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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 271 |
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Now shall the Undertaker1 square, for once, his loose
accounts — We'll strike, brave boys, a fair result, from all his
false amounts.
Come, trample down their robber rule, and smite its
venal spawn, Their foreign laws, their foreign Church, their ermine
and their lawn, With all the specious fry of fraud that robbed us of
our own; And plant our ancient laws again beneath our lineal
throne.
Our standard flies o'er fifty towers, o'er twice ten
thousand men; Down have we plucked the pirate Red, never to rise
again; The Green alone shall stream above our native field
and flood — The spotless Green, save where its folds are gemmed
with Saxon blood !
Pity! * no, no, you dare not, priest—not you, our
Father, dare Preach to us now that godless creed—the murderer's
blood to spare;
1 The Scotch and English adventurers planted in Ulster by James I were called " Undertakers."
* Leland, the Protestant historian, states that the Catholic priests " labored zealously to moderate the excesses of war," and frequently protected the English by concealing them in their places of worship and even under their altars. |
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