 
Murdoch, whet thy knife, that we may shave our crowns to the Great King, Let us sweetly give our vow, and the hair of both our heads to the Trinity. I will shave mine to Mary, this is the doing of a true heart, To Mary shave thou these locks, well-formed, soft-eyed man. Seldom hast thou had, handsome man, a knife on thy hair to shave it, Oftener has a sweet, soft queen, comb'd her hair beside thee. Whenever it was that we did bathe, with Brian of the well-curled locks, And once on a time that I did bathe, at the well of the fair-haired Boroimhe, I strove in swimming with Ua Chais, on the cold waters of the Fergus. When he came ashore from the stream, Ua Chais and I strove in a race. No knives of knives were better; shave gently then, Murdoch. Whet your sword, Cathal, which wins the fertile Banva, Ne'er was thy wrath heard without fighting, brave, red-handed Cathal, Preserve our shaved heads from cold and from heat, gentle daughter of Joachim, Preserve us in the land of heat, softest branch, Mary. Standish Hayes O'Grady. |
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