received Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business. "My business
isn't much," says Tom. "I only came for the loan of that flail that I
see hanging on the collar-beam for the King of Dublin to give a
thrashing to the Danes." "Well," says the other, "the Danes is much
better customers to me; but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse.
Hand that flail," says he to a young imp; and he winked the far-off eye
at the same time. So, while some were barring the gates, the young
devil climbed up and took down the iron flail that had the handstaff and
booltheen both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond was
grinning to think how it would burn the hands off of Tom, but the
dickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it was a good oak sapling.
"Thankee," says Tom; "now, would you open the gate for a body and I'll
give you no more trouble." "Oh, tramp!" says Ould Nick, "is that the
way? It is easier getting inside them gates than getting out again. Take
that tool from him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup." So one
fellow put out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him such a
welt of it on the side of his head that he broke off one of his horns,
and made him roar like a divil as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but
he gave them, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't forget for
a while. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his elbows, "Let
the fool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great or small."
So out marched Tom and away with him without minding the shouting and
cursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls. And when he got
home to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and
racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told, he
laid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives
to touch it. If the King and Queen and princess made much of him before
they made ten times as much of him now; but Redhead, the mean
scruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to make
an end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of
him as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept flinging his
arms about and dancing that it was pitiful to look at him. Tom run at
him as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his own two, and
rubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left them before you
could reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between the pain that was only
just gone, and the comfort he was in, had the comicalest face that ever
you see; it was such a mixerumgatherum of laughing and crying. Everyone
burst out a-laughing--the princess could not stop no more than the
rest--and then says Gilla, or Tom, "Now, ma'am, if there were fifty
halves of you I hope you will give me them all." Well, the princess had
no mock modesty about her. She looked at her father, and, by my word,
she came over to Gilla, and put her two delicate hands into his two
rough ones, and I wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!
Tom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other
body went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning
they found two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning
itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far.
But a messenger came in at noon and said that the Danes were so
frightened when they heard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got
into their ships and sailed away.
Well, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat
Mara of Tomenine to larn him the "principles of politeness," fluxions,
gunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the
rule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation
with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them
sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never
more saw any want till the end of her days.
The Little Weaver of Duleek Gate.
_From "Legends and Stories of Ireland."_
BY SAMUEL LOVER (1791-1868.)
There was a waiver lived, wanst upon a time, in Duleek here, hard by the
gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was. He had a wife, an' av
coorse, they had childre, and small blame to them, so that the poor
little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers to the bone a'most to get
them the bit and the sup, and the loom never standin' still.
Well, it was one mornin' that his wife called to him, "Come here," says
she, "jewel, and ate your brekquest, now that it's ready." But he never
minded her, but wint an workin'. "Arrah, lave off slavin' yourself, my
darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it is hot."
"Lave me alone," says he, "I'm busy with a pattern here that is brakin'
my heart," says the waiver; "and antil I complate it and masther it
intirely I won't quit."
"You're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning, Thady," says the
poor wife; "and it's a heavy handful I have of you when you are cruked
in your temper; but, stay there if you like, and let your stirabout grow
cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin;" and with that off she
wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was mighty crabbed, and the more the
wife spoke to him the worse he got, which, you know, is only nath'ral.
Well, he left the loom at last, and wint over to the stirabout and what
would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a
crow--for, you see, it was in the heighth o' summer, and the flies lit
upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.
"Why, thin," says the waiver, "would no place sarve you but that? and is
it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you dirty bastes?" And with that, he
lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o' stirabout,
and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one blow, for
he counted the carcases one by one, and laid them out an a clane plate
for to view them.
Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him, when he seen the
slaughter he done, at one blow; and not a sthroke more work he'd do that
day, but out he wint and was fractious and impident to every one he met,
and was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', "Look at that fist!
that's the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow--Whoo!"
With that all the neighbours thought he was crack'd, and the poor wife
herself thought the same when he kem home in the evenin', afther
spendin' every rap he had in dhrink, and swaggerin' about the place, and
lookin' at his hand every minit.
"Indeed, an' your hand is very dirty, sure enough, Thady, jewel," says
the poor wife. "You had betther wash it, darlin'."
"How dar' you say dirty to the greatest hand in Ireland?" says he, going
to bate her.
"Well, it's nat dirty," says she.
"It is throwin away my time I have been all my life," says he, "livin'
with you at all, and stuck at a loom, nothin' but a poor waiver, when it
is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the siven
champions of Christendom."
"Well, suppose they christened him twice as much," says the wife, "sure,
what's that to uz?"
"Don't put in your prate," says he, "you ignorant sthrap," says he.
"You're vulgar, woman--you're vulgar--mighty vulgar; but I'll have
nothin' more to say to any dirty, snakin' thrade again--sorra more
waivin' I'll do."
"Oh, Thady, dear, and what'll the children do then?"
"Let them go play marvels," says he.
"That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady."
"They shan't want feedin'?" says he, "for it's a rich man I'll be soon,
and a great man, too."
"Usha, but I'm glad to hear it, darlin'--though I dunno how it's to be,
but I think you had betther go to bed, Thady."
"Don't talk to me of any bed, but the bed o' glory, woman," says he,
lookin' mortial grand. "I'll sleep with the brave yit," says he.
"Indeed, an' a brave sleep will do you a power o' good, my darlin," says
she.
"And it's I that will be a knight!" says he.
"All night, if you plaze, Thady," says she.
"None o' your coaxin'," says he. "I'm detarmined on it, and I'll set off
immediately, and be a knight arriant."
"A what?" says she.
"A knight arriant, woman."
"What's that?" says she.
"A knight arriant is a rale gintleman," says he; "going round the world
for sport, with a soord by his side, takin' whatever he plazes for
himself; and that's a knight arriant," says he.
Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and
he got an owld kittle from one, and a saucepan from another, and he
took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like
any knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and that he was very
particular about, bekase it was his shield, and he went to a friend o'
his, a painter and glazier, and made him paint an his shield in big
letthers:--
"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,
THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN
AT A BLOW."
"When the people sees that," says the waiver to himself, "the sorra one
will dar for to come near me."
And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small iron pot for him,
"for," says he, "it will make an illegent helmet;" and when it was done,
he put it an his head, and his wife said, "Oh, murther, Thady, jewel; is
it puttin' a great, heavy, iron pot an your head you are, by way iv a
hat?"
"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a weight
on his brain."
"But, Thady, dear," says the wife, "there's a hole in it, and it can't
keep out the weather."
"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I
don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like
o' that."
"The three legs of it look mighty quare, stickin' up," says she.
"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the
waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."
"Well," says the wife, getting bitter at last, "all I can say is, it
isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."
"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.
Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by,
where the miller's horse was grazin', that used to carry the ground corn
round the counthry. "This is the identical horse for me," says the
waiver; "he's used to carryin' flour and male, and what am I but the
flower o' shovelry in a coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out
iv his way in the laste."
So away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought
the best thing he could do was to go to the King o' Dublin (for Dublin
was a great place thin, and had a King iv its own). When he got to the
palace courtyard he let his horse graze about the place, for the grass
was growin' out betune the stones; everything was flourishin' thin in
Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-room
windy, for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended
not to see him, and he wint over to the stone sate, undher the
windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all round about the place,
for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a dacent obleeging
man; well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o' the
seats, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he
took care to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an
it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of
his coort that was standin' behind him, howldin' up the skirt of his
coat, accordin' to rayson, and, says he: "Look here," says he, "what do
you think of a vagabone like that, comin' undher my very nose to sleep?
It is thrue I'm a good king," says he, "and I 'commodate the people by
havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and
contimplation of seein' me here, lookin' out a' my dhrawin'-room windy,
for divarsion; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o' the
place, and come and sleep here. Who is it, at all?" says the King.
"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."
"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "because his dhress is
outlandish."
"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.
"I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says the King; "folly me,"
says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most
dignacious manner.
Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and when he wint over to
where the waiver was lying, sure the first thing he seen was his shield
with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "This
is the very man I want."
"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.
"To kill the vagabone dhraggin', to be sure," says the King.
"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "when all the
stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,
and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver?"
"Sure, don't you see there," says the king, pointin' at the shield,
"that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done
that, I think, is a match for anything."
So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher
for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and
the King says to him, "God save you," said he.
"God save you kindly," says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite
unknownst who he was spakin' to.
"Do you know who I am," says the king, "that you make so free, good
man?"
"No, indeed," says the waiver, "you have the advantage o' me."
"To be sure, I have," says the king, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the
King o' Dublin?" says he.
The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and, says
he, "I beg your pardon for the liberty I tuk; plaze your holiness, I
hope you'll excuse it."
"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you
here?" says he.
"I'm in want of work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.
"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the king.
"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.
"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow,
I understan'," says the King.
"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and
I'm afraid my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to do
at wanst."
"You shall have a job immediately," says the King. "It is not three
score and tin or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard
dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid
aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," said the King.
"Och, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow as
if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit."
"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the King. "It will be
no trouble in life to you; and I am sorry that it isn't betther worth
your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that
he lives in the County Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an
advantage in that."
"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver, "for the last
three score and tin I killed was in a soft place."
"When will you undhertake the job, thin?" says the King.
"Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.
"That's what I like," says the King, "you're the very man for my money,"
says he.
"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token, I'll want a
thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."
"As much as you plaze," says the King; and with the word he brought him
into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest,
bursting wid goolden guineas.
"Take as many as you plaze," says the King; and sure enough, my dear,
the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld
with them.
"Now I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.
"Very well," says the King; "but you must have a fresh horse," says he.
"With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought he might as well
exchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.
And maybe it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin'
to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him, when he was
purtendin' to be asleep, but he had no sich notion, all he intended
was--to fob the goold, and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and
a good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter
still, for these high quality, you see, is great desaivers; and so the
horse the waiver was an was learned on purpose; and sure, the minit he
was mounted, away powdhered the horse, and the sorra toe he'd go but
right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore, until
at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if owld Nick was at
their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers, and cryin'--"The
dhraggin, the dhraggin!" and he couldn't stop the horse nor make him
turn back, but away he pelted right forninst the terrible baste that was
comin' up to him; and there was the most nefaarious smell o' sulphur,
savin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver
seen he had no time to lose; and so threwn himself off the horse and
made to a three that was growin' nigh-hand, and away he clambered up
into it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the
dhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse body and
bones, in less than no time; and then began to sniffle and scent about
for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye on him, where he was, up in
the three, and, says he, "You might as well come down out o' that," says
he, "for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate."
"Sorra fut I'll go down," says the waiver.
"Sorra care I care," says the dhraggin; "for you're as good as ready
money in my pocket this minit, for I'll lie undher this three," says he,
"and sooner or later you must fall to my share;" and sure enough he sot
down, and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther a heavy brekquest
he made that mornin' (for he ate a whole village, let alone the horse),
and he got dhrowsy at last, and fell asleep; but before he wint to sleep
he wound himself all round about the three, all as one as a lady windin'
ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.
Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep, by the snorin' of
him--and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o' thunder--that
minit the waiver began to creep down the three, as cautious as a fox;
and he was very nigh hand the bottom when a thievin' branch he was
dipindin' an bruck, and down he fell right a top o' the dhraggin; but,
if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should he fall but with
his two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and my jew'l, he laid
howlt o' the baste's ears, and there he kept his grip, for the dhraggin
wakened and endayvoured for to bite him, but, you see, by rayson the
waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and, with that, he
endayvoured for to shake him off; but not a stir could he stir the
waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body, he could not turn
the scale agin the waiver.
"Och, this is too bad, intirely," says the dhraggin; "but if you won't
let go," says he, "by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride
that'll astonish your siven small senses, my boy"; and, with that, away
he flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly?--he flew sthraight
for Dublin. But the waiver, bein' an his neck, was a great disthress to
him, and he would rather have had him an inside passenger; but, anyway,
he flew till he kem slap up agin the palace o' the king; for, bein'
blind with the rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his brains
out--that is, the small trifle he had, and down he fell spacheless. An'
you see, good luck would have it, that the King o' Dublin was looking
out iv his dhrawin'-room windy, for divarshin, that day also, and whin
he seen the waiver ridin' an the fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like
a tar barrel) he called out to his coortyers to come and see the show.
"Here comes the knight arriant," says the King, "ridin' the dhraggin
that's all a-fire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid
the fire ingines," says he, "for to put him out."
But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside, they all run downstairs
and scampered into the palace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and
by the time they got down, the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's
neck; and runnin' up to the King, says he--
"Plaze, your holiness, I did not think myself worthy of killin' this
facetious baste, so I brought him to yourself for to do him the honour
of decripitation by your own royal five fingers. But I tamed him first,
before I allowed him the liberty for to dar' to appear in your royal
prisince, and you'll oblige me if you'll just make your mark with your
own hand upon the onruly baste's neck." And with that, the King, sure
enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the head aff the dirty brute, as
clane as a new pin.
Well, there was great rejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was
killed; and says the King to the little waiver, says he--
"You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would be no use for to
knight you over agin; but I will make you a lord," says he "and as you
are the first man I ever heer'd tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall
be called Lord Mount Dhraggin'," says he.
"And where's my estates, plaze your holiness?" says the waiver, who
always had a sharp look-out afther the main chance.
"Oh, I didn't forget that," says the King. "It is my royal pleasure to
provide well for you, and for that rayson I make you a present of all
the dhraggins in the world, and give you power over them from this out,"
says he.
"Is that all?" says the waiver.
"All!" says the king. "Why, you ongrateful little vagabone, was the like
ever given to any man before?"
"I believe not, indeed," says the waiver; "many thanks to your majesty."
"But that is not all I'll do for you," says the king, "I'll give you my
daughter, too, in marriage," says he.
Now, you see, that was nothin' more than what was promised the waiver in
his first promise; for, by all accounts, the King's daughter was the
greatest dhraggin ever was seen.
Fionn MacCumhail and the Princess.
_From "The Shamrock."_
BY PATRICK J. MCCALL (1861--).
(In Wexford Folk Speech.)
Wance upon a time, when things was a great'le betther in Ireland than
they are at present, when a rale king ruled over the counthry wid four
others undher him to look afther the craps an' other indhustries, there
lived a young chief called Fan MaCool.
Now, this was long afore we gev up bowin' and scrapin' to the sun an'
moon an' sich like raumash (nonsense); an' signs an it, there was a
powerful lot ov witches an' Druids, an' enchanted min an' wimen goin'
about, that med things quare enough betimes for iverywan.
Well, Fan, as I sed afore, was a young man when he kem to the command,
an' a purty likely lookin' boy, too--there was nothin' too hot or too
heavy for him; an' so ye needn't be a bit surprised if I tell ye he was
the mischief entirely wid the colleens. Nothin' delighted him more than
to disguise himself wid an ould coatamore (overcoat) threwn over his
showlder, a lump ov a kippeen (stick) in his fist and he mayanderin'
about unknownst, rings around the counthry, lookin' for fun an' foosther
(diversion) ov all kinds.
Well, one fine mornin', whin he was on the shaughraun, he was waumasin'
(strolling) about through Leinster, an' near the royal palace ov
Glendalough he seen a mighty throng ov grand lords and ladies, an', my
dear, they all dressed up to the nines, wid their jewels shinin' like
dewdrops ov a May mornin', and laughin' like the tinkle ov a deeshy
(small) mountain strame over the white rocks. So he cocked his beaver,
an' stole over to see what was the matther.
Lo an' behould ye, what were they at but houldin' a race-meetin' or
faysh (festival)--somethin' like what the quality calls ataleticks now!
There they were, jumpin', and runnin', and coorsin', an' all soorts ov
fun, enough to make the trouts--an' they're mighty fine leppers
enough--die wid envy in the river benaith them.
The fun wint on fast an' furious, an' Fan, consaled betune the trumauns
an' brushna (elder bushes and furze) could hardly keep himself quiet,
seein' the thricks they wor at. Peepin' out, he seen, jist forninst him
on the other bank, the prencess herself, betune the high-up ladies ov
the coort. She was a fine, bouncin' geersha (girl) with gold hair like
the furze an' cheeks like an apple blossom, an' she brakin' her heart
laughin' an' clappin' her hands an' turnin her head this a-way an' that
a-way, jokin' wid this wan an' that wan, an' commiseratin', moryah!
(forsooth) the poor gossoons that failed in their leps. Fan liked the
looks ov her well, an' whin the boys had run in undher a bame up to
their knees an' jumped up over another wan as high as their chins, the
great trial ov all kem on. Maybe you'd guess what that was? But I'm
afeerd you won't if I gev you a hundhred guesses! It was to lep the
strame, forty foot wide!