| The first factional fight in old Ireland, they say, |
| Was all on account of St. Patrick’s birthday; |
| It was somewhere about midnight without any doubt, |
| And certain it is, it made a great rout. |
|
| On the eighth day of March, as some people say, |
| St. Patrick at midnight he first saw the day; |
| While others assert ‘twas the ninth he was born— |
| ‘Twas all a mistake—between midnight and morn. |
|
| Some blamed the baby, some blamed the clock; |
| Some blamed the doctor, some the crowing cock. |
| With all these close questions sure no one could know, |
| Whether the babe was too fast or the clock was too slow. |
|
| Some fought for the eighth, for the ninth some would die; |
| He who wouldn’t see right would have a black eye. |
| At length these two factions so positive grew, |
| They each had a birthday, and Pat he had two. |
|
| Till Father Mulcahay who showed them their sins, |
| He said none could have two birthdays but as twins. |
| “Now boys, don’t be fighting for the eight or the nine; |
| Don’t quarrel so always, now why not combine.” |
|
| Combine eight with nine. It is the mark; |
| Let that be the birthday. Amen! said the clerk. |
| So all got blind drunk, which completed their bliss, |
| And they’ve kept up the practice from that day to this. |
