The Mare of Tipperary
Me uncle was a dour man
He bought a horse t'was dappled tan.
How gleamed her mane, And she was pretty!
The greatest beast in town and city,
And all the men would flock to see
The strong young mare of Tipperary.
He broke her with a whip of hide,
But only he could that horse ride.
He worked her in the fields each day
e'en when the parish went to pray-
Although her coat was matt and wiry
The bit she clamped with passion fiery.
A finer horse you ne'er did see,
Than the mudcaked mare of Tipperary.
He drove her hard in summer season,
'e broke the horse without good reason-
And late in fall, when she should sleep;
Her harness stayed to earn her keep.
And in the bite of winter too,
Her snout was caked with ice, and blue.
She'd worked her weight in hay and feed
She'd proved herself a noble steed.
A bony nag was all there be,
of the fine young mare of Tipperary.
Her master let her rest one night,
When winter moon hung full and bright.
That tired even'ng down she lied-
Alas me child, the poor horse died.
Alas me child, the poor horse died.
She answered not me uncle's call,
And so he hastened to her stall.
Before that day I'd never seen me uncle's tears.
He said, "There lies the greatest horse I've known in all my years.
Her mane did gleam and she was pretty
the greatest beast in town or city,
She's worked to death, that's plain to see
I've killed the mare of Tipperary."
And as he turned and walked away,
His old mare's spirit seemed to say,
"I do forgive you, for it seems
My memory will haunt your dreams.
Life's a gift, ALL life's a treasure,
A song to sing, and dance a measure.
I see that you have learned this well,
Never forget that you've murdered a belle-
For I was the finest on land or sea,
the strong young mare of Tipperary."
Me uncle looked at me and said,
"Son, I wish t'was I t'was dead.
for my heart will always heavy lie,
for that I caused such horse to die.
Only I that horse could ride.
'Tis my fault that the poor mare died.
Alas me boy, the poor horse died.
Alas me child, me poor horse died."