Who is now chief of the beggars,
Since the famous man is dead?
Tears flow fast for the man,
For beggary has lost its strength.
The orphan is in a piteous case,
Beggary’s gone since Lachlan’s death.
In every homestead this is sad,
That beggary should want for knowledge.
If he be dead, I’ve never heard,
Of one that could compare with Lachlan,
Since God created man at first;
It is a source of bitter grief,
That without mother or a father,
Poor beggary should be so weak.
Since that Bretin’s son is dead,
Why should I not mourn his loss?
There is no man now on earth
Who can beg as he could do.
Since Lachlan the importunate’s dead,
Great’s the grief that is in Erin.
Who will now beg a little purse?
Who will even beg a needle?
Who will beg a worthless coin?
Since that rough-palmed Lachlan’s dead.
Who will beg a pair of brogues,
And then will beg a pair of buckles?
Who will beg a shoulder plaid?
Whose begging now will give us sport?
Who will beg soles for his shoes?
Who will ask a peacock’s feather?
Who will beg an eye for his belt?
Who will mix in any mischief?
Who will beg an old felt hat?
Who will beg a book to read?
Who will beg an early meal?
Who is it wears arms with his dress?
Who will beg for boots and spurs?
Who is it will beg for bristles?
Who will beg for sids and meal?
Who will beg a sheaf of rye?
Who will ask a sporran spoon?
Who will gather without shame?
Since Lachlan the hero is dead.
Who will now afford us sport?
Who will beg for maidens’ shifts,
Since old shoe’d Lachlan is dead?
Sad the fate that he should die,
Who will ask men for a rullion?
Who will steal the servant’s feather,
And who is it can’t tell the truth?
Who likes to travel in a boat,
And likes his old friends to visit?
Who will beg the hen with her eggs?
Who will beg a brood of chickens?
Who will ask the hen’s overplus,
After a handful of money?
Who will beg a headless pin?
Who can read as he can do?
That Lachlan should leave no heir,
Is that which mournful makes his death.
Who will beg for a hook and line?
Who will seek for open doors?
Who will beg for unboiled rennet?
Who will beg for anything?
Who won’t give a penny to the poor,
And yet e’en from the naked begs?
Who would oppress the very child,
And is cruel to the infant?
Who would beg for wool and butter,
That they may have it, after Lachlan?
Who would beg a woman’s collar?
Who is it likes a dirty heap?
Who would beg from young women,
From little dogs and weasels?
Who would take the fire from an infant?
Who would steal e’en the dead?
Who is sick when he is well?
Who on his gruel begs for butter?
More sad for me than this man’s death,
Is that he has left no heir.
For fear that beggary should die,
And none be found to keep it up.
Do not ye forget the man,
Men of the earth, do ye,
Each of you for himself make rhymes,
My malison on him that won’t.
If Lachlan died on Monday last,
Every man will joyful be.
Sad it is that for his death,
None there is who will lament.
Who is now.
[187] This poet is generally supposed, by those who have seen the
Dean’s MS., to have been Sir Duncan Campbell of Glenurchy, one of the
most distinguished of the ancestors of the present noble family of
Breadalbane. There are several pieces in the MS. attributed to him.
These are remarkable for caustic humour, indulged in in several cases
at the expense of the female sex. He almost uniformly receives the
title of “An Ridir maith,” _The good Knight_. The present piece is a
strange satirical elegy on a miser.
Gormlay, daughter of Flann, the good wife.
Alas! alas! my own great pain,
Alas! that I’ve my beauty lost,
To-night sore is my wound,
Since that Mac O’Neill is dead.
Alas! to want the son of Dervail,
Alas! my fate now left behind,
Guaire’s hospitality is nought,
Erin’s a desert without him.
Alas! for the good king of Banva,
How fair thy form down to this night,
Since he, my life, in battle died,
Nought will I say but alas! alas!
Alas!