NELL FLAHERTY’S DRAKE.

My name it is Nell, quite candid I tell, That I live near Coote hill, I will never deny; I had a fine drake, the truth for to spake, That my grandmother left me and she going to die; He was wholesome and sound, he would weigh twenty pound, The universe round I would rove for his sake— Bad wind to the robber—be he drunk or sober— That murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake. His neck it was green—most rare to be seen, He was fit for a queen of the highest degree; His body was white—and would you delight— He was plump, fat and heavy, and brisk as a bee. The dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow, He would fly like a swallow and dive like a hake, But some wicked savage, to grease his white cabbage, Has murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake. May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt, May a ghost ever haunt him at dead of the night; May his hen never lay, may his ass never bray, May his goat fly away like an old paper kite. That the flies and the fleas may the wretch ever tease, And the piercing north breeze make him shiver and shake, May a lump of a stick raise bumps fast and thick On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake. May his cradle ne’er rock, may his box have no lock, May his wife have no frock for to cover her back; May his cock never crow, may his bellows ne’er blow, And his pipe and his pot may he evermore lack. May his duck never quack, may his goose turn black, And pull down his turf with her long yellow beak; May the plague grip the scamp, and his villainy stamp On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake. May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke, And to add to the joke, may his kettle ne’er boil; May he keep to the bed till the hour that he’s dead, May he always be fed on hogwash and boiled oil. May he swell with the gout, may his grinders fall out, May he roll, howl and shout with the horrid toothache; May the temples wear horns, and the toes many corns, Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake. May his spade never dig, may his sow never pig, May each hair in his wig be well thrashed with a flail; May his door have no latch, may his house have no thatch, May his turkey not hatch, may the rats eat his meal. May every old fairy, from Cork to Dunleary, Dip him snug and airy in river or lake, Where the eel and the trout may feed on the snout Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake. May his dog yelp and howl with the hunger and could, May his wife always scold till his brains go astray; May the curse of each hag that e’er carried a bag Alight on the vag. till his hair turns grey. May monkeys affright him, and mad dogs still bite him, And every one slight him, asleep or awake; May weasels still gnaw him, and jackdaws still claw him— The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake. The only good news that I have to infuse Is that old Peter Hughes and blind Peter McCrake, And big-nosed Bob Manson, and buck-toothed Ned Hanson, Each man had a grandson of my lovely drake. My treasure had dozens of nephews and cousins, And one I must get or my heart it will break; To keep my mind easy, or else I’ll run crazy— This ends the whole song of my beautiful drake. Anonymous.