Thin I’d think: ‘There’s the House; ay, an thin they’d be fewer to starve an’ to stint’;
Yet I hated the thought, an’ kep’ hopin’ I’d maybe be dead ere I wint.
But I’m just afther hearin’ this day what has settled me plans in me mind,
Like as if I had turned round me face; and I won’t go a-lookin’ behind.
I’d been sthreelin’ about in the slip at the back, whin I thought I’d creep down
An’ see what was up at M‘Gurk’s, for it’s weeks since I’ve been in the town;
So round to the front I was come, an’ the first thing that ever I seen
Was two gintlemen close to our door, an’ a car standin’ down the boreen.
And the wan o’ the two was a sthranger, a stout little man, wid each square
O’ the checks on his coateen the size of our own bit o’ field over there;
Divil much to be lookin’ at aither, tho’ here the lads tould me as how
’Twas no less than our Landlord himself, that we’d never set eyes on till now.
For away off in England he lives, where they say he’s an iligant place
Wid big walls round it sevin mile long, and owns dozens of horses to race,
That costs him a fortin to keep; so whin all of his money is spint,
He sends word over here to the Agint; an’ bids him make haste wid the rint.
An’ the other’s the Agint, I know him; worse luck, I’ve known many a wan,
An’ it’s sorra much good o’ thim all. I remember the carryin’s on
We’d have in the ould times at home, whin we heard he was comin’ his round:
For, suppose we’d a calf or a heifer, we’d dhrive her off into the pound,
Or if we’d a firkin of butther, we’d hide it away in the thatch.
Ay, bedad, if we’d even so much as an old hin a-sittin’ to hatch,
We’d clap her in under the bed, out o’ sight, for, mind you, we knew right well
He’d be raisin’ the rint on us sthraight, if he spied that we’d aught to sell.
I’ve heard tell there’s a change in the law, an’ the rint takes three Judges to fix,
So it isn’t as aisy these times for an Agint to play thim bad thricks;
I dunno the rights of it clear, but all’s wan, for he would if he could;
And as soon as I seen him this day, I was sure he’d come afther no good.
But I slipped the wrong side o’ the bank ere they heard me, an’ there I sat still,
An’ they came an’ stood nigh it to wait, while their car crep’ along up the hill.
X
And Turner, the Agint, looked back to the house: ‘Well, yer Lordship,’ he sez,
‘That’s a case for eviction; we’ll scarce see a pinny while wan o’ thim stez.
Why, they haven’t a goose or a hin, let alone e’er a baste on the land,
So where we’re to look for our money is more nor I understand.
But in coorse the man’s axin’ for time.’ An’ sez t’ other, ‘Confound him! in coorse--
’Tis their thrade to be axin’ for that, if ye’re axin’ a pound for your purse.
They may have their damned time, sure, an’ welcome, as long as they plase, on’y first
They’ll pay up or clear out.’ An’ the Agint he laughed till ye’d think he’d ha’ burst.
An’ sez he, ‘Thin “clear out” ’ll be the word, and my notion’s we’ll find that it pays,
If we pull down thim ould sticks o’ cabins, an’ put in the cattle to graze;
Faith, I’d liefer see sheep on the land than the likes o’ that breed any day,’
Sez he, pointin’ his hand to the dyke, where the childher, poor sowls, were at play.
An’ the Lord sez, ‘It’s on’y a pity we can’t git the lap of a wave
Just for wanst, o’er the whole o’ the counthry; no end to the throuble ’twould save,
And lave the place _clane_.’ An’ the Agint laughed hearty; sez he: ‘Our best start,
Since we can’t git thim under the wather, is sendin’ thim over it smart.
An’ these Flynns here we’d imigraph aisy; they’veseveral lads nearly grown;
The on’y dhrawback’s the ould father, we’ll just have to let him alone,
For the son sez he’s sheer past his work, an’ that niver ’ud do in the States;
It’s a burthen he’s been on their hands for this great while--he’ll go on the rates.
Sure, the Union’s the place for the likes of him, so long as he bides above.’
But be this time their car had come by, an’ up wid thim, an’ off they dhruv.