Timmy the Rhymer

by Timothy Murphy

The Quen rade in frae Faeryland,
   Timmo caress’d her naked knee,
raidy tae mount. Upon the strand
   the rhymers cried “Oh wae be we!
“Whaur will we get anither baird
   tae serv oor cheftains?”  By the sea
the Murphy said, “Tis mickle haird,
   but ye’ll mak do withouten me.
“They sing that in the Blessèd Isles
   the usquebaugh fills e’ery stream,
the princesses practise nae wiles,
   ond durance nivir dauntens dream.”
He’s mounted on her milk-white steed
   and left the waefu’ bairds behind.
Wi’ fetlocks lechter thon the reed,
   the stallion, lyth as ony wynde
o’er the white briest o’ the dim sea,
   bare Murphy ond his Quen awa’,
ne’er tae return tae his ain countree.
   The usquebaugh was his dounfa’.


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