Howsomever, a sthranger or no, ould Sir Maurice was plased an’ content,
An’ they settled to have a great weddin’ down here at the endin’ o’ Lent;
An’ I mind the white sloe-flower was meltin’ from off the black hedges like hail
In the sunshine, whin back to the Castle the family came wid a dale
O’ grand company, frinds an’ relations; the house was as full as a fair.
But, a couple o’ days to the weddin’, Kate Doyle, that’s in service up there,
She run in wid a message to say they’d a kitchen-maid tuk to her bed
Wid the awfulest toothache at all, an’ her cheek swelled the size of her head;
An’ they wanted a girl be the week, an’ she’d spoke to the misthress for me--
So I slipped up that night afther supper, as proud o’ me luck as could be.