And he wint, sure enough, to the church. Widdy Mahon she tould me next day
How she ’d gone there herself for the victuals, an’ met wid him comin’ away;
And how afther the service they stepped up to Parson’s to thry what they ’d git,
An’ they got a half loaf, an’ the full o’ the male-bag; an’ never a bit
Would he touch, but made off wid him sthraight, tho’ she said he seemed hard-set to crawl--
Och, ye see ’twas for us that he turned, for himself he ’d ne’er do it at all.
An’ it’s wishful he was to slip home in a hurry, poor lad, wid his pack,
An’ to bring us the best that he had. But och, Sisther, he never got back.