,
From snoring all night.
O how was I tricked,
My pipe it was broke,
My pocket was picked,
I lost my new cloak.
I'm rifled, quoth Nell,
Of mantle and kercher,
Why then fare them well,
The de'il take the searcher.
Come, harper, strike up,
But first by your favour,
Boy, give us a cup;
Ay, this has some savour:
O'Rourk's jolly boys
Ne'er dreamt of the matter,
Till roused by the noise,
And musical clatter,
They bounce from their nest,
No longer will tarry,
They rise ready dressed,
Without one Ave Mary .
They dance in a round,
Cutting capers and ramping,
A mercy the ground
Did not burst with their stamping,
The floor is all wet
With leaps and with jumps,
While the water and sweat,
Splishsplash in their pumps.
Bless you late and early,
Laughlin O' Enagin,
By my hand you dance rarely,
Margery Grinagin.
Bring straw for our bed,
Shake it down to the feet,
Then over us spread,
The winnowing sheet.
To show, I don't flinch,
Fill the bowl up again,
Then give us a pinch
Of your sneezing, a Yean.
Good Lord, what a sight,
After all their good cheer,
For people to fight
In the midst of their beer:
They rise from their feast,
And hot are their brains,
A cubit at least
The length of their skenes.
What stabs and what cuts,
What clattering of sticks,
What strokes on the guts,
What bastings and kicks!
With cudgels of oak,
Well hardened in flame,
An hundred heads broke,
An hundred struck lame.
You churl, I'll maintain
My father built Lusk,
The castle of Slane,
And Carrickdrumrusk:
The Earl of Kildare,
And Moynalta, his brother,
As great as they are,
I was nursed by their mother.
Ask that of old Madam,
She'll tell you who's who,
As far up as Adam,
She knows it is true,
Come down with that beam,
If cudgels are scarce,
A blow on the wame,
Or a kick on the arise.