My name it is Nell (1), quite candid I tell,
And I live near C’oethill (2) I will never deny;
I had a large drake, the truth for to speak,
That my grandmother left me and she going to die.
He was wholesome and sound, he’d weigh twenty pound,
And the universe round I’d rove for his sake.
Bad wind to the robber, be him 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, it would you delight,
He was plump, fat, and heavy and brisk as a bee.
My dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,
He’d fly like a swallow or swim like a hake;
Till 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,
That a ghost may him haunt in the dead of the night,
May his hen never lay, may his ass never bray,
May his goat fly away like an old paper kite.
May his duck never quack, may his goose turn black,
And pull down his turf with his long yellow beak,
May the scurvy and itch never part from the breech, (3)
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
May his cock never crow—may his bellows ne’er blow,
And for bed, pot and poe(4) may he never have none;
May his cradle not rock, may his box have no lock,
May his wife have no smock to shade her back-bone
That the flies and the fleas the wretch ever tease,
May the piercing north-breeze make him tremble and shake;
May a four-year old bug(5) build a nest in his lug,
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
May his pipe never smoke, may his tea-pot be broke,
And add to the joke, may his tea-kettle ne’er boil,
May he pooley the bed til the hour he is dead,
May he always be fed on lobsconse (6) and fish oil.
May he swell with the gout, may his grinders (7) fall out,
May he roar, bawl and shout with the horrid tooth-ache,
May his temples wear horns, and all his toes corns,
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 turkey not hatch, may the rats eat his meal.
May every old fairy from Cork to Dunleary
Dip him smug and airy in river or lake,
That the eel and the trout, they may dine on the snout
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.
May his dog yelp and growl with both hunger and cold,
May his wife always scold till his brains go astray,
May the curse of each hag that e’er carried a bag,
May light on the vag(8) till his head turns grey.
May monkies still bite him, mad dogs affright him,
And everyone slight him, asleep or awake,
May the wasps still gnaw him and jack-daws claw him,
The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
The only good news I have diffuse,
That Peter Hughes and Feter McCabe,
And big nose Bob Hanson, and buck tooth Norhamoen
Each man has a grandson of my beautiful Drake.
My bird he has dozens of both nephews and cousins,
And due (9) I must get or my heart it will break;
To set my mind easy, or else I’ll run crazy –
This ends the whole story of Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
And I live near C’oethill (2) I will never deny;
I had a large drake, the truth for to speak,
That my grandmother left me and she going to die.
He was wholesome and sound, he’d weigh twenty pound,
And the universe round I’d rove for his sake.
Bad wind to the robber, be him 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, it would you delight,
He was plump, fat, and heavy and brisk as a bee.
My dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,
He’d fly like a swallow or swim like a hake;
Till 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,
That a ghost may him haunt in the dead of the night,
May his hen never lay, may his ass never bray,
May his goat fly away like an old paper kite.
May his duck never quack, may his goose turn black,
And pull down his turf with his long yellow beak,
May the scurvy and itch never part from the breech, (3)
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
May his cock never crow—may his bellows ne’er blow,
And for bed, pot and poe(4) may he never have none;
May his cradle not rock, may his box have no lock,
May his wife have no smock to shade her back-bone
That the flies and the fleas the wretch ever tease,
May the piercing north-breeze make him tremble and shake;
May a four-year old bug(5) build a nest in his lug,
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
May his pipe never smoke, may his tea-pot be broke,
And add to the joke, may his tea-kettle ne’er boil,
May he pooley the bed til the hour he is dead,
May he always be fed on lobsconse (6) and fish oil.
May he swell with the gout, may his grinders (7) fall out,
May he roar, bawl and shout with the horrid tooth-ache,
May his temples wear horns, and all his toes corns,
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 turkey not hatch, may the rats eat his meal.
May every old fairy from Cork to Dunleary
Dip him smug and airy in river or lake,
That the eel and the trout, they may dine on the snout
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.
May his dog yelp and growl with both hunger and cold,
May his wife always scold till his brains go astray,
May the curse of each hag that e’er carried a bag,
May light on the vag(8) till his head turns grey.
May monkies still bite him, mad dogs affright him,
And everyone slight him, asleep or awake,
May the wasps still gnaw him and jack-daws claw him,
The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
The only good news I have diffuse,
That Peter Hughes and Feter McCabe,
And big nose Bob Hanson, and buck tooth Norhamoen
Each man has a grandson of my beautiful Drake.
My bird he has dozens of both nephews and cousins,
And due (9) I must get or my heart it will break;
To set my mind easy, or else I’ll run crazy –
This ends the whole story of Nell Flaherty’s Drake.
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2) C'oethill o C'osthill, c'è una Cootehill nella contea di Cavan, ma Sarah Curran era sicuramente dublinese
3)Breech = posterior
4) poe, po= a chamber pot for night soil
5) A bug refers to a ghost, or a daemon. That it’s a four-year old one begs the question: What Irish rebel died in 1799?
6) “lobscouse” = a sailor’s stew of meat, potatoes, onions and hardtack. Lob was a dullard, sconse was a skull.
7) Molars
8) wag, short for vagabond
9) Due, as in due justice, a payback, revenge