The Woman of Three Cows (From the Irish)

O, Woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your
tongue thus rattle!
O, don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may
have cattle.
I have seen--and, here's my hand to you, I only say
what's true--
A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud
as you.

Good luck to you, don't scorn the poor, and don't be
their despiser;
For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the
very miser;
And death soon strips the proudest wreath from
haughty human brows,
Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman
of Three Cows!

See where Momonia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's
descendants,
'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the
grand attendants!
If they were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal
bows,
Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman
of Three Cows?

The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the
land to mourning;
Mavrone! for they were banished, with no hope of
their returning--
Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were
driven to house?
Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman
of Three Cows!

O, think of Donnel of the Ships, the Chief whom
nothing daunted--
See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled,
unchanted!
He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder
cannot rouse--
Then ask yourself, should you be proud, good Woman
of Three Cows?

O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names
are shrined in story--
Think how their high achievements once made Erin's
greatest glory--
Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and
Cyprus boughs,
And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman
of Three Cows!

Th' O'Carrols, also, famed when fame was only for
the boldest,
Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and
oldest;
Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or
carouse?
Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman
of Three Cows!

Your neighbour's poor, and you, it seems, are big
with vain ideas,
Because, inagh! you've got three cows, one more, I see,
than she has;
That tongue of yours wags more at times than
charity allows--
But, if you're strong, be merciful, great Woman
of Three Cows!

THE SUMMING-UP.

Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up
your scornful bearing,
And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak
I'm wearing,
If I had but four cows myself, even though you were
my spouse,
I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman
of Three Cows!