As warm as the sun, as the rock firm and sure,
Was the love of the heart of young Phadrig Crohoore.
He would die for a smile from his Kathleen O'Brien,
For his love, like his hatred, was strong as a lion.
But one Michael O'Hanlon loved Kathleen as well
As he hated Crohoore--and that same I can tell.
And O'Brien liked him, for they were all the same parties--
The O'Hanlons, O'Briens, O'Ryans, M'Carthies;
And they all went together in hating Crohoore,
For many's the bating he gave them before.
So O'Hanlon makes up to O'Brien, and says he:
"I'll marry your daughter if you'll give her to me."
So the match was made up, and when Shrovetide came on
The company assembled--three hundred if one!
The O'Hanlon's, of course, turned out strong on that day,
And the pipers and fiddlers were tearing away;
There was laughing, and roaring, and jigging, and flinging,
And joking and blessing, and kissing and singing,
And they were all merry; why not, to be sure,
That O'Hanlon got inside of Phadrig Crohoore;
And they all talked and laughed, the length of the table,
Aiting and drinking while they were able--
With the piping and fiddling, and roaring like thunder,
Och! you'd think your head fairly was splitting asunder;
And the priest shouted, "Silence, ye blabblers, agin,"
And he took up his prayer-book and was going to begin,
And they all held their funning, and jigging, and bawling,
So silent, you'd notice the smallest pin falling;
And the priest was beginning to read, when the door
Was flung back to the wall, and in walked Crohoore.
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